Page 4 of Give & Take

The woman—Lana—lifts her chin and strides back to the counter, picking up her milkshakes.

I swear I’m going to leave her alone. But when she asks for a drink tray, the kid rolls his eyes and tosses one to her without helping. She struggles to get the cups in and I have to physically hold myself back by shoving my hands into my pockets.

Then one of the cups slips, sloshing creamy pink milkshake onto her hand.

“Shit,” she says.

Fuck it. I go over, grab a napkin and hand it to her. Then wordlessly, I pop the drinks into the tray, tuck a stack of napkins and the straws between them and hold it out to her.

“You’re good at that,” she says without looking at me. “You work here too?”

“I should. I’m great at customer service. Really excel at making a first impression.”

She presses her lips together and I want to punch the sky in victory. That was absofuckinglutely a suppressed smile.

“103!” the cashier calls, sounding as thrilled as if he were calling out numbers at the DMV.

“I can count, too.”

She picks up her tray, gives me one brief look, like she wants to say something. Then she doesn’t. She turns around to go.

I collect my fries as quickly as humanly possible. But by the time I turn around, she’s already gone.

For a moment, I don’t move. I really,reallywant to go after her.

But she doesn’t want anything to do with me. I sigh, pitying my sad little heart, and stride back toward the hangry moms-to-be.

Still, I can’t help whistling an old song my mom used to play. It’s about an older woman who seduces a young guy in his twenties. It’s called Mrs. Robinson.

A guy can dream.

Chapter 2

Lana

Iwashaving a good beach day. A clean house is my main source of sanity, but for once I threw our weekend chores out the window and got me and the girls out of the house. My friend Chris, who was supposed to meet us here, got held up. But I brought along a book by my favorite author I’ve been dying to try to find time to read, about a duke grappling with the difficulties of his ‘sinfully sized manhood’. I even felt brave enough to wear a bathing suit I haven’t put on since I had Aurora five years ago.

Then thatguyhad to completely ruin the mood.

Okay, to be fair, my ex, Mike, started it.

But it’s been a long time since a man looked at me like that. Let alone a stupidly hot guy in his twenties. For the past few years I’ve tried to adjust to slowly becoming invisible to men. I’ve gotten so good at it, I was sure he’d been messing with me at first.

I pull my wide-brimmed white beach hat lower over my head to try to angle some shade onto my book, alsoannoyed I forgot it when I went to get snacks. It’s huge and I like hiding under it.

It doesn’t work. And I still can’t get over what an ass that guy was, staring at me like that. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five or six. And sotall.Like, basketball-player tall. The kind of person I’d ask for help reaching the top shelf in the grocery store tall. He was in these ripped jeans and worn t-shirt like he’d just arrived at the beach. Both fit him like a glove, revealing little swaths of sun-kissed skin and a body not beefy but lean. And his face? Jesus. Dark hair flopping over his forehead. Eyes the shade of whiskey with thick, dark lashes. A cocky grin that made my stomach flutter, as much as I hated it.

But that’s not the point. The point is he’s practically a kid. I’m forty, for God’s sake. Forty-one at the end of the summer.

I set down the book I’m failing to read with a little huff into the sand. The worst part of that whole little expedition is that I’m mostly angry at myself. Because I’d be a liar if I said some small, tiny, minuscule microscopic part of me didn’tlikebeing looked at like that. Talked to like that.

Like I’m more than just an overworked, stressed-out single mom.

It’s been years since a man looked at me at all. I honestly thought it was all over. My experience has been once I hit thirty-eight or so, suddenly it was like I’d mostly turned invisible to men. It’s been a relief, mostly. Not relying on the male gaze.

But I wasn’t invisible to him. And it sent something wholly unfamiliar and unwanted through me.

No.

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