Chapter Three
It was only a matter of time before I was forced to see Oz, but it’s still a punch in the gut when he walks into my sandwich shop. I’m busy slicing smoked ham for one of my regulars, so I hold up a finger to Oz and say, “I’ll be right with you. Feel free to take a seat.”
The handful of tables in the restaurant are full, so he takes a stool at the counter. I can feel his eyes on me as I construct the customer’s sandwich. Why couldn’t I have looked nice today? Word-of-mouth about the shop is spreading like wildfire, and I really need to consider hiring help. Not only is my hair stacked on top of my head in a sloppy bun, and the strands that have fallen from the bun are tied in knots, but I’m wearing my crocheted pickle pants that Luke made. They’re adorable and cozy and I love them—but they’re not the pants a girl wants to be wearing when the boy who broke her heart sees her again for the first time in over a decade.
Of course, he looks amazing. He’s wearing a green sweater that brings out the color of his eyes and dark jeans that showcase his height. He’s tall, lean, and gorgeous .
And I’m a mess.
I finish with the customer and take a moment to wipe down the counter, stalling. Finally, I take a deep breath, and walk over to Oz. “Hiya, stranger.” Ugh. That sounded phony, even to my own ears.
His face breaks into a wide smile. “It’s so great to see you, Lindy. I like what you’ve done with the place,” he says, gesturing to the sandwich shop. For a moment, I wonder if he’s just making fun of Luke’s kid sister , but the expression on his face seems genuine.
“Thanks,” I say, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
His eyes focus on the gesture. His grin stretches wider. “Do you tuck loose strands of hair now instead of tying them in knots.”
I grimace. “I still tie knots sometimes.”
He chuckles. “It’s good to know some things never change.”
And suddenly, I’m annoyed. We’ve been chatting for all of two minutes and he’s already focusing on my negative traits. I’m grateful when the bell over the door chimes a moment later, and a couple in their late forties or fifties enters. “I’ll be right with you,” I call. Then I turn back to Oz. “Know what you want?”
An expression crosses his face that I can’t read. Weariness? Sadness? Trepidation? Before I can figure out what it is, it’s gone. “Why don’t you go ahead and help them. I’m still considering the pickle options.”
I turn away from him, practically sprinting to help the other customers. Hopefully, they’ll want a big, complicated order, and I can avoid Oz for a bit longer. Better yet, maybe they’ll buy my entire inventory, and Oz will have no choice but to leave.
“Hi,” I say brightly. “How can I help you?”
The couple smiles at me. “We ordered a picnic lunch,” the woman says.
“You’re the Averys?”
They both nod. “That’s us,” says the man.
Smiling, I turn to pull the prepared picnic basket from the cooler. The picnic lunches were a brilliant idea. If I do say so myself . I purchased inexpensive baskets and jazzed them up with ribbon and fabric. They look high-end. Then I stuff them with sandwiches, treats, and a small jar of pickles—customer’s choice. The Averys requested garlic dill spears.
Unfortunately, the basket is already packed, and the Averys prepaid, so the transaction takes approximately thirty seconds. So much for avoiding Oz.
With a sigh, I return to his spot at the counter. “Have you decided what you want?”
He gestures to the Averys’ retreating backs. “The picnic lunch seemed awesome.”
My face lights up. “Oh, would you like a picnic lunch to go?”
He frowns slightly. “Actually, I was thinking that we could take one to go. It’d be nice to eat by the water and catch up. It’s been a long time.”
“I have customers,” I say quickly.
Oz smiles at me. “After you close, of course.”
“I still have the laundromat…”
“Oh. The sign says it’s self-service and open twenty-four hours. Surely, you’re not on the premises all the time?”
“Not all the time, no.”
“Just let me know when you’re free. My schedule is wide open right now.”
I bite my lip, considering. The last thing I want is to spend alone time with Oz, but what choice do I have? It’d be weird to blow him off. Not only do I have to see him at Luke and Charley’s wedding, but if he is moving back to Fog Harbor, we’ll be running into each other a lot. It’s a small town, after all. And we’re surrounded by water. There’s literally nowhere for me to run.
“Give me two hours,” I say.
“Done! I’ll come back to pick you up.” He stands to leave.
“Wait,” I call. “You haven’t told me what you want in the picnic basket.”
His face breaks into smile. “Just pick whatever your favorites are. I’m sure I’ll love them.”