11PLAYLIST:serotonin boost
MINUTES AFTER ARRIVING ATPearl’s for my shift, I die and go to heaven.
I’ve just walked in, and Myles is leaving the office. As soon as he sees me, his brow furrows and he changes trajectory and heads right toward me. Then everything happens in slow motion—when he’s three feet away, his arms open and he keeps coming, not stopping until his arms are wrapped around me and our torsos press together. My brain must go on autopilot, because I don’t remember lifting my arms, but all of a sudden they’re curved around his body. His firm, delicious surfer’s body.
I—Amelia No-Yearbook-Superlative Madden—am hugging Myles Ford.
I don’t know exactly how tall he is, but my cheek hits just below his collarbone. His T-shirt is soft, smells like fresh laundrydetergent, and I can feel his heartbeat against my skin. Tingles form at the top of my head and fan out, running everywhere from my elbows to my toes.
“How’s Margarine?” His voice rumbles through his chest.
“Better,” I murmur. “She might get to come home tonight.” I pull back, and we both drop our arms. I meet his blue gaze and hope he doesn’t notice my flushed skin. “She has diabetes.”
His brows lift. “Dogs can get that?”
“That’s exactly what I said.”
“But she’s gonna be okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, offering a small smile. “It’s really nice of you to ask.”
He looks at me like,Duh. “I thought about it the whole way here.”
My heart grows three sizes. “Really?” There’s no way he’ll miss my blush now. “I—thank you.”
Shelby comes bustling past us to put her things away, and we all head to the kitchen together. I have no time to bask in my Myles hug, because dinner at Pearl’s is a whole different ballgame. Customers are already filing in when we finish hearing about the specials, so we jump right in.
It’s all hands on deck with Myles, Anders, Shelby, and me all here—plus another woman I didn’t meet before today because she only works evenings. Ned’s here too, appearing and disappearing to clear tables and bring fresh place settings before I even realize the customers have left. He’s freaking amazing at his job.
Don’t get me wrong—even though it’s busy, the cozy, good-times ambiance is still strong. Customers are relaxed, the oceanis visible through the windows, and everyone leaves happy after experiencing one of the best culinary wonders of Massachusetts. The new and improved music selection (playlist: inspired coastal wanderlust) is the perfect cherry on top.
By the end of the night, I’m pretty proud of myself. Even if my Pearl’s shirt (yellow with a sea turtle) sports a questionable stain near my ribs and the writing in my notepad looks like it’s a foreign language, I didn’t mess up a single order. My tables seemed pretty happy, and I even landed a few solid jokes with a fun table of older couples. The only thing I didn’t handle well was a group of college-aged guys who took their flirting way past what I was comfortable with.
Myles must have overheard one of their comments, because when I went to the computer to tap in an order with my hands shaking, he showed up beside me, eyes hard and lips pressed together in a thin line.
He leaned his head down and said, tone low, “I’m taking over that table.”
I wanted to cry from embarrassment but also because it was so nice of him to offer to intervene.
Before I could even respond, Anders’s voice floated over my shoulder.
“No.” He towered behind us, glaring at the table of jerks laughing loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear. “I’m taking it.”
My heart did something funny then, reacting to these two guys unwilling to stand by and watch customers treat me like that. Then Shelby sidled up and announced she’d “accidentally” spilledlemonade on one of them, and I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so taken care of. I’m still thinking about it when my shift is over and I gather my belongings from the office, and I realize just how glad I am to be working here.
I never would have thought about applying if Kat hadn’t suggested it. This is just one of a long list of things I’d probably have missed out on over the years if she hadn’t instigated them.
Winning the sandcastle contest last year.
Playing hide-and-seek at the homecoming dance two years ago, which led to my first kiss.
Open-water swimming. I know, I seem like someone who wouldn’t have hesitated to do this on my own, being a total thalassophile and all. But my deep love for the ocean includes an appropriate level of respect for its dangers, too, and I’ve never been much of a risk-taker.
I frown now, because without Kat here, it will be up to me if I want to experience anything new this summer. Is that exciting or does that kind of suck? I’m leaning more toward sucks, because stepping out of my comfort zone sounds like a lot of work, and summers are supposed to be lazy and comfortable.
I toss my purse over my shoulder and tap my phone screen—no messages or missed calls—then turn just as Myles comes in.
“Hey,” he says. “Tonight was kind of crazy, huh?”
