Page 82 of The Storm

TWENTY-ONE

INDY

I havethis solid plan of getting an early start and putting off any awkwardness. I fuck that up fast. I sleep in, so getting an early start isn’t happening. Instead, I stumble into the kitchen, still half-asleep, and run straight into Nick.

He’s standing at the stove, holding a spatula.

And I’m a bit at a loss now, because my plan was to be long gone by the time he woke up.

“Morning,” he says, which makes me snap my eyes up from where I was admiring the way his wide back tapers into a narrow waist. The way the white T-shirt molds to his muscles like it’s been painted on.

I want to smell him.

“Hey,” I say belatedly and then fidget in the doorway without a plan.

“Breakfast.” He slides a plate with a fluffy omelet and avocado slices with cherry tomatoes and cucumber slices on the side toward me.

I go to the island and sit down. “How long have you been up?”

“About a half hour or so.” He takes his own plate, and sits down next to me.

I lose my train of thought for a bit, but eventually I pick up my fork. “You’ve been busy.”

“It’s just an omelet.”

“Yeah, well. I usually have a banana for breakfast.” I glance his way. “Thank you.”

We both dig in.

“Are you ready for today?” he asks.

I shrug. “It’s not exactly my first day at a new job.”

It’s my second summer working at Bayside Paddling. They rent kayaks, boats, and paddle boards for tourists. We take them out on the bay and teach them the basics if they’re beginners, and we also offer tours that are crammed full of historical facts of Annapolis, Chesapeake Bay, and Maryland.

“What’s your plan for the day?” I ask.

“Starting my new job.”

I raise my eyebrows at him. That didn’t take long. I mean, obviously he’s been out of a job since his last place of employment was, you know, destroyed by a tornado, but—okay, so I don’t really know what his plans were. It’s not like he’s in the habit of confiding in me. Turns out the plan was to find a new job.

“At a diner again?” I ask.

He nods. “Restaurant. I’m moving up in the world. The Shoreline. I need the cash, and I need the experience.”

“Experience for?”

“The fall, when I get the hell out of this town.”

I finish off the last of my omelet and push my plate away. I didn’t think he was staying, but hearing him say it like that, so conclusively, still makes my stomach feel strangely hollow for a moment before I shake it off.

“Where are you headed?”

He eyes me for a bit. “Aren’t you supposed to be going?”

It sounds like he’s shutting this conversation down. But also not really. There’s a certain lack of finality in his tone. Almost like we’re putting it on pause.

I glance at my watch. “Shit. I have to run.”