Page 23 of The Edge of Summer
“So… Are you going to enter?”
The sudden voice at my side makes me startle. The paper falls from my grasp and flutters to the floor on the opposite side of the counter. My hand rests on my chest, right over my rapidly-beating heart. “God, Clara. You scared me!”
“Well?” she asks. “Are you going to?”
I don’t talk about photography with a lot of people. I learned a long time ago that people outside of the community don’t really care—until they want you to take a picture of them. They don’t want to listen to you ramble about the mechanics; they just want you to capture the perfect shot. But Clara is easy to talk to, and one day it just slipped out. She seemed genuinely interested and has asked multiple times to see my portfolio.
I round the bar to find the fallen page. As I crouch to retrieve it, my gaze lands on a pair of black boots. When I look up, I’m surprised to find Luke—though I shouldn’t be. His parents own the restaurant and his sister manages it, so really, it was silly of me to think that he wouldn’t be hanging around.
Not thatImind, but after our Sunday morning spent having brunch with the Bowmans, it is shockingly clear how much Luke does not like me. You rear-end a man’s truck once and suddenly you’re the bad guy. I thought that we had put it all behind us. Especially after the fiasco at Sunnyside Market, I thought things would be fine. Apparently not.
Caught up in Luke’s gaze, I find myself staring at him. The man is simply too good-looking. Even with his face set inperpetual scrutiny, I’m not afraid to admit—to myself, at least—that I like what I see. When I don’t make a further move to reach for the flyer, Luke bends to retrieve it himself. Instead of handing it back to me, he begins to study it.
Embarrassed, I stand to my feet and spin to face Clara, trying to ignore the heat in my cheeks. “Uh, no,” I reply. I awkwardly fold my arms across my chest. “Why would I?”
I try to sound nonchalant. Like I couldn’t care less about it. Like entering a photography contest is the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard in my life.
“Whywouldn’tyou? It’s harmless! If you win, great. If not, no biggie.”
Clara and I may have talked about photography, but we haven’t even touched the rift it created between me and my father. He was disappointed I didn’t choose it as my major in university, and that led to a lot of tension. Nothing about this contest would be harmless. I can’t get into all the reasons while Luke is here, though.
I glance at the floor, biting the inside of my cheek to hide my frustration. She doesn’t know that she’s dredging up old issues that were never afforded any closure.
Tugging the flyer from Luke’s hands, I declare, “I’m going to tape this on the front door. If that’s okay?”
Clara studies me. After a moment, she nods. “Sure,” she says. “And then why don’t you take your break? You deserve it.”
I don’t waste any time walking away. I tack the poster to the door, and then I push out into the clean air. I don’t even bother taking my apron off.
On the far end of Dockside’s outdoor patio,there is a set of stairs that lead down to Anchor’s Bay Beach. When I reach the bottom, I let the rocky sand shift beneath my feet as I leave the restaurant behind. Just for a little while.
Checking in.
Parker
We’re good.
Some of the tension knotting my shoulders is released at his response. Since our parents died, Parker and I have made it a point to keep in touch every few hours. You answer that text, no matter what. Today he is home watching Sophia. I hate putting that responsibility on him, but with starting this job so quickly, I haven’t had a chance to find other arrangements for her. But I will.
I spend my break relishing the sun and reinforcing the wall I’ve erected around my emotions. If they stay contained, they can’t hurt me.
But with each passing day, I feel like the past is quickly catching up to me.
CHAPTER
NINE
DELILAH
Sleep has been eludingme this week. I managed to secure a sitter for Sophia, someone Clara recommended, after my first shift at the restaurant. And everything else seems to be falling into place, but every time my head hits the pillow, my brain goes into overdrive.
When I close my eyes, my to-do list flashes behind my eyelids like a moving picture. And then when I try to distract myself from that, all I see is Luke. I feel like my mind is playing tricks on me. Very cruel tricks.
It’s utterly ridiculous, right? I should not be hung up on a man that doesn’t like me. It isn’t like he’s mean, but I can tell whenever he stops by Dockside while I’m on shift that he’s picking me apart with his gaze. I hate that.
My eyes are half-open when I blearily stumble down the hall from my bedroom. The house is quiet, the way it always is before Sophia and Parker wake up. I try to rise before them, to have a few uninterrupted moments to myself. Usually that involves making myself a cup of coffee.
I round the corner into the kitchen and head toward my saviour—the coffee maker. My brain is still clouded with sleep, so I don’t notice anything is wrong until I have to grab hold of the island when my feet come out from under me.
