Chapter 1
Aurora
In the distance, the waves of the Atlantic crash against the shore as I hurry through the outdoor area of the café. Skillfully maneuvering between the fully occupied wrought-iron tables, I finally stop at a couple.
Like Romeo and Juliet, they gaze at each other with adoration. He reaches his hand under the table, caressing her thigh with his thumb, and she brushes the bangs away from her face, smiling so warmly that it radiates more brightness than the afternoon sun over Guérande.
Swiftly adjusting my glasses, I lift the cup from my tray. "Cappuccino?" I ask.
"Oui," mumbles Romeo, never taking his eyes off his girlfriend.
I place his cup down and serve the smoothie to Julia.
"Mademoiselle?" calls a guest from somewhere. "The bill, please."
I glance up briefly and notice the white-haired gentleman at table eight raising his arm. "Coming right up," I say before disappearing inside the beach café.
My colleague Vivienne tilts her head with a questioning look, her high ponytail swaying to the side. "Did you see a ghost?"
"It's all good. This week is just damn stressful." I try to force a smile. "Did you finish the order for table five?"
Leaning against the bright, chalked counter, she nods to the left, where a tray awaits me.
Under her scrutinizing gaze, I snatch it up and head outside again. With focus, I serve the order and then collect payment at table eight.
The man's fingers tremble; he struggles to grasp the coins, so I offer to do it for him.
"You're an angel, thank you," he says with an apologetic gesture as I place the coins individually on the table, allowing him to verify the amount.
"You're welcome," I reply, wishing him a nice day, and tuck the money pouch back into my apron.
Just as I clear the dirty glasses, I glimpse an elderly couple from the corner of my eye. They enter through the archway at the entrance, arms interlocked. He guides her to the table next to the wildly overgrown wall, its crimson bricks peeking through the lush green leaves. He pulls out the chair for her.
I swallow my rising longing and bring the dirty glasses to the counter, placing them on the rinsing grid.
Vivienne leans against the countertop next to me. "Melanie and I are trying out the new beach bar down at the pier today. They say the cocktails are incredible. And don't get me started on the guys..."
"Mm-hmm," I mumble, grabbing a cloth and scrubbing the serving tray clean.
"You should come with us," she insists with enthusiasm, her expression mischievous. "We might even find a hot guy for you."
"Unfortunately, I can't make it tonight," I say automatically.
Only then do I think about what day today actually is. Thursday? Or already Friday?
Immediately, she pouts. "You can never make it, can you?" Pushing away from the countertop, she turns toward the coffee machine. "What's so important all the time that you can't join us for even one night of partying?"
"I... um..." What can I possibly tell her? In my mind, I run through the potential excuses, but I've already used each one at least five times.
"Alright then, we're on the same page," she says with a mischievous grin, filling the stainless steel pitcher with milk. "Tonight, it's cocktails and hot guys."
"It really can't happen," I reply over the hissing of the milk frother, which Vivienne now sets in motion. "I'm sorry." With a sick feeling in my stomach, I hurry back outside.
"Party pooper," my coworker calls after me as I make my way to table fourteen to take the elderly couple's order.
Yes. That's what I am. A party pooper.
"I'm sorry," I say again, after placing the next order with Vivienne. Even though I've turned down her invitations a thousand times, she keeps inviting me to party with them. I don't want to offend or hurt her. It's just that it wouldn't be a good idea.
