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I shake my head. “No,” I repeat. “We always knew we were on borrowed time. Let’s make the last few hours we have be good ones.”
He looks at me for a long beat, his expression softening into something so tender, it makes my throat ache. “You’re impossible,” he says in a hoarse tone. “You’re not even giving us a chance?”
“No. I’m a realist,” I say flatly. “An ocean doesn’t disappear because we wish it would. Neither do our careers.” My chest tightens painfully. “Some people are only meant to find each other for a little while. We’re lucky we’ve had this long.”
Max studies me for a second. I half expect him to argue. Instead, he nods, shifting closer, his shoulder pressing into mine as the ice melts against my ankle. And for a little while, we pretend tomorrow doesn’t exist.
Seventeen
Islowly remove the final glass from the sanitizer, staring at my reflection as I place it carefully on the rack with the others.
“You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?” Lina says, setting a freshly laundered basket of napkins down on the prep table.
“No,” I say, though the heat rising in my cheeks gives me away.
“You’re a terrible liar, cara.” Lina chuckles, nudging a stack of silverware toward me.
“Okay, fine. I am.” I pivot on my stool to face her.
It’s been three days since Max returned to the U.K., two since my doctor told me to stay off my feet, and exactly twenty-four hours since Lina put me on restricted duty under Zoe’s orders.
Which means I’m not allowed to touch a single tray or set foot in the dining room. Instead, I’m stuck in the back, perched on a stool, doing the glamorous work of polishing silverware, rolling napkins, and drying glassware. Basically, anything that doesn’t require me to stand.
It’s pure torture. I feel like a caged Florida panther. I’m used to moving from the second I wake up until I fall into bed, not sitting still.
“Then send him a text,” Lina says, arching an eyebrow as she begins folding napkins with practiced speed. “Or a message on ClipCloud, Photogram, or whatever else you young people use to communicate with one another these days.”
“The fact that you even know what all those are is genuinely impressive,” Randy says, sliding up to the station and depositing a fresh stack of dirty dishes into the sink.
Lina shrugs, a playful glint in her eyes. “Thank Leon. He’s always educating me on technology. It’s our little secret, but I only pretend to understand it. The only thing I’m comfortable posting is our weekly specials on Photogram.”
I look at my phone. “I shouldn’t. I’m on the clock.”
“Katie, your Mamma Lina doesn’t like seeing you this unhappy.” She stops folding and fixes me with the same look that somehow sees straight through every excuse I make. “Text the boy. I know I don’t have to worry about you getting your work done, so if you want to use your phone, do it.”
“Does that offer extend to me too?” Randy asks, leaning against the door frame in a teasing slouch.
“Sure,” Lina says, barely sparing him a glance as she smooths out a linen. “As long as none of the customers see you.”
“Fair enough.” He nods, satisfied.
Lina finally looks up, gesturing toward the dining room with a flick of her chin. “If you’re in here, who is out there?”
Randy lets out a dramatic sigh. “I’m going, Lina. I’m going.”
He pushes off the wall and disappears back into the noise of the restaurant while Lina heads down the hall toward the office, leaving me in the relative quiet of the prep station. I reach for my phone, unlock it, and look over our last messages. I scroll up just far enough to land on Sunday night.
Max
I landed, and I’m back in my childhood bedroom in my parents’ flat.
He’d sent a photo of a tiny room that made the pool house look spacious. A twin bed sat against one wall, and a sewing machine was squeezed into the corner.
Max
As you can see, it’s become Mum’s sewing room.
I’d laughed when he sent it. Now, it feels like another lifetime.
