‘Sure, why not? I’ve got some time before dinner.’
‘Coming right up.’
I headed back behind the counter. One thing I wouldn’t be missing about this town was the way everybody knew everyone’s business – even if they pretended like they didn’t. Nobody had said a word to me about the events of this spring, but I’d caught the curious glances around town, and overheard snatched murmurs of gossip in line at the store. ‘No, they never knew . . . Yup, out in San Diego, due in the fall.’
I slammed the coffee pot back under the drip, swallowing down the anger that bubbled, treacherous, every time I let my thoughts wander.
Three weeks. Just three more weeks to go.
‘Wow, what did that coffee pot ever do to you?’
I spun around. The boy was back, walking over from the front door and slinging himself down on one of the stools by the counter, the same way he had done every day so far that week.
‘Oh, hey.’ I swallowed, looking away. ‘What can I get you?’
The boy reached over and slid a menu closer, glancing over the peeling laminate sheet even though I already knew what he’d be ordering.
‘Tuna melt, mustard, mayo, pickle on the side.’ The boy gave me an easy smile, a flash of white against his tanned face and sandy-brown hair. His eyes were blue: kind eyes, guileless, and today his gaze drifted past me, up to the specials board hung overhead. ‘Throw in one of those root beer floats.’
‘You sure?’ I raised an eyebrow. We kept all the old-fashioned soda shop specials written up on the chalkboard, but nobody ever ordered them. They all knew better.
‘What can I say, I’m a dare-devil,’ the boy grinned. ‘A risk-taker. I live life on the edge.’
‘Really?’
‘Nope.’ The boy laughed. ‘But it sounds good, doesn’t it?’
‘I’ll get you a milkshake,’ I decided, placing his order on the back bar and hitting the bell to call José back from his not-so-secret cigarette break. ‘Chocolate OK?’
‘Yes ma’am.’
I took my time fixing the drink, scooping the ice-cream and running the blender on loud as I snuck a glance back to him. He waited at the counter, perfectly at ease. He didn’t bring a book or a paper, I noticed, or endlessly scroll through his phone like the other regulars who came in alone. He just sat, calm and still, watching the occasional pedestrian stroll past outside the windows.
‘Here you go.’ I delivered his shake, served in a tall glass with whipped cream spiralling into a snowy peak.
His eyes widened at the sight. ‘Damn, that’s something. You think I should drink it or scale the thing?’
‘Up to you,’ I laughed. I pulled out the bottles of ketchup and began setting them on end, filling old containers with the new. ‘I’ll send a search party if you’re not back by dawn.’
The boy grinned. ‘I’m Ethan, by the way. I figure, since I’ve been in every day . . . ’ he looked awkward for a moment, waiting for my reply.
‘Hey.’ I reached to shake his outstretched hand. ‘Chloe.’
‘Good to meet you, Chloe.’ Ethan took a slurp of his shake. ‘You’re officially my first friend in Haverford.’
‘Welcome to town.’
He smiled again, easy. ‘We just moved here. Dad’s developing the tract out past Echo Point.’
I nodded. Kids from high school would head out there to get high and drink cheap beer, blowing off steam with their fathers’ guns. I’d never been invited, I didn’t run in those crowds, but I’d see the debris when I went out running around the lake sometimes, the ashes from the campfire and the twists of empty cans.
‘It’s going to be four luxury properties,’ Ethan continued. ‘Rustic cabin style, but all the mod-cons. Fifteen hundred square foot a piece.’ He stopped, looking bashful. ‘Sorry, construction talk.’
‘You’re working on the site?’ I asked, studying him. His plaid shirt was crisp, and his face was more cleanly shaven than some of the construction guys who stopped by for breaks, all scruffy beards and dirty nails.
He nodded. ‘Kind of, more the office for now. Learning the ropes. I graduated this summer and went straight into the job. Suddenly, I’m supposed to be an adult, just because I’m earning a paycheck.’ He gave me a rueful grin and I nodded.
‘It’s strange, isn’t it? They give you a diploma and then you’re supposed to magically know what you’re doing. I’m leaving for college soon.’ I added.
‘Shame.’ Ethan said. ‘Not the college part, but . . . ’ He coughed, looking bashful. ‘Who’ll keep me in tuna melts?’
‘I don’t make them.’ I felt myself blush.
‘But you do cut the crusts off for me,’ Ethan grinned, a teasing glint in his eyes.
I turned to straighten up the back counter, shielding my face from him for a moment. I’d been thinking of him as ‘the boy’ all week, but he was more than that, I realized. Eighteen, nineteen – Ethan was a man. It shouldn’t have seemed like such a foreign discovery, but it was. This was the year it had changed: my classmates suddenly filling out from gangly boys to broad-shouldered, solid-chested guys with a new certainty to their stride, a sense of physicality, occupying their space in the world with ease.
Ethan was one of them: tall and solid, and watching me with a blatant interest in his eyes I couldn’t ignore; an interest that felt thrilling and uneasy all the same. The boys in school never looked at me like that, they knew better; that I wasn’t one of the girls who partied by the lake, or hooked up in a basement on a Friday night. I was careful, determined that nothing would distract me from my future plans.
But Ethan didn’t know that. He didn’t know anything about me at all – and still, he looked at me like I was someone worth watching.
José slid his order through the hatch and I busied myself slicing off the crusts and folding a paper napkin before bracing myself and turning back to the counter. I placed the food in front of Ethan and his eyes flicked down to my chest for the briefest of split-seconds before locking eyes with me again.
‘Thanks. So when do you head out?’
I blinked a moment. ‘Oh, end of the month.’
‘Whereabouts?’
‘Connecticut,’ I replied. ‘Mills.’
‘Wow.’ Ethan bit off a corner of his sandwich and chewed. ‘You must be smart.’