Lucky Girl Summer (Down the Shore #2)

Chapter 1

ONE

“Give me a sign,” I groan, dropping my head to the steering wheel of my old clunker of a car. Instantly, the air conditioning cuts out.

I guess, in theory, that could be considered a sign.

My head tips to look at the drooping headlining on the roof, but my focus is directed beyond it toward whatever higher power is in control of my life. “I meant more regarding my career path, but thank you, I suppose.”

My stomach growls, reminding me I barely ate half of my lunch today. I need some kind of sustenance before I make huge, life-altering choices, and everyone knows nothing eases big decisions like a soft pretzel and a fountain soda from a convenience store.

With a sigh, I roll down my windows and leave the parking lot. After my snack, I’ll head home to make a pros and cons list to choose between taking the sure-thing job versus taking an entire year off.

Reason number one on the pro side: it’s a job that pays actual money and is in the field for which I went to school.

Unfortunately, the first con is that I secretly hate teaching.

The school board has decided to reduce the number of fifth-grade classes in our small town.

Since I was the most recent hire, I’m the first to go.

My boss was able to pull some strings and has found a position at a school district an hour away if I want it, but it would mean uprooting my entire life for a career I don’t even know if I enjoy anymore.

Alternatively, I could wait out the next school year until one of the other teachers retires, but that would mean being effectively unemployed for an entire year.

Either way, I will not be working at Seaside Point Elementary next year.

Even worse, I’ve been given barely any time to make my decision: Mrs. Jones needs an answer by tomorrow afternoon.

If I were presented with this choice one year ago, I would have instantly chosen the responsible, logical option: the guaranteed position, financial security, and the opportunity to continue teaching.

But over the last year, the job I spent my entire life believing was meant for me has begun to feel anything but.

Burnout has zapped every last ounce of joy from my days, leaving me exhausted and uninspired.

It’s why I’ve been weighing the scarier option of taking a hiatus and seeing what else I might want to do with my life.

The mere concept sends a dart of nervous optimism through me, though guilt and panic come rolling in almost immediately after. What on earth could I even do other than teach? It’s all I’ve ever known, and people in my life have given up a lot to make sure I could follow that dream.

But was it really ever your dream? a voice in my head asks, a voice that’s been getting louder and louder each day. My anxiety rises as I park, but I push it down, reminding myself of my plan.

Fountain soda, pretzel, home, then total meltdown.

I don’t bother to roll the windows up as I pull the key from the ignition and step outside.

This is Seaside Point in the off-season, and with my A/C out, I’d rather my car not get any stuffier.

As I enter the store, I wave at Connie, the cashier whose kids I used to babysit in high school, then head to the back.

There, I grab the largest cup on offer, fill it with ice, and soda.

Next, I carefully pick out my pretzel, choosing a double since carbs are a beloved coping mechanism of mine, before heading to the end of the surprisingly long line at the cash register.

It seems everyone needed a midday pick-me-up.

I’m forcing my mind to bask in these few moments of peace before I head home and failing miserably when a man steps behind me, arguing with someone on his phone.

“If you can’t meet those deadlines, I’m happy to find another contractor, Carl,” he says, and my interest is piqued.

Carl is my brother’s biggest business rival in town and a huge asshole.

“No, that wasn’t a threat; it was simply a statement.

” I widen my eyes at the tone, fighting back an entertained smirk.

“The work you’ve done is shoddy at best, as I pointed out on Thursday.

That has not been rectified as of this morning.

I have a month until we need to open, and you’re the number one thing holding me up.

” He pauses, and I try to sneak a glance at the man.

I’m a bit shocked when I don’t recognize him: Seaside Point is a very small town, and while it gets packed from late June to early September, outside of those times, it’s incredibly rare to see someone you don’t know.

He’s tall and severe-looking, dressed in a well-fitted, white button-down shirt with the first two buttons undone.

His hair is dark brown with a bit of a wave to it, combed back neatly, though a few pieces are unkempt in a way that tells me he’s been running his hand through it often.

There’s a thin layer of scruff on his face that’s a bit beyond five o’clock shadow, as if he purposely shaves it close, but not all the way.

He’s clearly good-looking, even if his cold eyes make him seem more like a robot than a human.

I bet if he smiled, he would be absolutely stunning.

He continues arguing with Carl, ending the call with a fierce threat: “If I don’t have a firm plan by tomorrow morning, I’m canceling our contract and moving on.

” He hangs up, grumbling to himself and furiously tapping at his phone.

For a moment, I contemplate minding my own business, but I’ve never been good at that.

Instead, I reach into my bag, pull out my wallet, and grab a card for Grant’s business.

“I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop.” I start, turning and offering the card to him.

“But I overheard your struggles dealing with Carl. If you’re looking for a new contractor, Taylor Contracting is the best in town.

Tell them June sent you, and they’ll fit you in right away.

” My eyes drift from his face to his hand, where he’s holding a hot cup of coffee and a protein bar.

He looks from me to my hand, and for a moment, I think he’s going to ignore me, but then he takes the card, inspecting it before sliding it into his wallet.

“Thank you,” he says with a hint of hesitation, and I smile.

“You’re not from here, I see.”

“No. Just here for work.”

“Well, Grant is the best. And if you are looking for the best coffee, you have to go to Seaside Coffee. They just got their seasonal coconut syrup back, and it’s the best thing ever.

She has food, too. Breakfast sandwiches, bagels, and pastries.

They run out quick, but the chocolate frosted donuts with the rainbow sprinkles could genuinely cure any ailment. ”

He stares at me for another long moment, as if unsure of what to do or say, before he nods again.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, then tips his chin toward the cashier. I turn to Connie, who is now waiting to ring me up.

“Sorry,” I say with a cringe, as always, putting my foot in my mouth by recommending the hot stranger shop elsewhere. She shakes her head and gives me a kind smile.

“No, that’s where I get my coffee, too.” She grabs my purchases, including the bag of candy I added on impulse, and starts to ring me up. As she does, my eyes drift down to where the scratch-off tickets sit below the counter.

As I take in the brightly colored rolls, bittersweet memories flood me.

Sunday mornings with my grandfather, waking up early to get bagels, then going next door to the small convenience store.

We’d separate once we walked in, and I’d pick out a strawberry milk for myself and an orange juice for Grant while Grandpa made himself a coffee.

He’d be waiting for me at the counter, the giant brown bag in hand filled with still-warm bagels, and he’d let me choose which scratch-offs he’d get.

With thirty dollars to spend, I’d carefully choose which ones intrigued me, themed ones for Mother’s Day or the holidays, a crossword puzzle, or some kind of tic-tac-toe.

Trust your gut, he’d tell me, it will never steer you wrong.

I would meticulously point out each one until we had a big stack.

When we got home, we’d have breakfast, then sit at the table and make a mess of silver flecks, scratching at the cards with pennies Grandma would hand Grandpa, Grant, and me.

Sometimes, we’d win big, a couple of hundred dollars that would make for a new toy or a fancy dinner, and sometimes they were all losers, but I always cherished those lazy mornings, believing in luck and chance.

I remember then, something else I had long forgotten—how Grandpa also used to make decisions with lottery tickets, saying his lucky stars were guiding him.

Some people use coins, ask friends, or make a pros-and-cons list, like I’m planning to, but not my grandfather.

He was a dreamer of the highest regard and believed the universe would always guide him where he needed to be.

I idolized that about him, the way he just trusted in things he couldn’t see.

He passed down that dreamer attitude to his daughter, my mom, and because of it, she was never around long enough to take on the responsibility of raising us.

Even though that mindset saddled him with two kids long past his prime, he never made it seem like a bad thing.

Instead, he always told me the universe was guiding me along, reminded me to trust in the process, and believe it would all work out in the end.

Maybe I should try putting this decision in the hands of the universe, let someone else decide for me. There’s an old overstock ticket from St. Patrick’s Day, lucky icons littering it, my grandpa’s favorite holiday for obvious reasons, and it feels like a sign.

A horseshoe, just like the one I keep in my entryway, facing up to catch any good luck that could possibly come my way.