Page 16 of The Summer of Everything

Wes does. The Rossis remind him so much of his own parents. After decades together, they’re still sickeningly in love. They have lunch together at least three times a week, go on strolls through Third Street Promenade while holding hands, enjoy the occasional dinner and a movie. They’rethat couple.

Mrs. Rossi sighs. “I don’t know how I’d handle any of this without you.”

Me neither. Wes’s not exactly the model employee, but he’s the only person under the age of twenty-one whom she trusts with a set of store keys. Well, besides Anna now. None of the others take this job seriously. Not the way Wes does.

“Well, the place didn’t burn down while I was gone,” Wes says, and the corners of his mouth tick upward. “That’s a good sign. Maybe it won’t be so bad when I…”

He struggles to finish that sentence. Wes has already told Mrs. Rossi he still wants to work weekends when classes start. But it still feels as though he’s leaving her hanging. He doesn’t know why. This is Mrs. Rossi’s business. She ran it before him; she can do it without him constantly around too.

“It’ll be fine,” Mrs. Rossi whispers. Wes isn’t sure if she’s talking to him or herself. Another sigh deflates her shoulders. “Anyway, it’s still nice to have you back. You’re much better than…”

This time, it’s Mrs. Rossi who doesn’t finish. Instead, she stares out the front door with a deeply creased mouth and narrowed eyes. Without looking, Wes can guess why.

“Sorry, no selfies or autographs. I know you’re all excited to see me, but please remain calm.”

With a pair of big, dark sunglasses and an oversized, stretched-out sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder, Ella struts into the bookstore.

“You’re late for your shift,” Mrs. Rossi says in a clipped tone.

“I’m on Eastern time.”

“Which, you know,” Wes says, pinching the bridge of his nose, “makes you even later, right?”

“Thanks for the technicalities,” Ella says dryly.

“This is unacceptable,” Mrs. Rossi says. She’s not typically a firm person, but in these instances, usually the ones involving Ella, she’s fiercely strict. “If you’re not going to be on time, at least communicate with me.”

“Communication. Is that a mutual thing we’re practicing?” Ella’s smile is forced.

“Heaven help me,” Mrs. Rossi mumbles, turning to walk toward her office.

Wes whips his head in Ella’s direction. “What was that about?”

Ella lowers her sunglasses. “Not worth discussing right now.”

“She’s gonna fire you one day.”

“She won’t.” Ella hops up on the front counter, crossing her legs. Every shift, the counter is Ella’s throne, though she’s been told repeatedly to sit on one of the stools like a normal human. She snaps her grape bubble gum. “I just got here and I’m already exhausted.”

Without question, Ella’s the biggest slacker around here. She helps when asked, which is never if Wes is available. But she also knows her stuff and has hand-sold more books than any employee who’s ever worked at the store.

The digital clock near the register reads 2:07 p.m. Anticipation builds in Wes’s stomach and bubbles to his chest. In less than an hour, Nico comes in for his shift. And then…

Wes hasn’t had time to put together a detailed plan.

Just ask him out.

It seems simple, but Wes’s execution skills have never been remotely flawless. He distracts himself by listening to Ella ramble about last night’s date. She’s shameless about the details, which Wes usually wouldn’t mind except she doesn’t refrain from any of the more explicit moments while Wes rings up customers.

“Afterward, I think he started, like, crying,” she complains. “I know I’m amazing, but damn, Daniel.”

“Oh my god,” Wes mutters as he scans the stack of books in front of him. “Yes, ma’am. Would you be interested in one of our new bookmarks or buttons with your selections today?”

“It wasn’t even my best effort.” Ella snorts. “Usually I do that thing with my—”

“Di-did you find everything you were, um, looking for today?” Wes shouts nervously at the middle-aged man who is staring at Ella with wide eyes.

“He asked if I needed to cuddle, too. Like, dude, check your patriarchal ego at the door, please.” Ella pops her gum. She doesn’t budge from her spot on the counter so customers can lay their books down. “He’s a soft five at best. There will be no follow-up.”

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