Page 27 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

I’d really been looking forward to showing off my knowledge of literature and pointing tourists toward their perfect beach read. I’ll be honest, I thrive on feeling like I’m so good with books that other people notice.

Maybe another day, I tell myself. Today is just about getting oriented.

At 2:30, Oliver saunters over to where I’m wiping down the tables in the café, the latest in a string of tasks I would prefer not to be doing. “I need to run an errand. Can you watch the register for me?”

I’m taken aback. “You haven’t even shown me how to use it yet.”

He shakes his head. “There’s nobody in here. I’ll only be gone a minute.”

“Um. Okay.” I don’t know what else to say. So he’s going to do nothing whatsoever to train me and then expect me to be in charge? Is this some sort of weird power thing? An attempt to set me up for failure so he can get rid of me?

“Be right back.” He doesn’t wait for me to reply, instead crossing to the door in long strides. It jingles shut behind him.

This is not at all what I expected when Maisie told me I had the job.

I go back to wiping the tables, thinking about how Meg Ryan seemed much happier in You’ve Got Mail than I am right now, and how, at this point, I might even flirt with a guy who looked like Tom Hanks if he were to come through the door, just to take the edge off my boredom.

In any case, Oliver wasn’t lying—he comes back in less than five minutes, carrying a coffee.

“That was your errand?” I say in disbelief. “Getting a drink?”

Wordlessly, he hands me the cup.

I wrinkle my eyebrows. “What…what is this?” The words stick in my throat on the way up.

Oliver surveys me with mock concern. “It’s a to-go cup, Ivy. Surely you have these in Boston.”

I narrow my eyes. “Yes, we have them.”

He nods with finality. “Great. Want to take a break?”

I’m still standing there, staring at him like an idiot. Finally, I manage, “A break from cleaning these already perfectly clean tables?”

He crosses his arms and leans back against the table next to me. “Would you prefer I make you seal 500 envelopes? Because that’s what I’m doing next.”

“I’ll take a break,” I mutter quickly.

“Okay, I’ll sit with you.” He pulls out a chair and gestures for me to take it, then sits down across the table.

My brain is still having trouble processing.

“What?” he asks, completely earnestly.

“I didn’t think we’d be taking a break together.” I ease my way into the chair, trying not to notice how tight his black t-shirt is against his pectorals.

He frowns. “You don’t have to sound so disappointed.”

“Sorry,” I reply, not bothering to seem at all apologetic.

“Aren’t you going to drink your coffee?”

I look back at the cup in my hand. “We have coffee here.”

Oliver nods. “We do.”

“I could have gotten some myself.” Jesus. It hits me all of a sudden. Is this because of the other day?

As if reading my mind, he responds, “True. But you seemed upset the other day when I didn’t buy you a coffee.”