Chapter 8 Playlist Criminally Overlooked Tracks
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING here?” I blurt out.
Gregory looks different under the fluorescent lights.
He’s still lanky, and somehow looks taller standing there by himself, the way a lone tree seems bigger than one surrounded by its friends in a forest. I was right that night—his eyes are brown, and his short hair looks exactly the same.
Read: disorganized and messy. But I catch a few things that weren’t as noticeable in the darkness of the party that night.
A smattering of freckles dots his nose, and faint shadows arc beneath his eyes.
A thin silver necklace circles his neck and tunnels beneath the gray T-shirt he’s wearing under his vest.
His grin is lazy, but something sparks in his gaze.
He takes something white from one of his ears—an earbud—and tucks it into his pocket.
“Well, after you ditched me at that going-away party, they did make me walk into the ocean. But I swam to Nova Scotia and turned around, so now I’m back. I think I passed the test.”
“It wasn’t a going-away party.”
He shrugs, tossing an orange between his hands. “Seemed like it.”
“Well, it wasn’t.”
“Do we not like the girl who left?”
My spine straightens in irritation. He’s poking the bruise I came here to get away from. “First, there’s no ‘we.’ Second, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Clearly,” he says lightly, and I’m not sure if he’s referring to the two of us not being a we or the fact that he’s ill-informed.
Is he really the one all the girls in town are allegedly crushing on? He’s cute, sure, but not Myles caliber. It must just be the novelty of someone new in a town where everyone knows everyone else. I wonder if he knows. I’m not going to be the one to tell him—he’s a bit too confident already.
He sets the orange haphazardly in the display bin, and I frown. “You’re doing that wrong.”
“What?”
“The oranges, my guy,” I say. Why does this kid always seem to be around when I’m in a mood? He probably thinks I’m a total bitch, but it doesn’t seem to have fazed him yet. “That’s not how we stack them here.”
His brows lift. “Wow. I didn’t realize I was talking to the Orange Police.”
I walk up to him and take the orange he’s holding out of his hand.
He grins down at me, but I ignore it. “They should be in straight rows, angled into a tight pyramid.” I start rearranging the section in front of me to show him.
“It’s neater, and people are more likely to buy produce that’s visually appealing. That includes how it’s displayed.”
He hums thoughtfully and mimics my design. “How do you know so much about this?”
I think about how to answer that, and consider evading the question like I did the night we met.
But if he’s working here, he’s obviously gonna be around for a while, either having moved here or at least committed for the entire summer.
My dad only considers short-term hires if they’ll be in town through Labor Day. “My dad’s your boss.”
“Ah,” he says, a tiny hint of surprise in his tone. “So you’re the daughter who doesn’t work here anymore, and whose summer shifts Mr. Madden needed to fill. Now I know your last name, at least.”
I sigh and give in. “I’m Amelia.”
He points to himself. “Gregory.”
I roll my eyes and laugh. “I know.”
“You mean you remembered.”
Man, this guy is cocky. “When you’ve lived in the same small town your whole life, the outsiders tend to stand out.”
He runs a hand across his hair. “How long does it take for one to go from outsider to insider, would you say?”
“Depends on how long you’re planning to stay.”
“I can’t tell if you’re trying to get rid of me or if you’re worried you’ll miss me if I leave.”
“Definitely the first one.”
He laughs. “I hate to break it to you, but I think we’re here for a while. The whole summer, at least.”
“We?”
“Well, yeah. I don’t think any of the apartment complexes in town would rent a sixteen-year-old his own place.”
“Where’d you come from?”
“Arizona.”
“Wow, that’s… different. What’s it like there?” I haven’t traveled much, but when you live in a place as beautiful as Kingfisher Cove—somewhere other people spend their hard-earned money to visit—it doesn’t feel necessary.
“Hot and dry.”
“Hmm. Could be better for my hair,” I say. The summer humidity near the ocean is my one complaint because it brings out the frizz in my naturally wavy hair.
Gregory’s gaze lands on me and sticks for a long moment. My heart catches, and I quickly tell it to stop being stupid. “What color is that, anyway?” he asks.
“Um, brown?”
He shakes his head, eyes tracking down to my shoulders almost like he wants to reach out and wrap a few strands around his finger.
“Nah, I think I see some red in there.” I just stand there frozen, unsure how to respond to this boy studying the colors in my hair.
But then he says, “That’s probably why you’re so feisty. ”
“Don’t stereotype me,” I admonish.
“Where’s the lie?” he asks.
Seriously, who is this guy? Why is he here? “So did one of your parents get a new job or something?”
He pauses for a second, then reaches into the box for a new orange. His hands are so big, he grabs two in one go. “I think my mom just wanted a change of scenery.”
“What about your dad?”
His expression shutters. Should I not have said that? I shouldn’t have assumed he had a mom and a dad. Maybe he has two moms. Come on, Amelia.
“My dad’s dead.”
My lungs tighten in a regretful exhale. “Oh God.” I wish the linoleum would open up and swallow me whole. “I—I’m sorry.”
He rubs at his neck, and his thumb rolls across the necklace circling his collar. “Yeah, thanks.” He clears his throat and says, “So since your dad’s the boss and you used to work here, you must know all the other tips and tricks. Care to help out the new guy?”
I pivot with him away from the subject of his father and pointedly look at the bright display we’re building. “What do you think I’m doing right now? My dad would have made you redo the shoddy workmanship I walked up to, that’s for sure.”
He puts his hand to his chest. “And I’m grateful you turned me onto the right path. What else have you got?”
I stop stacking and think, tapping my chin.
Do I like him enough to tell him how to get chips out of the break room vending machine without putting money in, or that if you ask baker Sandy about her grandkids, she’ll slip you free cookies?
“Don’t be late. My dad can’t stand tardiness.
If you’re the type that likes extra shifts, Gia’s always willing to give some up.
And avoid getting assigned to checkout lane three at all costs. The register’s glitchy.”
He nods, brows rising more with each tip as if he didn’t actually expect me to help him out. “Be on time. Make friends with Gia. No lane three. Got it.”
We fall quiet and work side by side for a few minutes in silence, which feels oddly comfortable.
We both go for an orange at the same time, and his forearm brushes mine.
His eyes cut to my face, and that look plus the warm, smooth feeling of his skin flusters me.
I scoot to the other side of the display to finish up.
We’re getting to the bottom of the box, and I should probably go find my dad soon. I came to distract myself with inventory, not talk to the new guy in town.
But instead of walking away, I zone in on the single earbud still tucked into his opposite ear. “What are you listening to?”
A delighted smile spreads across his face, and it catches me completely off guard. Maybe because it’s so open and real, like he’s handing over the keys to something important because he’s already decided he trusts me. “Evergreen.”
“Never heard of them.” This bothers me, a lot. I’m usually the one introducing everyone else to underrated artists.
“Think, like,… X Ambassadors but stripped down.”
I shrug as if he’s not speaking directly to my soul right now. He may have decided he trusts me, but I’m not yet convinced I should reciprocate.
“The first time I heard their song ‘Black Ice,’ it felt like I’d had the wind knocked out of me.”
God, I’m addicted to that feeling. But I just say, “That’s weird,” because he makes me want to be contrary.
He cocks his head. “Not into music?”
I just shrug—a nonanswer.
He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll make you a playlist.” He says it like it’s some grand honor he’s bestowing on me.
I shake his hand off. That’s my thing. I make playlists.
“No thanks.”
Gregory digs the second earbud out of his pocket. “We’ll see.” He winks and puts it back in.
I have the urge to swipe my arm through the display of oranges and make him start over, but I don’t. Instead I turn on my heel and walk away.
“Wait,” he calls out. I turn back around, and he’s walking toward me, my phone in his hand.
Oh. I left it on the cart.
My thumb hits the screen as I take it, and it lights up.
Gregory glances at it and frowns. He pulls that same earbud out again. “Hey, isn’t that the girl who moved away?”
I stare at the photo for a long moment. I don’t look at him when I finally say, “Yeah, that’s Kat. She’s my best friend.”
I find my dad in his office, papers spread across his desk and an angry-looking Excel spreadsheet on the computer screen.
He’s wearing his daily uniform: a navy-blue Triton polo, khakis, and a pair of brown Cole Haan oxfords I picked out for him last year.
His brown hair is turning silver around his temples, which he’s currently rubbing with his fingers.
“Hi, Dad.”
He slips his wire-rimmed glasses back on and looks up with tired eyes. He hates inventory. “Hey, kiddo.”
I walk over and give him a hug. “Some guy was stacking the fruit wrong,” I say. “But don’t worry, I set him straight.”
Dad’s brows pop up. “Met Gregory, did you?”
“Yeah.”
“Seems like a nice guy. A little quiet, but he’s catching on quick.”
“I didn’t know you were hiring for the summer,” I say, which is kind of silly. It’s not like he typically runs his business decisions by me.
“Truth be told, I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to keep the place open when you told me you wouldn’t be around this summer,” he teases. “Thought I might have to shut down completely.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, and he grins. “Want some help?”
“I won’t say no to that.” He puts me to work in canned goods, which I usually hate but don’t argue with because it’s far away from Gregory.
I rest my clipboard across one forearm as I make my way through soup and move on to vegetables, selecting random items to count and record so my dad can check it against his automated system.
I check my phone a couple of times as I work.
Nothing.
I take a break around five. I’m not looking for Gregory as I head toward the back door, but if I happen to come across him on my way out… well, he’d probably need correcting on something anyway.
There’s a quiet corner between the grocery store and the adjacent doughnut shop, far enough from the dumpsters and loading dock that it serves as an outside break area of sorts.
The store backs up to a line of trees, which in the winter is a dreary and brown backdrop.
But this time of year it’s bursting with lush green foliage.
There are two picnic tables and a couple of pallets on the concrete, piled with cardboard boxes broken down and ready to be hauled off for recycling. A security light mounted on the side of the building keeps the space lit up, so even when it gets dark, it doesn’t feel creepy.
Usually, anyway. I’m about to sit down when a rustling sound from my left catches me off guard.
I freeze and quickly glance around. I don’t see anyone else, and I remain still, listening.
I hear it again, coming from a small, shallow alcove near the doughnut shop’s back entrance, accompanied by a soft mewl.
The sun’s hitting the building at just the right angle that a long shadow stretches along that edge.
It sounds like an animal, and I relax a little.
This is exactly where Kat and I found Margarine all those years ago.
I swear it’s not, like, full of rotting food or anything else that would attract animals, but there’s a big field nearby, and it does seem like a safe spot where a homeless pet could take refuge.
I creep in that direction, slow and steady. Something brushes my leg, and I yelp as my heart launches into my throat. A black cat jolts back with an arch of its back.
“Oh,” I sigh in relief. “You scared me.”
I kneel and reach my hand out in apology.
Yellow eyes stare at me for a few seconds.
“I won’t hurt you,” I say softly, and it finally steps forward to gingerly sniff my fingers.
I don’t move at first, allowing the cat to inspect me, but when it digs its head into my palm in a blatant request for scratches, I chuckle and oblige. “You’re a sweet thing, huh?”
I run my hand down its back and curve a finger around its tail.
I take a peek—I think it’s a girl. She’s small and thin, but not in too bad shape.
Her purrs vibrate against my skin, and I love on her for another few minutes, then sneak back inside for a can of cat food (that I’ll definitely pay for tomorrow) and two plastic containers from the break room, one of which I fill with water.
I set her little buffet up against the brick, and she digs in.
I’m about to leave her to eat in peace when another shadow moves in the alcove. A second cat, this one scruffier-looking and gray, appears. It sniffs at the food, whiskers twitching, but stops several feet away.
“Aw, are you hungry too?” I beckon this one the same way I did before, but the gray cat hisses and scurries a few feet away.
I straighten and scoot back a step. “It’s okay,” I say softly.
“I don’t have to stay if I make you nervous.
If the little piggy over here doesn’t leave anything for you, I’ll stop by tomorrow with more. ”
I keep an eye on them as I head back to the picnic table and grab my things. The gray cat doesn’t come out, and I return inside. I check on my dad, and since he’s just finishing up, I hang out for a few minutes so we can put the bike on the back of his Jeep and I can ride home with him.
My parents and I eat pizza together, then watch a movie. Mom and Dad turn in around nine, and I go to my room and settle in bed with my laptop, ready to dig around Spotify for undiscovered music.
My phone buzzes from my bedside table, and I reach for it, wondering if Kat has finally remembered I exist. It’s not her, though, and I frown at the number I don’t recognize.
774-555-0135: hey kat, it’s myles. I saw amelia at work yesterday and was just thinking about how you two were always together. how’s new york?