Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
KRISTA
Thursday, One Day Before the Summer Swap
They stopped by the Maple Leaf Café on their way to the Hideaway to grab their lunch to go.
“Anita makes the best homemade chicken noodle soup, but it’s a bit impossible to eat while driving,” Krista said.
“I’m pretty adaptable, but even I don’t think I can manage that without burning myself.”
“Sandwiches it is.”
Krista hated to wolf down her sandwich in the car, but this was what her real life was like.
There was rarely time to sit down, even for twenty minutes like yesterday.
She tried to appreciate the freshly toasted sunflower seed bread, the crisp lettuce, the sweet honey turkey and that homemade mayo that everyone in town wanted the recipe for, but she was ravenous.
She barely tasted it as she chewed, swallowed, reached for another bite.
“I feel like I’m watching a competitive sport,” Joe said, amused .
“Ope, hold on.” Krista burst out laughing as a smear of mayo escaped the side of his sandwich and made a run for the front of his shirt.
He huffed a laugh, putting his sandwich back on the wrapper on his lap and steered the car with his knee while quickly wiping off the extra mayo.
“It’s something you get used to, or you will this week.” Krista shrugged.
“Never slowing down to eat?” Joe asked.
“Exactly. If we’re swapping lives, you’re going to get used to multitasking, grabbing quick bites in between shifts for the next few days.”
Joe glanced at her. “You know, in much of Europe, places shut down for lunch. People take their time, have a rest. It’s one of the reasons I love it over there so much.”
Krista smiled at the thought, picturing the quiet streets and closed signs. The idea of a meal that didn’t come with a clock ticking in the background sounded heavenly. “That sounds impossibly perfect. Europe’s definitely a bucket list for me. Just haven’t made it happen yet.”
Her phone buzzed in her lap. She glanced down at the screen and winced.
One text from Ian:
Out of cups. Also the blender is making a weird noise.
One from another teenage employee:
So sorry, my mom needs the car. I might be like… forty minutes late?
And a third from a distributor reminding her she was two days overdue confirming the next coffee order.
“Is everything alright?” Joe glanced over.
“Just work stuff. It’s a good thing we’re almost there.”
They reached the Hideaway, the familiar clapboard building buzzing with low afternoon traffic. A couple of kayaks bobbed at the dock. Two teenagers shared a sundae on the far end of the patio, phones out, spoons clinking.
Closer, the air smelled like espresso, sugar, and citrus.
Ian stood behind the counter with his wire-framed glasses perched high on his nose, his brown hair tousled, and not in the fashionably disheveled look popular high school boys were notorious for.
No, Ian looked mildly panicked, repeatedly turning the blender off and on as if hoping it would quit making a weird grinding sound and just start working.
“Hey, boss,” he said when he spotted her. “We’re almost out of medium cups, someone asked about renting four kayaks for sunset, and I still have no idea what’s possessed the blender. I say we unplug it and pretend we’re out of smoothies.”
Krista pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay. First of all, good call on the blender. Second, did the delivery come in yet?”
“Just the berries,” Ian said. “No cups, no milk, and no coffee.”
She exhaled slowly and moved behind the counter. “Alright. I’ll call the supplier and see where the rest is. Joe, can you do me a favor?”
He straightened a little. “Put me in, coach.”
“Grab that clipboard,” she said, nodding toward the end of the counter. “We need a quick count of what we actually have before I place another order. Cups, syrups, milk, you name it. If you can read my handwriting, you get bonus points.”
He picked up the clipboard, eyes skimming the list. “This is your handwriting?”
“Yes,” she said, already dialing the distributor. “Why?”
“Ever think about going to med school?” he quipped.
She stuck her tongue out at him and stepped toward the back hallway for a shred of quiet while the call connected .
While she talked to the supplier, she could hear Joe moving through the shop, opening coolers, counting sleeves of cups, reading syrup labels out loud to Ian.
“Three bottles of caramel, two of hazelnut, one of…What is this, toasted marshmallow?” he said.
“That one’s seasonal,” Ian replied. “Cassidy keeps ordering it.”
Krista peeked her head out, covering her phone with her hand. “What do we have for ice cream?”
“You have, like, four tubs of Rocky Road left,” Joe called toward the back. “And you’re down two strawberry cheesecake, one vanilla, an orange sherbert, and mint chocolate chip.”
Krista tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder and scribbled notes on the clipboard he’d set on the prep counter. The rhythm of it all settled over her—the numbers, flavors, costs. The constant mental math of what she could afford to stock versus what she could not afford to run out of.
“Okay,” she said finally, hanging up. “Replacement cups and milk shipment tomorrow, emergency case of oat milk this afternoon, and we’ll just have to wing it until then.”
“Good. I like winging it with you.”
She glanced up, surprised by the warmth in his voice. He stood at the other end of the counter, sleeves pushed up, a smear of ice cream on his wrist from counting the tubs. He looked completely at home here.
“You really do all this on your own?” he asked. “Ordering, staff, scheduling, boats, everything?”
“Not everything,” she said lightly. “Sometimes Ian remembers to flip the Open sign.”
Ian held up both hands. “Hey, uncalled for.”
Krista smiled, then turned back to the clipboard. The numbers swam for a moment, her brain catching on the margin notes she’d written about rising costs and shrinking wiggle room .
A shadow fell across the page. Joe had stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat of him at her side.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah.” Her throat felt tight. “Just…thinking.”
“Seems like you have a lot on your plate,” he said.
“It is a lot.” The truth slipped out before she could stuff it back in. “But it’s mine. At least for now.”
He didn’t say anything, just rested his hand briefly at the small of her back. The touch was light, barely there, but it steadied her in a way she really didn’t want to think too hard about.
“Tell me what else you need,” he said. “I’m good at following instructions. Terrible at latte art, but decent at counting and lifting things.”
“Okay.” She drew in a breath. “You can help me prep for tonight. The Crafting Club is meeting here, and I promised Kit I’d work on a new cocktail for our collab next week. And I should probably teach you how the boat rentals work.”
“Ah,” he said. “Research for my first shift.”
“Something like that.”
As they moved around each other—washing fruit, restocking napkins, refilling the cone stand—Krista felt the familiar rush of busy settle over her.
But this time, it wasn’t quite as sharp.
Joe’s presence, his quiet competence, and––bonus––ridiculous good looks, smoothed the edges in a way she hadn’t expected.
They’d just finished lining up the last of the clean glasses when one of the dock teens appeared in the doorway, life jacket half-buckled and panic written all over his face.
“Krista!” he blurted. “Sorry, do you have a second?”
She swallowed a sigh. “What’s wrong?”
“The paddleboat’s being weird again,” he said. “Cassidy and Liam are on it, and it just keeps spinning out there. Also, I forgot to have them sign the rental form before they went out. ”
Krista closed her eyes for a beat. “Alright. Where are they?”
“I got them docked…” the teenager said, pointing to the end of the dock where Cassidy could be seen giggling while Liam attempted to fix the boat.
Krista grabbed the dock clipboard off the hook near the back door and turned to Joe. “Field trip?”
“Lead the way,” he said.
The boardwalk creaked under their feet as they headed down toward the dock. The air was cooler here, the lake stretching out in soft ripples. The paddleboat in question bobbed near the end. Liam was bent over trying to get a look at the rudder while Cassidy was telling him to just wait a minute.
“We have no idea what we’re doing,” Cassidy said, hand on her forehead, blocking out the sun.
“I know how to drive a paddleboat,” Liam replied, voice muffled.
“Sure you do,” Cassidy replied in good fun before turning her attention back to Krista. “Tonight, Crafting Club. You joining us? I mean, it’s here after all.”
“I wish. I’ve got to pay some bills and take care of the banking for the campground. But hopefully next time.”
“Alright, I suppose I’ll just have to make an extra set of ocean wave resin coasters for you. I’m adding glittery starfish to mine.”
Liam sat up, interrupting the conversation. “Your boat’s making me look bad.”
“Not possible.” Krista smiled. “Let’s have a look and see what’s going on.”
She stepped out onto the floating dock they were moored against and crouched near the edge, bracing one hand on the weathered boards as she leaned toward the stern to check the rudder.
“Looks like the steering arm’s loose again,” she said. “We’ve been meaning to replace this model. Let me tighten it up, and we’ll add extra time to your rental, okay?”
“Extra time, huh?” Liam raised his eyebrows at Cassidy.
Cassidy’s mouth curved. “We could actually row someplace private.”
Joe stepped onto the floating section of dock and pulled the boat closer with the rope. The plastic hull thumped against the side, the whole thing rocking gently. When Krista leaned a little farther, the dock shifted. A warm hand wrapped around her ankle, steadying her.
“Careful,” he said.
She glanced back at him. For a second, the rest of the dock seemed to blur—the slap of water, the murmur of Cassidy’s voice. It was just Joe, shirt stretched over his forearms, eyes steady on her like he actually might dive in after her if she slipped.
“Thanks,” Krista said, smiling. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve gone in.”
She turned back to the rudder. Between the two of them and the tiny wrench from the dock box, they got the bolt snug again. She spun the pedal with her hand, satisfied when the rudder obediently followed.
She tried not to be jealous of the fact that Cassidy and Liam, both business owners, were having a romantic afternoon out on the lake, enjoying summer and each other, when she didn’t even have time to have a proper lunch. Life didn’t seem fair sometimes.
“Try it now,” she said, straightening.
Liam pedaled, and this time the paddleboat glided in a straight line toward the buoy.
“Perfect,” she called. “Just return it before Crafting Club. Have fun, you two!”
“We will!” Cassidy waved over her shoulder .
When the boat drifted away, she turned back to the teen. “Next time, rental forms first, then boats.”
He winced. “Got it. Sorry, Krista.”
“It’s okay.” She nodded toward Joe. “Speaking of, this is Joe. He’s going to be managing the dock during the swap, so I want him to know how we do things.”
Joe lifted the clipboard in a little salute. “Hey, nice to meet you.”
The teen nodded in reply, apologized to Krista again, and headed off back down the dock.
Krista turned to Joe. “Alright, let me show you how we do this.” She stepped closer, shoulder brushing his as she pointed at the boxes on the form.
“Name, local address or site number, time out, type of boat, number of life jackets, card on file. We keep the top copy, they get the tear-off. No one leaves the dock without signing and wearing a life jacket if they’re under eighteen. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “No fun without paperwork. Understood.”
As if summoned by the word fun , a teenager farther down the dock launched himself off the side with a yell, cannonballing into the lake. The floating section dipped and bobbed, water splashing up and slapping the boards.
Krista groaned. “And no jumping off the dock!”
“Sorry, Krista!” the kid called, already swimming toward the swim area.
She shook her head and turned back toward Joe, who was stepping onto the floating section again to check the line on a small rowboat that had worked itself loose. He crouched near the edge, rope in hand, completely focused on the knot.
At that exact moment—because teenagers apparently never listened—another boy took his turn, cannonballing off the other end of the dock.
“Don’t you dare—” Krista started, too late.
Joe never saw it coming.
The boards lurched hard under his feet, rocked by the wave and the force of the splash.
“Joe!”
He flailed once, arms pinwheeling. She lunged for him, fingers brushing his wrist, but gravity was faster.
He went backward off the edge with a spectacular splash.