Chapter Two

As soon as Nancy is out of the shop I stand up from the table, taking a breath and shaking out my arms at my sides. We don't close for another eight hours, so I'm going to have to reschedule the oncoming existential breakdown for 6:01 P.M. at the earliest.

"For what it's worth," says Sana sympathetically, "you have really nice feet. If you wanted me to take some pictures, split the profits seventy-thirty, I'm in."

I let out a watery, appreciative laugh. "I'll start with some PG-rated solutions and get back to you."

Mateo walks over from the register where he charged himself for his tea, then leans in to give my shoulder a quick squeeze. "I have to head out, but we'll brainstorm some ideas that don't involve your appendages tonight."

I don't protest, but there's no way I'm letting that happen. Tonight we're meeting my little brother, Dylan, for some long-overdue planning for his and Mateo's wedding. I might accidentally break just about everything else I touch lately, but this wedding is going to be a goddamn delight from the first chords of music as they walk down the aisle to the drunk 2 A.M. cake eating on the floor.

Sana eyes the back kitchen. "Would a strongly brewed Irish breakfast with some even stronger Irish cream help?"

Just then we hear a painfully loud ringtone blast from outside, clashing magnificently with the string version of "thank u, next" playing through our speakers. I whip my head toward the noise to find the freeloader staring at his phone and taking his sweet time deciding whether to answer his noisy call.

"No," I say, "but dealing with the riffraff out there will."

I march out of the shop with all the indignation a woman who just managed to carve a hole in rock bottom can possibly muster. I can practically feel the sparks on the tip of my tongue, ready to tear this baseball cap–wearing, coffee-guzzling, table-thieving jerk a new one.

I struggle to place him when I walk outside. Dressed in khaki shorts and a breezy blue button-down shirt against broad shoulders, his attention fully on his laptop screen, he seems too self-possessed to be in the university crowd, but not casual enough to be a tourist. Doesn't matter, since he's getting the same speech either way.

I tighten my apron to steel myself, taking a deep breath.

"Hey," I say, tapping the empty chair next to him. "If you're gonna mooch off the Wi-Fi all day, you better at least buy a scone."

The man lifts his head slowly, and the moment those blue-gray eyes meet mine, the recognition pulses like a thunderclap through my body, quivering top to bottom.

This isn't just any freeloader. This is Levi Shaw.

I take a step back, my heart slamming like it has its own agenda. Despite our years apart, I can't help but notice that under the baseball cap, those lightly tousled, sandy-brown curls of his have softened and darkened slightly over time. Can't help but account for the way his full lips still have the slightest upturn at the corners despite his serious demeanor, or the way those familiar eyes sweep over me, lingering so unmistakably that the thunderclap gives way to heat like lightning to flame.

Those same eyes soften considerably when he takes me in. "June," he says, his voice low in a way that I almost don't recognize, a new depth to it that pools so low in me that I can't find the edges of it to stop it in its tracks.

I clear my throat, so thrown off that I don't know what to do except demand, "What are you doing here?"

Levi's lips quirk almost imperceptibly. When he speaks again, it's in his usual wry tone, the difference so stark that he might not have said my name like that at all.

"Being snobby and reclusive, apparently."

Well, then. He must have heard every word of my exchange with Sana. My face burns hot enough to cook one of my doomed scones. He just watches me with an almost-smile I've only seen in the past few years, a dim version of the bright, goofy one he had when we were kids. For a moment we're both stuck, trying to find an old rhythm that doesn't exist anymore.

I get my bearings first. "Snobby, reclusive, and a traitor," I accuse, grabbing at the incriminating Beachy Bean cup.

He lets me take it, his eyes skimming my cheeks like he's accounting for every single freckle, every new angle and plane of my face.

I resist the urge to duck my head. I'm so tired I'm sure I look like an extra in a low-budget zombie movie. "Well?" I prompt him before he can stare some more.

He shakes his head. "Sorry. I couldn't stay there." He winces, glancing back in the direction of Beachy Bean. I can hear their catchy '80s playlist from here, damn them. "It was packed and people were starting to pry."

"So you thought you'd come here where it's nice and dead, then?" I shoot back.

Levi turns back toward the open window, which has a direct view to Sana's table and the register where I've been standing all morning. "I was going to come inside."

"So what was stopping you?"

A loaded question if there ever were one. I'm expecting him to look away, but when he holds my gaze, I see the understanding in it. He's been keeping up with my shit show every bit as much as I've kept up with his. I'm not sure whether I'm mortified or relieved, but there is one feeling I can still settle on—hurt.

"I've been waiting on a call," says Levi shortly, glancing back at his phone.

I take a step closer. "Oh, is that what you've been up to the last decade?" I ask, that hurt rising up in my chest and out of my throat before I can stop it. "Because this feels like the longest conversation we've had in one."

I'm hoping it'll stir him up enough to get defensive, to justify the way I want to tear him a new one right now, but Levi doesn't take the bait. Instead he takes the offending Beachy Bean cup from my hand, grazing my fingers so gently that if it weren't for the heat of them, I might have imagined it.

"It's good to see you," he says. There's a sincerity in the words that I'm not anticipating that makes me feel unsteady. Most of the few times we've been in touch over the years have been so stilted that it's felt like texting a stranger. I can't reconcile that with the way he's looking at me right now, and I'm not sure if I want to. Knowing Levi, he'll be clear out of Benson Beach before the sun sets.

I scowl before my face can wobble. "Wish I could say the same."

Then I grip the edges of the table and lean in. He smells like that traitorous coffee, but there's an undertone to it. An earthy sweetness. The kind that reminds me of the smell of his sweat, the satisfaction of a long run on the beach aching in our bones. His eyes are so close that they widen into mine, revealing the specks of pale gray against the blue, like the brewing storm in my heart reflected back at me.

I grit my teeth and say, "Now either buy some tea or get the heck off my deck."

His phone starts blaring again, so loud that we both flinch back. The name "Kelly" pops up on the screen. His ex. Levi stares down at it and then up at me, and for an absurd moment, it feels like he's waiting on me to tell him what he should do.

But Levi's not my problem. The list of things that are my problem is long enough to jump rope with, and I've got to get back to them before it ends up strangling me instead.

I take a step back. "Nice to chat. See you in another few years, then."

I turn on my heels before he can say anything else, but the phone chimes on and on, faint through the open window. I swallow down that old pang, but it feels different now. Less like an ache and more like a longing.

Sana lets out a low whistle from her table as I walk back in, her eyes sly as she assesses me, making it clear she heard every word. I make a mental note to close the damn window as Sana says in utter delight, "Now there's a story I want to hear."

At this rate, there's no way I'm not going to explain everything, but for now I tell her, "I'll spare you the trouble and spoil the ending: ‘And he was never heard from again.'"

Sure enough, when I glance back through the window, Levi and his coffee and the question in his eyes are gone.