“Yeah?”
“Would you mind if I changed up the music a little?”
She just shrugs. “Fine by me. I just put it on the first radio station I found and never bothered to change it. You’re welcome to take over.”
I accept this appointment with the same gravity I’d feel if she’d handed me the keys to the cash safe, and immediately downloadSpotify onto the computer connected to the system. I log in to my account, and my mood is instantly lighter as the first few notes of Vance Joy’s “Riptide” hit my ears.
I’m smiling as I leave the office. Today will be a good day.
My elderly would-be fiancé doesn’t come back today, but apparently that doesn’t mean romance in this dining room is dead. While Myles and I are hanging around the host stand, keeping an eye on our respective tables and watching for new customers to arrive, Ned strolls by with the dish bin against his hip on one side, and his opposite hand up in the air, a slip of receipt paper between his fingers.
He pauses in front of Myles. “Those girls at table six left a phone number for you, bro.”
Myles’s ears turn pink as he takes it, and Ned saunters off.
I lift my brows, absolutely delighted and charmed by his bashfulness, and he gives me a wry glance. How many numbers has he gotten?
“Don’t start,” he says.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“It’s all over your face,” he says as he tucks the paper into his pocket, and I wonder if he’s actually going to call them. “Also, you’re one to talk. I heard about the proposal yesterday.”
“Yeah, three gorgeous college girls in bikinis and a sweet man old enough to be my grandfather. Those are the same.”
He laughs, and a starburst flares in my chest. Myles thinks I’mfunny.
“Well,” he says, “I’ll need all the help I can get, with that new guy in town.”
Myles needs zero help in the ladies department, but I won’t say it out loud. “What new guy?”
“I don’t know, some dude who was at the bonfire the other night. Chuck had a get-together last night, and all the girls were talking about him. Kristin Bevers said she saw him at the grocery store, and I swear they all acted like it was a celebrity sighting.” Myles shrugs, like he’s not actually all that bothered by it.
Just as I wonder if it’s the guy I met at the drink table that night, whose laugh I still remember, a middle-aged couple walks in. They ask about bar seating, and Myles offers to show them the way.
I make a round to refill drinks and get the check for a six-top, and by the time I get back to the host stand, three new tables have filled up. The rest of my shift flies by in a blur, and before I know it, the dining area has cleared out and it’s time to head home. One entire side of the restaurant is windows, with a gorgeous view of the ocean, so you’d think I’d have noticed the dark wall of clouds rolling in. I guess I was super focused on my customers.
I notice them now, though, as I hang up my apron, grab my purse, and head to the side exit all the employees use.
“Crap,” I say, stopping under the awning seconds before I’m pelted by raindrops.
“Everything okay?” a voice asks from behind me. I turn to find Myles, swinging his car keys around his index finger. How does he still look so perfect and put together after that shift? Not a single hair is out of place, and his white Pearl’s shirt (this one has a cartoon lobster) is pristine. Meanwhile, my ponytail has partiallyfallen out, I have a huge pen mark on my forearm, and one of my no-show socks slid down an hour ago and has been tucked underneath my foot ever since.
“Yeah,” I reply. “I just forgot to check the weather before I came in today. I walked and didn’t grab an umbrella.”
“I could give you a ride,” he offers.
“Really?” I ask, meeting his eyes. Even with the clouds it’s brighter out here than inside, and I notice that his hair’s already turning white-blond. I wonder how much time he’s spent on the beach since school got out. He could be surfing by the pier every morning, and I’d never know. Surfing’s one thing I never got into even though I grew up on the beach—getting the good waves requires waking up waaaaay too early.
I realize with surprise that I haven’t been to the pier or down by the volleyball courts at all since Kat left. It’s only been six days, but for me even that long is unusual. Maybe I should head down to the pier this weekend.
By yourself?my brain asks.
Which, rude. Idohave other friends, okay? I could call Ruby, or even Shelby.
“Sure,” Myles says, bringing me back to the restaurant. “I’m not in any hurry to get home.”
I don’t love the idea of getting soaked, and definitely don’t mind the thought of spending more time with Myles, so I nod. “Okay. That would be great, thank you.”
