Chapter Ten
Aunt Beth is home sick and the diner is unusually quiet this morning. Everyone in town is getting ready for the big Fourth of July festival later. Graham has been talking about it nonstop for the last week. He’s very excited to show me his favorite part of summer in Driftbay.
As usual, Judith comes in for a treat and her morning visit.
I take Beth’s place, filling a glass of ice water and bringing her a piece of cake.
Today’s special is angel food cake, decorated to look like the American flag with whipped cream, blueberries, and strawberries.
Judith is delighted as I set it down in front of her and take a seat across from her in the booth.
“Morning, dearie,” she says.
“Good morning, Judith,” I say as I fidget in the seat to get comfortable.
“Are you going to the festival later?” she asks.
I nod. “Graham seems pretty excited to show me around. Are you going?”
“I used to,” she says wistfully. “I’m too old now.”
“You’re never too old for some fun,” I say. “You could go with me and Graham.”
“Oh, I have my fun,” she says, shaking her head, “don’t you worry about that. Besides, I don’t want to intrude.” She takes a bite of her cake and looks at me. “This is delicious, dearie.”
I beam. “Thank you.” I feel a rush of blood flush my cheeks. I never take compliments well.
“I used to take my son, when he was little,” she says. “But he’s grown now and moved away. I don’t see him often.” She frowns as she picks up another bite of cake.
“He didn’t want to stay in Driftbay?”
“Oh, heavens no. He hated it here. He wanted to move to a city. Somewhere with more life, he always said.”
It’s my turn to frown now. “They’re not all they’re cracked up to be,” I mutter, thinking of Seattle.
“He’s a senior VP at some company. I’m still not exactly sure what he does.” Judith waves her hand in the air. “I just know he stays busy. Sometimes too busy even for his mother.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She smiles. “That’s partly why I’m so sweet on that aunt of yours. She always makes time for me.”
“She’s very fond of you.”
“Any word on her and Charlie?” she asks, cutting straight to the point.
“Not that I’ve heard,” I laugh.
She shakes her head and mutters under her breath, “That woman.”
“Give her time,” I say. “I”m sure she will eventually.” I’m not sure why she is so adamant about Beth and Charlie getting together.
We nearly have to shoo Judith from the restaurant in order to close on time. Raquel, Graham, and I finish our duties and lock up before we’re free for the afternoon’s festivities.
I send Beth a quick text to check in on her and let her know that everything went well at the diner.
After a quick change of clothes, Graham and I walk toward the center of town. Raquel disappeared right after we closed, but said she would meet up with us later.
He wasn’t kidding when he said the entire town shuts down for this.
We arrive in the town square slightly sweaty from our walk in the blistering sun.
Everywhere I look has been transformed into something out of a Hallmark movie.
There’s a section blocked off for vendors; it’s full of local artists and their beautiful creations.
It’s heartwarming to see Driftbay come together to celebrate its citizens.
Graham leads the way as we walk through the crowd that’s slowly forming.
He’s heading in the direction of the food trucks and I follow after him.
I play with my necklace as we walk. It’s comforting to be able to wear it again now that I have a new chain for it; a gift from Ireland.
I keep waiting for him to hold my hand, but he doesn’t. He seems too nervous.
He slows to a stop as we approach a line for a neon green food truck, The Picklenator, and I look up at the sign. It advertises dill pickle pizza, among other pickle pleasantries, and Graham laughs as he sees my face.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, nodding his head in the direction of the sign.
I pause for a moment before I say, “Yes.”
We wait in line for about fifteen minutes before we reach the front.
The sun has reached its peak, and the heat beats down on us ruthlessly.
I know I’ll have a sunburn tomorrow. I take a deep breath in, catching whiffs of an assortment of fragrances.
The twang of the dill pickles, the pizza crusts baking, as well as the faint sweetness of kettle corn and cotton candy fill my nostrils.
Graham steps up to the window to order and I listen as he orders for us — two slices of dill pickle pizza and two lemon shake ups. We wait for our food for only a few minutes before it’s served.
He leads me over to the row of picnic tables across the town square and sits down at one. I join him, sitting down across from him.
“I have waited all year for this,” he says as he picks up the piece of pizza. “It was my favorite last year.”
I resist taking my first bite so that I can watch him take his. His teeth close around the gooey, cheesy, greasy slice and he closes his eyes.
“Just as good as I remember,” he says after he finishes another bite. He grabs a napkin from the dispenser on the table and wipes at his mouth. I’m not a huge fan of pickles, but his excitement is infectious.
I pick up my piece and take a bite. To my surprise, the combination of flavors work well together and it’s actually quite good.
“I like it,” I say, as Graham beams and hands me a napkin.
“See? Told you to trust me,” he says, shoving another bite into his mouth.
We eat in silence for the next couple of moments, the sound of whirling rides and children laughing ringing in our ears.
“I asked Judith if she wanted to join us this afternoon,”I say, tearing off a piece of my crust and popping it into my mouth.
“Oh?” Graham asks.
I nod as I shuffle on the bench. “She mentioned how she used to bring her son when he was younger and I thought it would be nice.”
He nods. “Is she coming?”
I shake my head. “No, said she didn’t want to intrude.”
“She probably thought this was a date.” He takes another bite of his pizza.
“Well,” I say, “it kind of is, isn’t it?” I ask, feeling brave. I reach for my lemon shake up and take a sip.
“Do you want it to be a date?”
“Do you?”
“I asked you first,” he retorts.
“Maybe.” I smile.
“Well, then.” Graham leans across the table. “How about this? When I ask you on a date, you’ll know.”
“So, it’s a matter of ‘when’ and not ‘if’?” I ask.
“Exactly.” He smiles as he tears into his pizza again.
I ponder his words as I eat another bite, letting the salty cheese melt in my mouth.
We finish eating and gather our trash, hastily getting out of the way of the growing crowd. Graham reaches for me, holding his hand out.
“Come on,” he says. “There’s something I want to show you.”
I slip my hand into his and my breath catches in my throat at the contact. Our fingers lace together perfectly, as if we had done this a million times.
He leads me away from the food trucks and toward the vendor fair. We walk along at a slow pace, taking in the sights of homemade jewelry, painted canvases, handmade pottery, and so much more. The sweltering sun fades away as I walk with him.
We stop at a vendor booth where a woman with Graham’s easy smile is selling homemade canned salsa.
“Mom,” he says, motioning at me, “this is my good friend, Thea. Thea, this is my mother, Michele.”
I smile as I extend a hand to her. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Gordon.”
“Oh, please, call me Michele. Mrs. Gordon reminds me of my ex-husband.”
I freeze for a moment, thinking of the day in the kitchen when Graham recounted the tale of his parents’ divorce.
Michele laughs, a smile spreading across her face. Her kind, dark brown eyes sparkle as she chuckles. “It’s fine,” she says as she runs a hand through her spiky dark brown hair. It reminds me of Beth’s, but shorter and with less gray around the face.
“Graham has told me so much about you,” she says, putting her hand on her hip. “I think he might even be a little sweet on you.”
“Mom,” Graham says under his breath, a touch embarrassed. His cheeks start to turn pink. He grabs my arm and pulls me closer to him. “We’re leaving now.”
Michele chuckles as Graham pulls me away from her salsa stand and we continue walking.
“Sorry about that,” he says after he lets go of me. He wrings his hands together nervously.
“So,” I say. “Not a date, but I just met your mom?” A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.
“Again,” he says, “when it’s a date, you’ll know.” We walk out of the vendor fair and Graham steers us toward the carnival. The sun blazes down on us as we come to a stop at the cornhole station.
“Want to play?” he asks as he stops. “I’m a master at cornhole, if I do say so myself.”
I laugh. “Sure.”
Graham steps up to the boards and starts grabbing the bean bags from the ground. He hands me the yellow set while he takes the green, and walks over to his board. I take a step up to mine and get into place. I let him throw first, since he is the master, after all.
He tosses his first bean bag and it makes a loud thud as it lands on the board and slides through the hole. He cheers, pumping his fist in the air, and I laugh before tossing mine out. It falls short of the board, skidding across the grass.
“Told you,” I say, “no athletic ability.”
Graham focuses on tossing his next bean bag, another winner that sinks through the hole in the board. He comes over to me and stands behind me, and reaches for my throwing arm.
“Here,” he says, lightly gripping my arm. We move in tandem as he gently pulls my arm back. The contact makes my skin tingle.
“Just…like…this.” He guides me through the motion of throwing the bean bag and we watch as it slides through the hole in my board.
“See?” Graham asks. “Not too bad.”
“Thanks,” I say. I meet his eyes and for a moment, I think that now he’s going to kiss me.
My concentration is broken when something behind him shifts and comes into focus. I freeze, the smile fading from my face.
“What?” he asks, turning to follow my gaze.
“Is that Jake?” I whisper.