by Lillie Vale
“There’s nothing going on,” I said quickly. “Chad wasn’t thinking straight when he kissed me. He just … lost his way for a second there.”
Levi frowned. “They’re back together now, though. It’s super not fair to you.”
He’d voiced what I’d been thinking. Gratitude rushed through me. I was both embarrassed and touched that he was on my side. Tears pricked at my eyes, so I quickly waved my hand at the picnic in front of us. “Thank you. I know I was the one who brought it up, but do you mind if we don’t talk about them?”
“Oh, yeah. Of course.” Levi reached for the picnic basket and pulled out a bouquet of bruised wildflowers. His smile was a little lopsided. Petals hung limply from stems like dangling threads from a shirt.
I took the bouquet, fighting back a grin as I recognized some of the flowers from my mom’s yard. “Thanks?”
“They weren’t supposed to look like that.”
Putting a daisy out of its misery, I snapped off the flower and tucked it behind my ear.
“The bottles dented them.” Levi’s lips twisted in a bit of a pout. He took a deep breath, as if realizing the agony of the dearly departed.
I liked that he cared enough to be upset about it. I reached out to touch his hand. My fingers slid down his, and as I passed the knuckles, I felt the friction of our touch. No sparks, just the soft understanding of two people who really got each other.
“I stole them,” he whispered, his voice breaking the stillness.
“You what?” My laugh came out in a whoosh.
“Nabbed them,” he confirmed, grinning. “From your mom’s front lawn. They were just there, a ton of them, under the mailbox with all the weeds. Actually, I think most of them might be weeds themselves.”
I laughed and took a sip of the chilled lemonade. “Yeah, some of them are.”
“I’ll get you proper flowers for the next date,” Levi announced.
Next date? I went tingly all over. He was already thinking about the next date. I flushed warm, mind whirring at his words. “Not necessary,” I said.
“The date or the flowers?” he countered.
I laughed. “The flowers.” The date I would take with open arms.
“Not a flower kind of girl?”
“It’s not that.” I ran my pinkie over a soft petal. “It’s just that … you don’t have to do all that. For me, flowers mean…” I trailed off. We attached so much ridiculous weight to romantic gestures, and flowers were a big one. I didn’t love change, but I’d already dipped my toe in the water with spending so much time with Levi. If I actually dated him—really dated him, flowers and all—then it would be like doing a cannonball into the sea. And the ripple effect was something I couldn’t foresee.
His voice was soft. “Flowers mean what?”
I wasn’t thinking. I just spoke, giving the words free rein to tumble out. “Something that means … I want to get to know you. I want you.”
Levi stared at me so long that I didn’t realize how much I’d admitted, how willingly I’d dipped into my thoughts.
“Or something like that,” I said lamely, trying to steer our conversation to safer waters.
Oh my God, why did I say all that?
I hadn’t been thinking about protecting my heart. In fact, in those few short words, I’d handed it over to him on a platter. Exhilaration sent moonbeams through my bones, carving through the fear in swaths. Instead of treading water, I’d tucked my knees and cannonballed in, consequences be damned.
“What makes you think I don’t want all that with you?”
I looked up. His voice, louder and deeper. His eyes, brighter and fiercer. The scrunch of his eyebrows. The tenseness of his mouth. My fierce, wonderful summer boy.
My heart thrilled. Unlike some of our banter before, this didn’t seem like an idle comment, did it? The way he said it … it was like he actually meant every word. I wanted to kiss him senseless under the starry skies and feel him shiver when I touched his spine. I wanted him to cup my chin, gently, and then lean in, slowly, and show me how much he wanted me, too.
Every bit of me was alive, thrumming for his touch. My heart yearned to kiss him, but my head reminded me to be careful. Levi Keller was a flower that I could pick and keep as my own, but the roots wouldn’t be mine. I’d only be uprooting something beautiful from its own habitat. At the end of summer, he’d go home, and I’d stay here. I was a perennial, an eternal summer girl year-round. Levi was as annual as they came.
So I didn’t kiss him then, even though I wanted to.
* * *
“Let me walk you home,” he said a little while later as I helped him pack away empty containers.
“You don’t have a bike and you’d have to walk all the way uphill in the dark,” I pointed out. My fingers tightened on the handlebars of my bike as I pulled it upright. “Don’t worry about it.”
Levi handed me my bouquet of squashed flowers. “Are you sure?”
I tucked the bouquet into the crook of my arm. Maybe it was a little old-fashioned, but I could picture a young Levi being coached by his father about being a gentleman. Never kissing a girl on the first date, pulling her chair out for her even if she didn’t expect him to, walking her to the door and waiting until she got inside before leaving. His Levi-ness was ingrained in him so true and so solid that I knew I would miss it once it wasn’t mine anymore.
“That’s really sweet of you, but I’m fine getting home alone,” I said. “Honestly, it’s out of your way and I’ve walked home by myself a million times.”
The sun tended to set a little after eight p.m., and that hour had come and gone. Now it was after ten. Only Lorcan was still around, serving late-night drinks to stragglers who loitered on the beach. He sent us a wave as he stamped out the fire and pulled his grate off for cleaning.
“Okay,” said Levi. “Sorry, I know it’s dumb. I just wanted to, I don’t know, end the night right?”
“It’s not dumb.” I smiled at him. “And we did end the night right.”
He slung an arm around my shoulder and pressed a kiss to my temple. “Yeah, I guess we did.”
“Hey,” I said as we turned to make the trek back into town, “we forgot to look for our sandcastle.”
Levi turned around, scanning the beach. With disappointment, he said, “Kids probably smashed it by now. Or the tide took it away.”
I shook my head. “Sandcastles are sacred in Oar’s Rest, Levi. It’s sacrilegious to destroy one.”
“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” said Levi.
We picked our way across the sand, arms bumping as I walked my bike next to me. “Yeah?” I asked.
“I saw something about the fiftieth anniversary of a sandcastle competition.” He ran his free hand through his hair. The picnic basket jogged against the back of my knee. “Would you want to … with me?”
“Do I want to build castles with you?” The butterfly flaps in my stomach beat faster. “I’d love to.”
His eyes pierced into mine, more golden now than they were before. He leaned in. For a moment, it looked like he was going to capture my lips, but then he kissed my cheek. “Good night, Babe. Thanks for a wonderful date.”
“Thank you,” I said in return, blushing. “Tonight was…” There was only one word for it. “Magical.”
We parted ways. In the lamplight, I watched him walk away. I felt so full—more full than I had felt in my entire life. Full of experiences and happiness and hope. I clung to it greedily. I wanted so much life, wanted to swell up and just fly away, a balloon adrift in the sky. Away and away and away.
Even though we’d left each other a few minutes ago, I wanted to see him again. I didn’t want to go to sleep, because part of me felt the memory of today would slip out of my tight hold. That was what had happened with Chad and Penny, after all. The two people who I thought would always be mine, without a shadow of a doubt. But now they were just ghosts of good times creaking around in my memory.
Levi wasn’t
a ghost. I didn’t want him to be.
I wanted this summer to last forever.
twelve
The weekend passed in the numbing monotony of lighthouse tours, shifts at Busy’s, and the never-ending cycle of baking, cleaning, eating. Rinse and repeat. I perfected Nutella cookies, thin and brittle like gingersnaps, and buttery Earl Grey shortbread cookies.
I sank my teeth into a shortbread cookie that wasn’t perfectly round. The sweet, smoky notes of tea blended with the crushed vanilla beans I’d sprinkled into the cookie batter. The flavor was incredible—like sweet, crumbly autumn goodness. Like fragrant, floral tea and crisp breaths in brisk air. Like fingertips warmed by hot cocoa and enormous woolly sweaters wrapped around me.
My famous cinnamon waffle cookies completed the trio, brushed on top with a maple glaze and a dusting of brown sugar. On several trays, I arranged dozens of each cookie, layering them to maximize space. I stretched plastic wrap over the top and bunched it up at the bottom, pressing it flat.
I stacked the trays in the basket of my bicycle and pedaled to Busy’s to get ready for the fish fry.
Inside, Lucy was slicing vegetables, a table fan aimed straight at her. “Hey,” she said, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, yawning. “That for the fish fry?”
“Yup. I’m just gonna put this away.” In a mock-whisper, I added, “Before people start gobbling them up.”
“Good idea,” Lucy deadpanned. “But leave a few out for us; getting ready for the fish fry is hungry work.”
Every year, after the Fourth of July, Oar’s Rest threw a huge feast for everyone in the town, locals and tourists alike. For the local businesses, it was something of a tradition to drag their seating outdoors, share grills, and dish up plate after plate of mouthwatering food.
Tom was on coffee duty, refilling French press after French press to make our signature iced coffee, while Lucy and I tackled the panini press. We sliced loaves, caramelized onions, and prepared the meat, cheese, and vegetables.
“Here, slide in a few extra of these,” I said, handing sizzling bacon to Lucy. It wouldn’t be an onion-bacon-Gouda without the perfect ratio of bacon to cheese.
While she finished up the BLTs with avocado and fried egg, I whipped up a plate of caprese paninis.
“I’ll start cutting those up for samples,” said Tom, peering over our shoulders. “After I get started on the whoopie pies and poutine.”
“You outdid yourself this year, Babe.” Lucy grinned. “Salted buttercream, Nutella, and vanilla cream cheese fillings? How did you find the time to make three kinds of pies?”
“Everyone makes whoopies. Figured we should do something to stand out a little,” I said.
The three of us pitched in without mentioning Ariel. She hadn’t come to work in so long that I figured she’d realized it wasn’t working out. Rather than let it drag out, I sent her a text to come and collect her wages.
Later, laughing at one of Lucy’s jokes, I felt rather than heard the door open. A gust of hot air hit the backs of my legs. “Levi,” I said, surprised to see him so early. “What are you doing here? The fish fry won’t start for another hour.”
Levi grinned, the indent of a dimple faint in his left cheek. “And the valiant prince showed up to save the princess, and she looked him up and down with disdain, and could only utter: ‘What are you doing here?’”
“Damn straight.” I smirked at him. “The princess saved herself by the time the prince finally showed up.”
“Oh, did she?” One eyebrow rose. “I guess you won’t be needing me, then.” He turned as if to leave, cheeky grin still tugging at the corners of his mouth.
His playfulness was too cute to ignore, so I gave in. I grabbed his sleeve. “So, brave knight, are you really here to save me?”
“Depends.” His eyes twinkled. “Can I have a cookie?”
At my nod, he moved forward, hand snaking behind me to take a waffle cookie. His sharp jaw came close to my neck as he bent his head; his angles and lines invaded my personal space until all I could smell was him.
I ached to kiss him. I inhaled as he drew away, popping the cookie in his mouth.
“This is really good,” he said. “Now, how can I help?”
* * *
“Let me give you a hand,” said Levi, already moving to help Tom with the crate of water and iced tea. Lucy held the door open for Tom and Ralph, who filed out with platters of steaming food.
The three men put the cookie and sandwich platters on the tables that stretched through Main Street. Each platter looked even more delectable than the last.
Lorcan’s tables were next to ours. He’d placed grilled tilapia and catfish on an enormous bed of parsley rice. The smokiness of the fish made my mouth water. The next platter held snow crabs dripping in a garlic butter sauce, ears of grilled corn lightly coated with a lime salt and paprika seasoning, and yellow baby potatoes. The last platter held a variety of skewers: grilled pineapple and honey-ginger scallops, tricolored bell peppers, and charred red onion and shrimp.
The food was the piper’s song, luring townspeople and tourists alike to the party. Within minutes, people crowded around our tables, jostling elbows as they placed orders and handed over cash.
Local businesses had taken over the entire length of Main Street, the seating spilling into side streets. Gingham tablecloths fluttered in the summer breeze, homemade signs and streamers billowing overhead in a riot of colors.
The park, usually full of squalling children and dogs, had now been transformed into an adults-only beer garden. Tables were loaded down with burgers, lagers, and wines. People milled around, waiting for spare seats, but the shared picnic tables weren’t having a quick turnover. Nearby, the historical society volunteers were setting up the gazebo for live music, and some local bluegrass legends were plucking away at their mandolins and banjos. Bunting was strung up on streetlights and storefronts, coastal blue and white flapping in the breeze.
A huddle of children was grouped in front of the toy store, where the owner and his wife were giving away free balloon animals. Next door, the bookstore had placed huge signs in the window advertising a fifty-percent-off sale on the books of local authors.
“Can’t believe we’re still not old enough for the beer garden,” said Lucy. She eyed the park enviously. It had been roped off with plenty of signs that said 21+ ONLY. “Another two years until we won’t get carded.”
“It’s two for Babe, three for you,” said Tom, wincing as he straightened his back. “Ladies, I need to sit myself down. Might head on over to the park for a bit.” He clapped Ralph on the shoulder.
“Beer sounds good,” said Ralph, and the two of them moved off.
While Lucy took over the flurry of customers, Levi and I headed inside to pull the French presses out of the fridge. “These are pretty heavy,” he said, hefting two in his arms as I began mixing drinks at the counter.
We were able to thin the crowd in the street by rerouting them indoors to pick up their coffees before sending them on their way. By lunchtime, all the coffee ran out, and Tom and Ralph were back to take over our stall.
Lucy’s mom accompanied them, and even though she wasn’t dressed for handling food, she rolled up her sleeves, donned a spare apron, and got to work taking orders inside Busy’s. “Hi, Babe,” she said cheerfully. “Ran into these two codgers at the garden and thought I’d give you a hand.”
“We definitely won’t turn down the help,” I said with a smile, turning away to help another customer. “Thanks, Mrs. Bishop.”
As I packed cookies into a to-go box, the woman I was serving asked, “Do you have a website?”
“For Busy’s? No, sorry, not yet. We’re working on it, though! Hope to have it up soon.”
She tucked her black hair behind her ear. “My husband and I were here last year and we just loved your food. In winter, we thought about your shortbread tea cookies quite a bit. I tried re-creating them, but I never get the perfect balance of tea.” She laug
hed. “Have you ever thought about taking online orders?”
I knew Busy’s had great reviews on TripAdvisor, in no small part because of my baking, but I knew I wanted to talk to Tom before making a business decision like that. Right now, it felt a little wrong to commercialize my baked goods; Tom’s cozy, homey coffee shop was where they—we—belonged. “I have,” I said, lips quirking up in a smile. “I’d love to do something like that one day, but my grandma once told me not to dance faster than the music.”
The woman smiled and accepted the bag I slid across the counter. “Sounds like a smart woman,” she said, setting down a crisp bill. “Keep the change. Hope to see you again next year!”
Business kept rolling steadily for two hours, and by the time it slowed enough that we could take a break, we were bone-tired. With hugs all around, Lucy’s mom left Busy’s to join her husband at the gazebo. I glanced over what remained of the food—we were almost sold out of everything.
“I’ve never been so tired in my whole life,” Lucy moaned as she stood up from her chair. She’d said that last year, too.
Even from here we could hear the twangs of the banjo and the boisterous cheers of the crowd as the town outside geared up for the fireworks display.
“You kids get a move on,” said Tom. “We’ve worked hard today, and you should enjoy the rest of the fish fry. Ralph and I can handle things here. Just put the money in the cash register, would you?”
“Sure thing, boss.” I took the bills from the cash box and headed into the cool, air-conditioned coffee shop to tuck them into the register.
When I came out, Levi and Lucy were helping Lorcan with his stall. My gaze traveled down the street for a minute, enjoying the hustle of activity. I froze when I saw Elodie in my line of sight. She was watching me. Her hand half rose, then fluttered down to her side. For a moment, I almost wanted to wave back, just to show there were no hard feelings. But then a flash of irritation went through me. Why? Why should I be the one to ease the way? It was always me. Same old Elodie. She couldn’t talk to me in public, now she couldn’t even wave? I was tired of being the understanding one. So I breezed past the crowd and headed to our stall instead.
