Chapter 19
They’re not paying attention. Not a single one and especially not Aaron Gibson, who’s been sneaking looks at his phone all morning. Asking him a direct question means a solid ten seconds of him staring at me before providing a wrong answer.
As I’m the most experienced member of the marina staff, training the three new summer hires is my responsibility.
Meaning it will reflect badly on me if any of them mess up.
I don’t care about many things, but one is this job.
Since I don’t have any plans, past working here ending, it’s pretty much all I care about at the moment.
“What did I just say?” I question.
All three jump, and Aaron nearly drops his phone.
One raises his hand tentatively. “Make sure fueling happens first?”
“Before fueling. A renter returns a boat, and you …”
Three blank looks.
I swear under my breath, then start explaining the process all over again.
By the time lunch rolls around, I’m exhausted.
I dismiss the guys for their allotted break and walk down to the very end of the main dock so I can stare at the water, unobstructed.
I judge most of the wealthy who store boats here, but I’m jealous of all of them.
I wish I owned one of these expensive boats so I could climb aboard and sail away. Nothing but sea and sky and peace.
“Rough morning?”
“They’re idiots,” I inform Gus, who’s stopped beside me. “All three of them.”
“They’re young.”
“Aaron is a year older than us,” I remind him. “All morning, they’ve been gossiping about a new waitress. Or on their phones. Or asking pointless questions.”
“I assume you’ve ruled out teaching as a future career path.”
“I’ve ruled out all career paths,” I remind him.
“No one our age has it figured out, Cap. Going to college isn’t any guarantee of a great future.”
“Yeah, I know.” My stomach rumbles. “Have you eaten lunch yet? I’m starving.”
“Uh … about that.”
I groan. “Do we have to wait until one for leftovers again? I’m going to tell Dusty that—”
“No, the kitchen is open. I went in there earlier to grab some coffee.”
“Great. Thanks for the life update. C’mon.” I turn to head for the ramp.
“Wait, Cap. Just … she’s here. Wren is the new waitress.”
I spin back around. “What?”
Gus shrugs. “I don’t know anything else. I just—I saw her when I grabbed coffee. Macie was training her.”
Nothing about what Gus is saying makes any sense. But he’s not a jokester. He wouldn’t make this up.
I huff an incredulous laugh. “Huh.”
I haven’t seen or spoken to Wren since she left my house last month. I figured that chances were I’d never see her again. And I wasn’t thrilled about that, but I accepted it.
Her parents are billionaires. What the fuck is she doing, working for minimum wage?
Gus is studying me cautiously, like I’m a volcano that could erupt at any moment.
I’ve flat-out refused to discuss Wren since New Year’s.
All I told him and Cammie about Wren’s prom night was that she “needed a place to crash.” Which also made little sense, but Gus was considerate enough not to push for more of an explanation, and Cammie was happy to never discuss it.
“Let’s go,” I say, continuing toward the ramp.
Gus trails behind me.
Wade is lounging at my favorite picnic table, the one with a clear view of the lighthouse, scrolling on his phone. Ricky switched to caddying at the country club this summer, which is part of why Dusty hired the three new idiots.
“Hey,” Wade says, glancing up as we approach. “Are you calling dibs on Wren Kensington, Cap, or is she fair game?”
Thank fuck for Gus because this would have been a hell of a way to find out she’s here.
“Kinda confused where that all landed,” Wade continues. “Cammie said she was at your house a few weeks ago?”
I ignore Wade and continue toward the main yacht club building, which contains the restaurant, taking the back stairs up to the second floor, where the kitchen is located.
Food for employees gets set out in chafing dishes in a far corner, away from most of the commotion in the main area.
White-clad staff is bustling around the prep stations, but I don’t see any waitresses.
I pick up a plate to serve myself lunch.
“Hey, Cap!”
I glance over my shoulder. Macie is approaching, a wide smile stretched across her face. She’s alone.
“Hey, Macie,” I reply. “How’s it going?”
“Good! Busy.”
I nod.
“How are the new guys working out?”
I grimace, and she laughs.
“Can’t relate. The new waitresses are awesome.”
“Oh, yeah?” My tone isn’t super casual, but Macie’s distracted, looking left.
“Wren! Over here.”
My stomach swoops. I’m—fuck. Why am I nervous? This is my town. My job. She thinks she can just show up here and—
“Cap, this is Wren. One of the new waitresses.”
Wren’s smile is polite, but her blue eyes are glinting with amusement.
I owe Gus (and Wade, I guess) big-time. If this were how I found out Wren was working here, I don’t think I’d be able to act this nonchalant.
I’ve seen waitresses wear the same uniform—white polo, navy skirt—for the past four years, and it’s never really struck me as a sexy outfit. Wren manages to make it one.
“What’s Cap short for?” she asks innocently.
I roll my eyes, uninterested in playing this game. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh.” Macie is glancing between us, forehead wrinkled with confusion. “You guys know each other?”
“Not really,” Wren replies.
I say, “Sort of,” simultaneously.
Then we stare at each other.
“Did your trust fund run out?”
“Still an asshole, I see.”
“Wren!” Wade enters the kitchen. “So good to see you.”
“You too, Wade,” Wren replies.
So, she finally remembered his name. I scoff under my breath, then turn back toward the food, attempting to tune out the chatter as Gus and then the new hires join in the conversation with the waitresses.
Forgetting Wren exists was a challenge when I wasn’t seeing her every day. I doubt constant exposure is going to improve my attempts.
Wren doesn’t appear surprised to find me leaning against the bumper of her convertible. She’s changed out of her waitressing uniform into a light-blue dress and pulled her hair out of its bun.
She hasn’t cut it.
“Need a ride?” she asks, spinning her key ring around one finger. “I owe you one.”
I straighten. “What are you doing?”
“Right now? Leaving work.”
“What are you doing, working here?”
She holds my gaze. “I stopped by last week and saw the restaurant was hiring. I thought it’d be fun to waitress.”
“Fun,” I repeat flatly.
“I’m here for the summer, so …”
“You’re here for the summer.”
“Stop repeating everything I say.”
“Start telling me the truth, Wren. This car”—I gesture toward her convertible—“cost more than the membership fee here. We both know you don’t need the money. Why aren’t you flying around on a private jet or doing whatever else you’ve done every other summer?”
She crosses her arms. “That’s what you think of me? That I’m a spoiled princess who doesn’t deign to fly commercial? My parents are rich, so I should never get a job?”
I hold her gaze. “You could have worked somewhere else.”
“What do you care where I work?”
“I don’t. I just—”
“Abby started today too. Are you stopping her next to check why she isn’t scooping ice cream or lifeguarding?”
I scowl.
Wren scowls back.
“You could have told me,” I say. “We saw each other a few weeks ago, and you didn’t mention …”
“I didn’t know what my plans were then. And”—her chin lifts—“I didn’t think we were on that sort of basis. Or did I misunderstand our last conversation here?”
She’s talking about New Year’s Eve. Would I have handled that differently if I’d known she’d be here all of this summer? Probably. I’m just not sure how. I’m never sure around Wren.
“Would be a real pain if I had to update every guy I’ve hooked up with about every little thing happening in my life,” she continues.
I fight another scowl. Of course there have been other guys since me. It’s fucking ridiculous that it bothers me. As Wren just pointed out, I was the one who ended whatever we were starting to become.
“You’re right,” I say, and her eyes momentarily widen with surprise. “Forget I said anything.”
Then I straighten and head for my truck.