When I get home that Tuesday night, I can’t sleep even though it’s late. I yawn, sauntering to the fridge for a water and a takeout burrito I shoved in there yesterday. I might own a restaurant, but a man’s got to mix up his bachelor-pad food now and then, and the food truck from 25th was just calling to me.
I grab a seat at the kitchen island, leafing through the stack of mail to view bills and ads, chewing the now-soggy burrito. I mindlessly flip through an ad for Kohl’s, not really seeing a single thing, my mind lost in thought.
And, to my dismay, my mind is really stuck rotating one thought through it—how damn good Reed Wilder looked.
It’s ridiculous. Realizing this fact is half the battle, I applaud myself, but not for too long. It’s insane to be thinking about a man I’ve seen exactly one time, a man I know nothing about and who knows nothing about me. What, is this some sappy chick movie? There were no Ed Sheeran songs playing when he came through the door, and time didn’t stop. In fact, the first thing I noticed about him was that he had too many buttons buttoned. Not the best “love at first sight” story, even if I was foolish enough to believe that’s what this was.
I shake my head, attempting to rattle out the thought of the stranger at the bar. I think about tucking in for the night, the alarm clock coming all too soon tomorrow. But I’m wired, maybe from all of the soda I downed in the last hour or maybe from Jodie’s insistence on me dancing with her to some “Funky Town” after cleaning up. I’ve learned the hard way that it’s sometimes easier to say yes to her insane whims—and at the very least, I got some money in the jukebox from her as well as a decent leg workout.
Still, I find myself plodding to the familiar sofa, the scratchy fabric wrapping itself around my body with a warm sigh. I flip on the television, heading to my good old standby—Grey’s Anatomy—for the umpteenth time. It’s really just comfort noise to my weary soul. Because without it, there’s just eerie silence in this place.
“So, did you jump straight to sex, or did you wine and dine him first?” Jodie asks the next afternoon as she slides me a coffee across the bar. Midsummer is in its typical Wednesday slump, only a few tables occupied with our Wednesday regulars.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, graciously accepting the cup of coffee as I’m feeling sort of run-down this afternoon.
“Don’t play coy with me. You know that doesn’t work. I’m talking about Reed Wilder, of course. I’m assuming he called and you two had a fabulous night last night, right? Magical romanticism at its finest.”
She jumps on a stool at the bar, perching herself as I stare at her.
I shake my head. “Does it look like I had magical sex last night? Maybe in my dreams.”
“Bummer. I thought for sure he’d call you.”
“One problem with that scenario,” I say.
“Let me guess. You’re going to say he doesn’t have your number, right? Well, that would be false. I put your number on the back of his receipt last night.”
“You can’t be serious,” I reply, my heart practically leaping out of my chest at the thought. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“That you two would be perfect and would thank me someday,” she replies, grinning her best Jodie grin. Usually, it lights up the room. Today, it makes me angry.
“First of all, the man’s not gay. Second, even if he were, I just met him. I know nothing about him. He could be a freaking serial killer for all you know. And who knows if he’s even my type. You’re insane.”
“And you love me for it. Now, listen, when the wedding comes along, I think you should pick purple as your color. I know, I know, you’re not crazy about it, but I look ravishing in purple. Oh, and be sure to invite some straight men. Only benefit of wearing a bridesmaid dress is the after-wedding sex, right?”
I sigh, shaking my head as I abandon my cup of coffee to saunter back to the kitchen and check in with Georgette. “It’s a good thing you work for me,” I reply, pausing halfway to the kitchen. “Because, Jodie Ellison, if you worked for anyone else, you’d have been fired a long time ago.”
She gets off her stool and rushes to me, hugging me. “Come on, boss. You know you don’t mean that. You know you love me. Now, repay the favor, would you? Find me a sexy straight with a good job, a killer smile, and a love of dancing. I really could use a night out dancing.”
She kisses my cheek before dashing off to tend to the table in the corner. I plod to the kitchen, trying to shrug off the fact that a random, probably straight man is wondering why Jodie gave him my number.
It won’t matter anyway, I reassure myself. It’s not like he’s ever going to come back. They never come back.
“Lysander, I need you to get out here,” Jodie frantically demands a few hours later. I’m in the kitchen, helping Georgette by taking inventory of the spices and fresh herbs, making note of what needs to be reordered.
“What is it?” I ask, springing to my feet and dashing toward her, expecting to see Midsummer up in flames or the victim of a riot. Or who knows what.
As I step through the swinging doors to the kitchen, though, and look out into the restaurant area, I don’t see anything out of the ordinary. Sheila and Drake, the middle-aged couple who own the jewelry store down the street, are in their usual booth eating their usual meals. Scanning the bar area, I see a few tourists throwing back some beer—Joseph is manning the bar—and a few families crammed into tables devouring pizza. It looks like your typical night, nothing amiss.
I’m ready to ask Jodie if she’s lost her mind when my eyes fall on the booth that must be what she’s talking about.
A man in a button-up shirt sits, staring at a menu. A man who is no longer a stranger and who now has my phone number.
My cheeks redden at the sight of Reed Wilder.
“Told you he’d be back,” Jodie whispers, grinning. She nudges me with an elbow. “Go talk to him.”
“Forget it. Like that won’t be awkward now that you wrote my number on the receipt? What am I supposed to say if he asks why?”
She leans in on my shoulder, standing on her tiptoes to be closer to my ear. She whispers, “Tell him he has your number so he can call you anytime he wants amazing, hot sex with a dash of kinky mixed in. Tell him you’re the guy he needs if he wants to find out what Ocean City is really all about.”
“Oh my God, maybe you need to get laid. Horny, much?” I tease, slithering my way out of her grip, smoothing my hair, and heading to the bar.
“You know you want to,” she yells out, and some of the customers look over. Jodie shrugs, waving at a few gawkers before returning to her job. I saunter over to the bar, grabbing my towel and pretending that cleaning the counter is the most important task of my life. I promise myself I won’t look up, that I’ll pretend he’s not even there.
But dammit, I can’t help myself. I find myself gazing up, getting a look at the man who wandered in here last night and who has been holding on to my thoughts ever since.
“Lysander, I’m so sorry, but can you wait on… Reed, is it? I’ve just got my hands full with table twenty-seven.” Jodie flashes me the most innocent smile. Her words are announced loudly right in front of Reed, so it’s not like I can ignore them. He actually turns around in his seat, staring at me. He offers a small wave and smile, which I would find charming if I weren’t ready to die of embarrassment.
Why does this guy have me so off my game? I’m usually not this much of a fool. I’m typically pretty smooth, pretty charming. But Reed Wilder has my game all messed up.
Shit.
I wander over, taking a deep breath, telling myself to act natural. I stand in front of the table, Reed looking up at me. He’s got amazing dimples, I note, as I whip out a pad and pen from my back pocket.
“Back so soon?” I ask, trying to pretend this is just another customer.
“Yeah. Signed a whole bunch of papers today. You know how it goes, I’m sure, signing your life away for a business. Didn’t really feel like cooking with all the moving and all of the business formalities to tend to. Thought I’d swing by and see what the cheesesteak was all about. I heard some people raving about it.” He smiles at me, but averts his eyes quickly, as if he’s nervous. Maybe he’s just shy. Or maybe he’s here to make sure I’m not some creepy stalker after Jodie’s phone number move.
“Oh, so you’re opening a business? What kind?” I ask, then wonder if that was too nosy.
“Opening a souvenir shop on the boardwalk. I’m going to call it the Sand Dollar,” he replies and, although his voice is soft, I can hear the pride beaming.
“That’s great, man. Is this something you always wanted to do?”
“I mean, I’ve always wanted to live on the beach, and I just think it would be fun. Friends say I have an eye for fashion, so I thought I could bring a sense of class to the place. You know, instead of all those tacky, touristy clothes they usually sell, actually sell some nice pieces you’d want to wear.”
“So no fanny packs then?” I tease.
“Maybe I’ll work on a classy version.”
I smile, feeling relaxed talking to him. “So a cheesesteak it is. Anything else?” I ask, writing it down on my pad of paper.
“Well, what do you recommend?”
“My personal favorite is the chili mac and cheese, if you’re not worried about calories. Georgette, our cook, has some special ingredients that just make it divine.”
Reed shrugs. “I’ll worry about physical fitness and calories again once I stop losing my mind. I thought opening a business would be fun, but God, it’s stressful.”
I nod. “I totally get it. I inherited this place from my mother, and she pretty much had it all worked out. Still, it was so much to learn and so much pressure. I basically live and breathe this place.”
“A fellow workaholic, huh?” he asks.
“Through and through.”
“That’s really nice you inherited this, though. It’s great you’re keeping it in the family. Does your mother ever help out?”
I clear my throat. “Um, well, no. She passed away. I took over after her death.”
“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. You couldn’t have known.”
“Well, I’m sure you’re doing her proud. This place is great.”
“Thanks,” I say, meaning it. Talking to Reed, I don’t feel so stressed or embarrassed, and I’ve almost forgiven Jodie for leaving my number behind.
Maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if he had called.
Even though that won’t happen. Clearly, this guy’s not looking for a date. He’s looking for business advice, that’s it.
“If you ever need anything, let me know. I don’t know much about running a souvenir shop, but I know a good bit about advertising and all the legal formalities, unfortunately. Not that you need help. I’m sure you’ve got it covered.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I was an accountant back in Philadelphia, so I know my stuff when it comes to the financials. But everything else has been a whirlwind. Kind of in over my head.”
“Everyone feels like that in the beginning. It will work out. You seem like the kind of guy with a good head on your shoulders. I have faith you’ll make it work,” I blurt out, wondering if I’ve made this friendly conversation too personal.
“Thanks. Means a lot, truly,” he replies, nodding as he hands his menu over.
“Oh, hey, any games you want on the television? I can change the channel.” I motion toward the television screen on the wall opposite Reed.
“To tell you the truth, I’m not a sports guy. Unless Deal or no Deal is on, it’s probably for the best to just leave it on whatever sport you have up.”
I grin because even though I own a bar on the beach, I’m not really a sports kind of guy either. Jodie always scolds me when football season rolls around and I don’t even know who the Ravens are playing.
“Your food will be out soon,” I promise, heading to the kitchen, whistling a tune as I do.
“Someone’s mood has really improved. You know, if you took that long to write down an order with every customer, we’d be in trouble,” Jodie teases as I put the order on the board. She’s leaning against the counter, sipping on some soda.
“I was just being welcoming. He’s starting a business. Needed some advice, that’s all.”
“Uh-huh. Sure. That’s why you two were clearly flirting for a good five minutes over there.”
“It was seriously all business.”
“You tell yourself that, Lysander Wyatt. Just keep telling yourself that.”
Before I can argue, the bell dings and her order is up. She shakes her head as she delivers her order to her table. Meanwhile, I take her place leaning at the counter, staring at the man in the booth, wondering what else there is to learn about Reed—and if I’ll get the chance.