Chapter 3
THREE
ELEVEN YEARS AGO
Josie
I can’t believe I’m late to my first day at my new job.
I should’ve checked my bike tires last night, but I got distracted pressing my server’s uniform.
Of course, when I went out to the shed this morning, one of the tires was flat.
Now my uniform is sweaty and wrinkled from frantically pumping air and then pedaling as fast as I could to the Harbor Sailing Club.
I toss my bike next to the rack at the far end of the parking lot, not even bothering to lock it up.
With all the Audis and Mercedes taking up space on the pavement, nobody is going to spare a glance at my five-year-old Trek bicycle.
A quick check of my phone tells me I have exactly one minute to get inside on time, so I sprint across the lot toward the employee entrance in the back of the building.
I’m almost there with thirty seconds to spare when the door of one of those cars swings open in my path, and a tall, dark-haired guy climbs out.
My brain registers his presence before my body can catch up, and all I can do is brace for impact before I careen into him.
“Whoa,” he mutters as I slam directly into his chest. His hands automatically circle my waist, steadying me.
I scramble backward with a gasp. “I am so sorry.” I feel my face turning bright red, and adrenaline shoots through me.
In light of mowing down paying guests in the parking lot, being late now seems like the least of my problems. I try to salvage this in the hopes that he won’t go inside and report me.
“It was all my fault, I wasn’t looking.”
I glance up, expecting the lined, angry face of a middle-aged club member, but instead I find high cheekbones, thick wavy hair, and full lips slanted into an amused half-smile. “Are you okay?” he asks.
I stare into a pair of blue eyes that make the cloudless sky overhead look dull in comparison.
“I—” The air in my lungs escapes but I’m only partly winded from my sprint across the pavement.
The rest has to do with whatever effect this guy is having on me.
And then I remember why I crashed into him in the first place. “I’m late,” I say, stupidly.
His grin widens. “Well, you’d better get inside then.
” He slides to the left to let me pass, but I can’t manage to move my feet.
Who is he? He can’t be a club member, he’s too close to my age.
If he’s parking near the employee entrance, he might be on the staff, too.
Maybe he’s a bartender or sailing instructor.
A warm sense of anticipation comes over me.
Maybe I’ll work beside this guy all summer.
This job is looking better and better, but only if I get inside before my new boss notices that it’s now two minutes past my start time. “I’m sorry again,” I say, sliding past him and taking a few steps toward the employee door. “Maybe I’ll see you inside?”
He nods. “Definitely.”
When I glance backward, right before I slip inside the door, he’s still watching me.
The employee entrance leads me into the back end of the kitchen, and staff and servers bustle around me.
I glance around, still out of breath from my sprint and slightly overwhelmed by the noise, activity, and memory of the guy in the parking lot’s appreciative grin.
I need to focus. My new boss, Susan, gave me a tour when I interviewed for the server position, and she said I should put my things in a locker when I arrive.
But that was last month, and now I can’t for the life of me remember where the staff break room is located.
I’d planned to arrive early to get settled before my shift started, but that didn’t work out as planned.
“You must be the new girl.” A hand reaches out and grabs my arm, tugging me behind a rack of cooling baked goods.
I focus my attention on the girl standing in front of me.
Her outfit matches my brand-new black pants and button-up shirt—the standard-issue uniform for the sailing club restaurant’s servers—and her straight dark hair is pulled into a high ponytail.
She looks to be about my age and is vaguely familiar, though I don’t think she was in my class at school.
“You’re late,” she whispers.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my cheeks flushing. “I had a mishap with…”
“Don’t worry about it, I covered for you and told Susan that you’re in the bathroom.”
I breathe out a heavy sigh. “Thank you,” I say with genuine appreciation. This girl doesn’t even know me, she definitely didn’t have to do that. “Are you a server too?”
“Yep, it’s my second summer at the club.
I just finished my freshman year at Temple, but I’m home for break.
” That’s why she looks familiar, she was probably in the class ahead of me at school.
“I’d rather be studying abroad in Spain, but my parents said I need to save and pay for it myself.
” She sighs. “So, this summer, I’ll once again be slinging Old Fashioneds for a bunch of rich people and hoping they tip well.
” She holds up her hands, fingers crossed.
“But next summer, Ibiza, here I come. My name is Alice, by the way. What about you?”
“I’m Josie,” I say, still slightly out of breath. “I just graduated from Sandy Harbor High. This is my summer job before I go to Berkeley in the fall.”
Alice’s dark eyebrows rise. “Berkeley. Nice.”
I glance around the room. “Do you know where the break room is?” I hold up my bag. “I don’t want Susan to see me with this.” And maybe a little part of me hopes the guy I ran into outside will be there, putting his stuff in a locker.
But Alice takes my bag and tosses it on a shelf next to some boxes of to-go containers.
“Leave it here for now, you can move it later when Susan’s not around.
” She turns to look me over. “Hmmm…” she says, her gaze sweeping down to my feet and back to my head.
“You look a little sweaty, but I guess we can’t help that.
” She waves a hand at my necklace. “That will have to go.”
My hand flies to the chain around my neck.
My dad bought the gold starfish pendant on the day I was born, and tucked it away to give to me when I turned thirteen, but he never got the chance.
He died when I was two, and it’s the only gift I have from him.
I should remember to take it off before I come into work next time, but for now, I’m not going to leave it in my bag on the shelf.
I quickly tuck it under my collar so it’s hidden beneath the buttons.
“Oh, and don’t forget to cover your tattoos.” Alice cocks her head to get a better look at the brand-new bird tattoo on my forearm where I rolled up my shirt to cool off on my sweaty bike ride. “That’s pretty, by the way.”
It was my gift to myself when I turned eighteen, made from a design I drew myself. Luckily, the uniform shirt will cover it, so I quickly roll it down and button the cuff.
“Alright,” Alice says with an approving nod. “Come with me, I’m going to teach you everything you need to know.”
I follow Alice into the restaurant, relieved to have someone to show me the ropes.
I worked at an ice cream shop last summer, so this isn’t my first job, but there, the rules were only “don’t eat too much ice cream.
” Landing this job as a server at the country club restaurant was a huge bit of luck, and it’s going to help me to save for my own study-abroad program someday.
But if the long list of rules about my appearance are any indication, working here is going to be a steep learning curve, and I get the feeling the clients won’t be very forgiving if I mess up.
Alice leads me into the dining room. We pass women in stylish summer dresses and men in trousers and linen shirts lounging in tufted leather barrel chairs. Servers carrying trays of cocktails weave in between the round mahogany tables.
Alice steers me to a wide column on the far side of the room where we’ll be out of the way.
“This is the dining room where the older crowd comes to suck up to each other and make business deals.” Alice shoots me a raised-eyebrow look and holds up a hand, rubbing her fingers and thumb together to indicate that these people have money.
She points to a group of three older women sharing a bottle of white wine.
“The Hildebrand sisters. They’ve been coming to the island every summer for forty years while their husbands stay in the city and work on Wall Street. Call them girls and they’ll tip well.”
“Girls? Really?” They must be in their seventies.
“Makes them feel young.” Alice points to a younger blond woman in linen trousers and a navy-blue cardigan draped over her shoulders.
She holds a phone to her ear and appears to be talking rapidly.
“Elizabeth Goldsmith, the billionaire founder of one of those electric car companies. She also tips well, but only if you never, ever approach the table to take her order while she’s on the phone. ”
I watch Elizabeth hang up her call and immediately dial another. “Does she ever get off the phone though?”
Alice doesn’t answer because her attention is drawn across the room. “Over there,” she whispers, her hand on my arm alerting me to someone important. “Christopher Langley, by the window.”
I focus on a well-dressed couple sitting at the far table with a view out to the water.
A sense of familiarity washes over me as my gaze skates past the woman in a taupe linen dress and lands on the man, handsome and fit in a pair of navy trousers and a crisp white shirt.
For a moment, I get the sense that a celebrity I’ve only seen on a screen has appeared right here in the dining room.
I blink and take in his full head of dark hair brushed with gray around the temples, the carved line of his jaw shadowed with just the slightest hint of stubble, and the faint web at the corners of his sky-blue eyes.