Page 30 of The Edge of Summer
“If it was me...I would want to.”
Anxiety swirls in the pit of my stomach. I simultaneously want to get my hands on that letter while also wishing that I never knew it existed.
“Thank you for telling me,” I croak.
I relay my new address to Tanya and she promises to drop the letter in the mailbox later today. Then, after checking in with Parker and with Sophia’s sitter, I return to Dockside.
“Everything alright?” Clara asks. “You look a little like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I feel a little like it, too.
But I simply nod, tying my apron around my waist. “I’m alright. Just a little tired.”
I decide not to mention the letter that Tanya found. For some reason, I can’t bring myself to put words to whatever it is that I’m feeling, let alone admit it to Clara. So I shove it aside and pretend it doesn’t exist. That strategy has yet to fail me.
In order to put the letter out of my mind, I jump back into work. We get a surge of diners—a class full of grade eights from the mainland on their graduation trip to the island. Serving them keeps me busy and on my feet, effectively putting everything else out of my mind as I try to keep their orders straight.
All that concentration goes out the window when Luke walks in.
My mouth runs dry as I watch him nod to people in greeting. How dare he have the audacity to come into my place of work looking like that. How am I supposed to do myjob when the fire chief is posted at the bar wearing a button-up shirt that fits him so perfectly? It’s truly unfair.
The past couple Sundays, Luke has been absent from the Bowmans’ brunch. If I didn’t know any better, I would say that he was doing it to avoid me. If not for the fact that Gabe was also absent, I wouldn’t have known that the influx of tourists as summer progressed made the station busier than the month before. Still, whenever we are in the same room, he avoids making eye contact with me.
Maybe I wouldn’t notice so much if I wasn’t already looking at him.
It’s a habit I know I should break. It isn’t doing me any favours. But I can’t help feeling drawn to him.
“Delilah. Are you sure you’re okay?”
I jump, tearing my gaze away from Luke and pinning it on my boss. Clara’s expression is one of concern, wary eyes scrutinizing me. I shake off my distraction, forcing myself to focus on her instead.
“Sorry.” I offer her a sheepish grin. “What did you say?”
Clara rolls her eyes, though she still laughs. “I’m just going to take the garbage out. I’ll be right back.”
I nod, and she takes off through the door. This leaves me to turn my attention back to Luke. He is seated on a stool now, his forearms resting on the bar as his eyes scan his phone. I wait until he sets it aside to speak.
“You’re late,” I say.
His brow arches as amusement colours his features. This is the closest I’ve come to a laugh from him. “I wasn’t aware we had an appointment,” he replies. “Worried about me, Shutterbug?”
No, I think.Yes. Just a little.
Receiving the worst news of your life tends to condition you to be prepared for it to happen again, and the guy all but has a standing meeting with that barstool every day. Sue me for being concerned. It definitely doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that Imayenjoy seeing his stupid face while I work.
“I was just wondering who would play the role of Stoic Man Sitting On Stool if you weren’t here to fulfill your duties.”
He looks down, and IthinkI catch the barest hint of a smile. The asshole is trying to pretend that he doesn’t find me funny. If he wants to ignore it, thenfine. I wordlessly slide a glass of water—all he ever drinks is water—across the bartop. Then I input his usual lunch order into the computer.
His lips tip into a smirk. “Seems I’m not the only one beholden to routine.”
I refuse to be embarrassed that I know his usual order. Good waitresses know their regular customers, and even though Luke isn’t paying, that’s what he is. A customer. Never mind the fact that I don’t pay half as much attention to Dockside’s other diners as I do him.
“How come you’re all dressed up?” I ask instead, avoiding his supposition.
He sighs. “Another meeting with the mayor.”
I want to ask more, but I get distracted by the unpleasant smell that begins to waft through the air. Then Clara appears, looking worse for wear. The front of her once-pinkshirt is now soaked through and is some kind of suspicious brown colour.
