Stella and Bea had the string lights and the ocean and the cold February air that turned their breath visible at the railing.
“Seventeen,” Bea said, leaning on the railing and looking out at the water.
“Can hardly believe it,” Stella said, leaning beside her.
“Happy birthday,” Bea said softly.
“Happy birthday,” Stella said, and squeezed Bea’s hand and wondered what her life was like before she’d become best friends with the cousin she hadn’t known existed. She couldn’t remember.
CHAPTER TWO
Margo came in through the kitchen door, tied on her apron, and walked through to check that the dining room looked like a dining room. The Shack smelled the way it always smelled at seven—sourdough starter from the back, coffee from the pot Anna had already started, and underneath it the ghost of fifty years of grilled cheese baked into the walls.
Bernie was at the counter.
Not his spot. The counter. Third stool in from the register, coffee already in front of him, paper already open. He looked like a person who had been sitting there for a while, which meant he’d come in early, walked past his booth—the one he’d been sitting in every morning for as long as she’d been running this place—and chosen a stool instead.
The table was empty. The salt and pepper were still in their places. It was wiped. It looked like it was waiting for someone who wasn’t coming.
“Morning,” Anna said from the grill, flipping something without looking up.
“Morning.” Margo picked up a knife and started on the tomatoes. Roberto had sent better ones this week—firm, theright color, no soft spots she’d have to work around. Small mercies.
Joey arrived, carrying a paper bag of avocados and wearing the confused expression he wore when something in the restaurant had shifted and he hadn’t been consulted. He set the avocados on the prep counter, hung his jacket on the hook, and came to stand next to Margo. He did not start on the avocados.
“Margo,” he said.
“Joey.”
He leaned slightly closer and dropped his voice. “Bernie is at the counter.”
“I see that.”
“On a stool.”
Margo kept slicing. “I’m aware.”
Joey reached for an avocado and turned it in his hands without examining it, which was unlike him—Joey examined every avocado like it had a secret. “Does he know his spot is available?”
“He walked past it to get to the stool, Joey.”
“I’m just checking.” He set it down and took another. “I’m going to go talk to him.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll be casual about it.”
Margo kept her eyes on the tomatoes. “Okay.”
“I’ve been working on being casual. My study group says it’s a growth area.” He straightened his apron and headed for the dining room.
Through the pass, Margo could hear him. She kept slicing.
“Good morning, Bernie.”
“Morning, Joey.” Bernie frowned slightly in Joey’s direction.
“I notice you’re at the counter today.”
