Heat Wave

“See, that’s what I mean,” my mother said, jumping in. “You need to smile more. Become more diplomatic. More open. You won’t ever attract a man, the right man, if you don’t try and make yourself a little…nicer.”


“We care about you,” Juliet quickly added. “We don’t want to see you unhappy and alone.”

I was stunned in real life and I was as stunned in the dream. I still didn’t have a good comeback. I just stared up at the ceiling which turned into clouds, snow falling into my eyes.

“I don’t think Veronica has anything to worry about,” Logan said, speaking up, wiping the falling snow from his arms. I looked at him in surprise. He rarely said anything in these situations, often letting my mother and Juliet dominate. He gave me a light, quick smile, even though his eyes were burning with something more grave. It was hidden just beneath the surface, like he was angered by all of this. “In a few years she’ll have her own damn cooking show. I mean look at her. She’d be perfect for it. I know I’d tune in.”

Then he scooped mashed potatoes into his mouth, averting his eyes away from mine.

Damn. Logan had just gone to bat for me.

Silence fell over the table again. Finally, my father spoke up, “That’s not a bad idea, Logan. Ronnie, there’s a new goal for you. You could be the next Nigella Lawson or, what’s that woman’s name? The skinnier version of her? Either way, it’s better than working as an ordinary cook.”

And just like that, the conversation was dropped. I know my mother wanted to point out that if anyone should be on TV, it should be Juliet, but she didn’t. I’m also sure that was the first moment that really cemented in my mother’s mind that Logan was the enemy.

And he was marrying her precious daughter.

Then the dream melded into other dreams. Colorful flying chickens swooping down mountainsides, plates of ahi tuna, swimming in a pool full of floating luggage. Everything drifting off into blissful nonsense.

Dreams upon dreams upon dreams.





“What the hell are you doing, beach bum?”

My eyes spring open at the sound of the Australian accent, my heart quick to start hammering away in my chest.

Logan is standing over me, arms crossed. The sun is at his back, his face filled with shadows.

Shit.

I sit up and look around, my head foggy, like it’s filled with water and sand. I'm still on the beach but the sun is in a lower position than it was earlier. “What time is it?” I manage to croak. Fragments of my dream come back to me, making me even more confused.

Logan just stares at me. I can feel his eyes burning into mine, even if they’re barely visible in the shadows of his face. “What time is it? Time for you to start work, beach bum.”

No way. Is it seriously four o' clock already? I blink and rub my eyes, trying to wake up.

“You know, I expected more from you,” he says gruffly, “but something tells me you're all talk.”

I can't help but glare at him as I quickly get to my feet, wiping off the sand angrily. “It was an accident. I fell asleep.”

He moves to the left and I can see his face more clearly. His eyes are narrowed, the line deep between his furrowed brows. He’s mad, and while I enjoy pissing him off, I don't like doing it when it comes to my job. “You know what we call people who fall asleep on the beach when they're supposed to be working?” he asks. It’s then that I notice he has a damn apron scrunched up in his hand.

“Let me guess, a beach bum?”

He frowns. “You got it. Now hurry up. Don't bother changing, just get the apron on and get to work.”

He throws it at me and stalks off down the beach and back to the hotel.

I throw up my middle finger at him, hoping he can feel it at his back, before I quickly hurry around to the restaurant and inside, tying my apron over my tank top as I go.

“There you are,” Johnny says as I burst inside the kitchen.

“Sorry, sorry,” I say to him and Charlie, who is already chopping vegetables. “I fell asleep on the beach. Do you have a chef shirt I can borrow?”

“You can't cook like that?” Charlie asks.

I give him an odd look. “Not if I want potential burns all over my arms.”

“Look, go back to your room and get changed, no big deal,” Johnny says.

“And let Logan catch me? No way. I've already made him think I'm a shitty employee.”

“Phhfff, that’s how he thinks of all of us. You’ll get used to it. Here.” Charlie fishes something out of cloth bag hanging on the wall and gives it to me. “This should be yours anyway.”

I hold it up. It's rather large and says Moonwater Inn across it in the same tiki style as the hotel's sign. It's a cheap shirt but it will do.

“It ain’t the pupu shirt,” Charlie explains as I slip it on under the apron, “but it’s something.”

“Did Logan come in here looking for me?” I ask.

Johnny nods. “Aye. Said he wanted to see how you were starting out.”

I eye the clock on the wall. Technically I’m only ten minutes late.