Page 19 of Until Then

“I’m going to do a whole set—plates and bowls. Maybe even cups.”

“That’ll be cute.” She cautiously picks up the plate and sets it on a table with the other items that need to be fired. “I’d be more enthusiastic if I wasn’t so hungry.”

“All right, all right.” I stand, then head for the sink in the corner to wash my hands. “Let me get some food in you before you get hangry.”

“It might be too late,” she warns, hanging a sign that saysClosed for lunchon the door.

We walk down the street, then cross over onto the pier, where the restaurants and shops are only open in the warm months. Via chooses a restaurant I haven’t been to yet, and we’re quickly seated at a table outside that overlooks the water.

The people at the table next to us get their food as we’re perusing the menus, the scents floating in the air making my stomach rumble like my sister’s. I guess I was so focused on painting that I didn’t notice how my hunger was setting in.

“What’s good here?”

Via peers at me over the top of her menu, brow arched. “It’s fresh seafood, therefore everything.”

“Good point.” I study the menu, struggling to make a decision because every choice sounds incredible.

When our server arrives to take our order, I’m forced to choose, so I go with the fish sandwich with sweet potato fries and a side salad.

Once the server leaves, I look out over the railing to the water beyond. With the ocean breeze stirring my hair, causingit to tickle my shoulders, I close my eyes and inhale the salty scent, allowing it to center me.

I don’t go to the beaches around LA. Too loud. Too busy. Too… everything.

But here? It’s perfect. Calm and crisp. Filled with families. Kids laughing, dogs barking. It’s simple in the best way. Even the tourists are different here. Moving more slowly, enjoying the moment.

“I’ve missed you,” Via says, bringing my attention back her way. “It really is nice to have you here.”

“Thanks.” I pull an elastic off my wrist and twist my hair into a knot. I miss a few strands when I secure it, so some still blow around my face.

“I know I struggle to understand your job and your life, but you can talk to me about anything.”

My sister watches me, lips pressed together, half her face hidden behind oversized sunglasses. Even so, I can sense her sincerity.

Ihavetried to explain what I do, but she doesn’t get it. I can’t fault her for it, either. Unless a person has lived it, it’s difficult for them to see what I do as real and meaningful. Social media isn’t real life, that’s what most believe, and to an extent, that’s true. But it is my life. So logging off and refusing to let the comments bother me isn’t as simple as it sounds. If only it were, my life would be far easier.

Rather than tell her that, I take a sip of my water. Then I plaster on a smile, and respond with “I know.”

She frowns at my half-hearted response, but she doesn’t ask more, and I leave it at that. I don’t want to keep rehashing my problems with someone who doesn’t understand.

Conversation, thankfully, moves away from me. Instead, we talk about her shop and Reid and her rocky relationshipwith our parents. They’ve always been hard on her in a way they aren’t with me, but I didn’t truly understand the depths of that until a few years ago. As the youngest child—and because, frankly, I was less inclined to care about their wishes since I did what I wanted anyway—I had it easier.

“You should come to book club this week,” Via says as the server appears with our food. She gives her a grateful smile, and then it’s just the two of us again.

I unravel my napkin and pull out my silverware. “You mean the book club where you never read said book and instead gossip nonstop?”

She grins, her eyes twinkling. “That’s the one. Though we do actually read the books now that we’ve all given up the pretense of enjoying anything other than romance.”

“So, does that mean I should read the book before coming?”

She shakes her head. “Nah, we still don’t really talk about the books. Just bring a snack or drinks.”

“I don’t know,” I hedge, forking a bite of my salad.

“If you’re going to stay for a while, you might as well incorporate yourself into the core of our town. Book club is the best way to do that.”

My chest tightens with apprehension, but I take a deep breath and will the sensation to dissipate. “Fine, I’ll come. Send me the information.”

With a victorious smile, she types the details into her phone. My cell dings a moment later.

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