Sun-Kissed Summer Page 4

  As she pulls away, the loss of her lips against my skin sends my heart into overdrive, and it takes everything in me to not turn my head, capture her mouth in mine, and show her, instead of tell her, how I feel.

  But first things first. She needs her bag, and I need a second to calm down—or a cold shower—probably both.

  Sucking in a sharp breath, and then making a quick adjustment, I rush out of the driver’s side and follow Katie in a mad dash to the cruise terminal just in time to realize the boat isn’t at the dock at all, but is a good twenty-five yards out and is moving further and further away every second.

  The ear-rattling blare of the foghorn almost drowns out Katie’s cry, but not quite. And it kills me.

  “Noooooooooooo,” she says, raking her hands through her long, blonde hair as we watch from a distance as the passengers line the railings on the open upper deck of the huge ship and wave and cheer goodbye as they begin to set sail. Jessica and her friends are nowhere to be seen as the distance continues to grow between the boat and the shore.

  Katie’s shoulders slump as she drops her head into her hands. “What am I going to do now?” she asks out loud, even though I don’t think she’s actually looking for an answer from me, but I offer one anyway.

  “You know, the mall’s only a few miles from here.” I shrug since it’s all I can think of—besides the obvious—wear Jess’ clothes. But Katie seems pretty clear that’s not an option. What isn’t clear is why?

  And then it hits me as I glance over at my best friend in her casual jeans and T-shirt, her soft pink skin pale from spending more time inside with romantic beach reads than actually being on the beach. A stark contrast to the crop top and daisy dukes Jess was wearing when she rushed through the airport with the wrong suitcase, causing every guy in a thirty-foot radius to crane his neck in her direction.

  Katie hates attention, while Jessica’s clothes scream look at me.

  “Thanks for the suggestion,” Katie says, plopping down in the sandy grass between the port and the parking lot and pulling her legs to her chest. “But there’s no way I can afford a whole new wardrobe.”

  Taking a seat next to her, I brush my shoulder against hers gently to pull her attention from the ship getting smaller and smaller as it gets further and further away. “I’m sure Grandma Betty and Big Pop would give you an advance. It’s not like you’re gonna quit on them or anything.”

  Katie shakes her head. “I’m sure they would, but I’m saving up for a laptop. And anyway, I already spent enough money on a few new things for this trip.”

  “Things, huh?” I lift my brow, fairly certain if I know my best friend, she doesn’t mean clothes. “And by things—do you really mean books?”

  “Maybe,” she finally admits as she pinches her lips to keep from smiling.

  “That’s what I thought,” I tease. “Which also means your suitcase probably has more books than clothes packed into it. Am I right?”

  “Maybe…” She giggles as light dances in her eyes, spurring me on. I want more. More smiles. More giggles. More happy. More.

  “So, then, don’t you think Jessica is really the one who is screwed here? Can you imagine her face when she opens the suitcase to find nothing but a few T-shirts, a couple of pairs of shorts, and an entire bookshelf of romance novels?” I nudge her with my elbow, hoping the realization will put her situation into a new light. It does.

  A smile breaks across her face so radiant the sun should be jealous. “I didn’t even think about that,” she says, covering her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide and full of humor. “Jess is going to have a conniption fit when she realizes she has fifteen books and only one pair of shoes.”

  I bark out a laugh as Katie doubles over and grips her stomach, obviously envisioning Jessica’s face. Between giggles, she manages to pant out, “She’s going to wish… she didn’t insist… on getting matching suitcases now.”

  “Well, at least you guys are both girls. Can you imagine if this happened to Megan and me? I’m not sure hot pink thongs are exactly my style,” I joke, but it falls flat when Katie suddenly goes silent. I twist around to see what’s wrong and find her staring at me with her mouth hanging open and her brows riding high on her forehead.

  “What?” I toss my hands in the air defensively and frown. “I don’t really know what her underwear looks like, I was just kidding,” I say, unsure if that’s why she’s looking at me like that. “And, anyway, don’t all girls have lacy, pink crap like that?”

  “Not all girls.”

  Oh. Oh. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “No.” Katie shakes her head. “I know you didn’t. I just hadn’t considered the fact I have her underwear, too—as if her shorts and sundresses weren’t bad enough.” Katie glances down at her outfit and then back to me. “Well, it looks like I’ll be getting my money’s worth out of these.” She pulls at the fabric of her jeans and T-shirt. But underwear,” she grimaces, “is nonnegotiable, even if it is for only a week. Guess we’re going to the mall after all.”

  The sudden realization I’m talking to Katie about her underwear is not lost on me. This is what BFFs do, and since I pussed out and didn’t tell her how I feel, I’m still clearly—and firmly—in the friend zone. But it’s the thinking about Katie in said underwear for the entire three-hour ride back to Key West, as the small, pink-striped bag from Victoria’s Secret sits on the floorboard by her feet, that’s the problem.

  That is definitely not what BFFs do.

  …

  Wiping a sticky glob of maple syrup from the tables after the morning rush, I try not to think about Katie in her underwear, but it’s been nearly impossible ever since our little trip to the mall yesterday and that damn pink-striped bag.

  “Orders up,” Big Pop yells from the kitchen window, breaking me out of my thoughts and putting me squarely back into reality—a reality in which I should not be thinking about Katie in her underwear, most especially at her grandparent’s restaurant. Big Pop’s booming voice, and the well-stocked kitchen of dangerous utensils he owns, is a clear reminder of this fact.

  I stuff the damp cloth into my apron, toss the last greasy plate from the table into the plastic, grey busboy tub with a clank, and head back to the kitchen to grab the order.

  “Table twelve,” he says before stopping me from grabbing the whip cream-covered stack of Key lime pie pancakes the Griddle is famous for sitting in the window. “Wait up, kid. I wanted to thank you again for picking Katie up yesterday and…” He shoots a sidelong glance around the kitchen, even though no one else is around but us, and then drops his voice. “And for giving her the money I gave you for dinner so she could get some new,” he clears his throat, looking as uncomfortable as I feel now that I see where this conversation is going, “you know—unmentionables.”

  Choking on a gulp of air while scrambling to come up with a better reply than, “I’m happy to help Katie with her unmentionables anytime, sir,” which I have a feeling would not go over very well with the six-foot-five behemoth of a man, he continues.

  “She’s been real tore up since she ended up with Jessica’s suitcase, ya know? Which doesn’t surprise me since those two girls are like night and day. But she told me how hard you tried to make the boat and everything, so thanks again, kid. You’re good stock,” Big Pop says, giving me a smile that etches even deeper grooves around his eyes before nudging the plate of pancakes in my direction. “Now get this to table twelve, will ya?”

  “Got it.” I nod, returning his proud smile, and then hurry to drop off the order so I can get back to prepping the dining room for the brunch rush, which luckily, Katie will be working too.

  When the front door bell jingles a few seconds later, I instinctively pop my head up, hoping Katie’s early for her shift, but instead, I’m surprised to see my mom walk in wearing her normal work uniform; a white linen dress shirt with the hotel’s logo embroidered in the corner above her name tag, and a pair of black dress pants. It’s the stack of papers
and the large, white binder she’s juggling that’s new.

  “Hey, Mom,” I say, grabbing a menu and the coffee pot before nodding to the table by the window. “I thought you went in early today since I didn’t see you when I got up this morning.” Unless she stayed at the new guy’s place, who she still hasn’t managed to introduce me to yet. But then again, I kind of quit caring after I turned fifteen and realized they, like my father, usually don’t stick around anyway—despite how hard Mom tries to change to fit into their lives.

  “Oh, I did, been there since five.” She drops the papers and binder onto the small tabletop and then plops down in one of the brightly colored chairs. “I’m taking a working lunch.”

  I furrow my brows. A working lunch?

  Since when does the customer service representative for the hotel, otherwise known as the front desk manager, get more than a thirty-minute lunch break outside of the break room?

  “So? A working lunch, huh?” Sliding out the chair across from her, I flip it around and sit so I can rest my arms and chin on the back, hoping this means what I think it means. “Is this your way of telling me you got the promotion?”

  “Well, kind of.” She gets a huge grin on her face as she sorts through a few of the papers. “If everything goes as planned with the cross promotion, the job is as good as mine. But right now, it all hinges on the contest’s success,” she says, like I should have a clue what she’s talking about.

  “The contest for…” I trail off, looking for more details.

  “You know.” She waves her hand in the air like that is magically going to clue me in. “The cross promotion the hotel is doing with small businesses throughout the Keys. The one Megan said you and Katie volunteered to participate in? I came to talk to Gerald about the details.”

  Oh that.

  So it was the contest Megan swindled me into “volunteering” for yesterday as a condition to borrow her car. No wonder she bailed. She hates competing for anything but guys and tips. Well played, sis. Well played.

  “Susan,” Big Pop says, walking into the dining room and dusting his flour-covered hands on his apron before shaking Mom’s hand. “Right on time.” He motions with his chin for me to get up, which I do, before he straddles the chair the same way I had been. “Grab your mom the brunch special, on the house.”

  “Sure thing, Pop.”

  In a rush, I whip up a plate of scrambled eggs, two Key lime pie pancakes drizzled with a sugary frosting, and a side of turkey sausage, and head back into the dining room just in time to catch exactly what I’ve gotten Katie and me roped into. And it is not good.

  “So, each business that participates in the kite-surfing relay will have their business featured in the hotel’s welcome packet, which will be given to all hotel guests upon arrival for the next year. Not only that, but they’ll also get a booth, provided by the hotel of course, along with a banner that features the business name and hotel on it, to be used on race day and for the festivities after so they can give out samples, or coupons, or sell merchandise. Sky’s the limit,” Mom says, handing a stack of paperwork to Pop with a smile.

  “You’ll see right there,” Mom points to the top page, “that the entrance fee is kind of steep, but the amount of publicity you’ll get should more than cover the investment. And let’s not forget the prizes. The winners will get a thousand dollars each and a two-night stay in one of the Sunset Key bungalows, while the business will win five thousand dollars and a weeklong stay at any of our hotels around the world free of charge. So? What do you think?”

  I think I must have heard her wrong. And I’m not talking about the prizes.

  With a shake of my head, I set the plate in front of my mom, certain I’ve misheard because there is no way Megan would set me up like that. She knows I haven’t ridden since last summer. Not since my accident.

  My mouth feels dry and my tongue heavy, but I spit out the question anyway. “Did I hear you say a kite-surfing relay?”

  “Oh, thank you, honey,” Mom says, looking up at me, totally unaware my heart is hammering in my chest as I wait for her answer. “Yeah, isn’t it great?”

  “You and Katie are sure to be a lock.” Big Pop stands and clamps his hand on my shoulder. “Count the Griddle in, Susan. With our two-time Islamorada Invitational kite-surfing champ right here, we can’t lose.”

  I swallow hard. Can’t lose? More like can’t win.

  And it definitely won’t be because Katie’s never ridden before.

  Chapter 5

  Katie

  “You said we’d do what?” My hand freezes over the register while I wait for an explanation on how picking me up at the airport has somehow resulted in us participating in a kite-surfing contest. And can one kite surf in a pair of jeans? Because there is no way I’m wearing one of Jessica’s bikinis.

  Oliver hits the total button on the register, eliciting a loud ding and causing the drawer below to pop open. I slip the twenty into its slot before grabbing change. “Seriously, Oliver. You know I can’t kite surf. And what about you?” I say, dropping my voice to just above a whisper since I don’t want to embarrass him. “Have you even been out since last summer?”

  “No. Not really.” He scratches the back of his neck, looking almost as uncomfortable about the idea of a kite-surfing contest as I am. “But how could I say no? Mom is so excited and she said if it goes well, she thinks the promotion from front desk manager to becoming an actual manager is hers. It’d only be the night manager position at first, but it’s still a step in the right direction for her career wise. And she seems really happy there, so I didn’t want to let her down.” Oliver stuffs his hands in his work khakis and drops his chin, looking unsure how to balance helping his mom and convincing me to get on board with the plan.

  I want to laugh at the worry wrinkling his brow, but I bite my lip, since he seems almost as overwhelmed by the whole idea as I do. Of course I’ll do it. He’s my best friend, and I’d do anything to help him and his mom out. Just like I know he would for me.

  “So? What’d ya say?”

  I snatch a handful of menus from under the counter and head for the front of the restaurant where a large group around our age have come in. “Of course I’ll do it. What part of I love you don’t you get? But just so you know—I’m not liking our odds.”

  “Me either,” Oliver admits, grabbing a damp cloth and going back to work wiping down tables and sticky syrup carafes, looking slightly overheated and a lot relieved.

  “Welcome to the Key Lime Griddle. How many?”

  A short girl with stick-straight brown hair and a severe scowl manages to look up at me from over her phone where her thumbs fly across the keyboard. “Can you not count?” she says as condescension drips off her perfectly glossed lips. “Six. And a table by the window. Please.”

  Blinking, I turn around and lead them to a table with an ocean view—well, a table with a view of the pier and then the ocean beyond that, but it’s the best we have—in stunned silence before scanning the group as they sit and seeing only five. So apparently, I’m not the one who can’t count.

  “Here are your menus,” I say, handing each in her party the plastic-covered menus and then leaving one on the table in front of the empty sixth seat. “Let me grab you some waters, and I’ll be back to take your order.”

  Without an answer, or even an acknowledgment of my existence, the group starts to peruse the specials while the snotty girl continues to text. Although to be fair, Jess can seem like a bitch when she’s on her phone too, when really she’s just tuned out. However, Jess would never talk to a waitress like that, since she’s worked as one before.

  I shrug it off as I calculate the potential tip in my head, when the bell to the front door chimes again. “I’ll be right there,” I say, making my way back to the table while trying to balance six tall glasses of water on my serving tray, when I stop short.

  What feels like an eternity later, the snap of someone’s fingers pulls me out of my Brad Garrison-i
nduced trance and when I turn, expecting to see bitchy phone girl beckoning me, it’s Oliver instead.

  “Earth to Katie?” he snaps again before gesturing to the serving tray I’m holding with both hands, since I’m still not skilled with the one-hand-above-the-shoulder carry yet. “Do you want some help with that?”

  “Oh, uh, yeah. Thanks.” I hand over the tray and try not to drool as Brad saunters across the dining room and sits down in the empty sixth spot. Well, guess I was wrong. She can count after all.

  As Oliver serves the waters, and everyone’s heads are still buried in their menus, I steal one last look at Key West’s most gorgeous guy and one of Jessica’s guy friends. One who I’ve had a crush on forever and who also has no idea I even exist.

  “Hey, you want me to take this table?” Oliver asks under his breath, eyeing me with an uncomfortable level of concern on his face. No doubt remembering how much I swooned over Brad last summer when he and his friends would come into the restaurant to say hi to Jess, or when they would come to pick her up at night and never invite me to go along. Heck, they didn’t even bother learning my name. Always referring to me as Jess’ little sister, if they bothered referring to me at all.

  But I don’t want Oliver’s pity because I’m use to always being in the shadow of my brighter, shinier, more outgoing sister. It’s been like that my whole life, with the exception of Oliver, who has always seemed to prefer my company to Jessica’s, despite being in the popular crowd himself. “No, that’s okay. I’ve got it.” I offer him a smile of thanks, knowing he’s just being a good friend and looking out for me.

  “What can I get you?” I ask Brad first, half expecting him to at least show some sign of recognition, but instead, his face stays flat as he orders, closes his menu, and hands it back to me with barely a glance in my direction.