“Left ’em. It’s an hour or two. I mean, we’ll see how it goes.”
“I can’t see!” Leah grumbles, so I lift her up. She loves a behind-the-scenes look at anything. Silas is topping a drink with whipped cream, then chocolate sauce, and Leah claps delightedly. He’s worked here for a while, but she can’t get over it. Her brother, behind the counter. Silas grins and slides a tiny cup to the end of the bar. Hot chocolate. Leah squeals with happiness, but Silas holds one finger to his lips, winking at her. She mimics him, winking in this overexaggerated way—closing her eye for too long.
Psychologists would probably say we spoil her because she’s the baby of the family. But it’s actually because she’s so damn cute.
On our way to Fired Up, I drain my coffee and Leah slurps her hot chocolate. We settle onto the wooden bench outside the shop and talk about what we want to do this summer. I want to perfect my beurre blanc sauce, and I want to keep running on the beach so I don’t die of a heart attack like our dad. But that’s not how I put it to Leah. I say I want to try a few new recipes and become a faster runner. She wants to go to the library a lot and see that animated movie about ducks and build a sand castle bigger than the one we built last year. We’re strategizing the latter when I sense a presence on our right side.
“Good morning!” The girl looking down at us has white-blond hair, and her lips are the color of maraschino cherries. She doesn’t look like any girl in my school. She doesn’t look like any girl I’ve ever seen in real life. And she’s looking at us . . . happily. No hesitation to be cheerful in our presence.
“Hey.” I nearly stumble in my attempt to stand up.
“You here to paint?” The girl cocks her head toward the storefront.
At my side, Leah nods, and I continue my verbosity. “Yep.”
“Well, come on in.” She grins, gesturing at us.
As we wait for her to unlock the door, I look down at Leah. I feel like we should know this girl—she works here. She must live here. But Leah is too busy watching her.
“Are you guys locals or here on vacation?” She holds the door open, and Leah and I walk into the store.
“Townies.”
“Oh, excellent.” She claps her hands as the door shuts behind her, and she sets her bag down. “Do you know if the Verona Cove police are strict? I mean, like, on first-time offenders. Who may have created some, ahem, unsanctioned art on the local plant life. Asking for a friend, of course.”
I open my mouth to say—well, I’m not sure what, exactly. Instead, the girl laughs as she motions Leah forward. “Listen to me, getting ahead of myself. First things first! Painting! Come on down. You’re this morning’s lucky winner. As your prize for being an early bird, you get to pick any seat in the whole place. I’m so thrilled to have customers this early in the morning. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I also enjoy spending time with myself. I’m pretty good company.”
The girl keeps talking as Leah selects the only table that sits inside a square block of sunshine from the window. I follow her, watching the beautiful girl as she ducks into the back room. She looks like lemon meringue pie tastes. Sunny, tangy, sweet. After she emerges, she drapes a small pink apron around Leah’s neck, then ducks down to tie it in a bow at her waist. “So, what’s your name?”
Leah looks at me. She does this a lot, asking for permission with her eyes. I nod at her. I always nod at her. She doesn’t need my permission to talk to people. When Leah stays quiet, the girl nods, too. “You’re so smart not to talk to strangers; that’s something I was never good at when I was little. Well, I’m still terrible at it, but once you get a job, they call it customer service. ” Her red lips move quickly, parting and closing to form each syllable. She holds out a hand to Leah. “I’m Vivi. I’m sixteen, almost seventeen, and I just moved here for the summer, and I live on Los Flores Drive. My favorite color is blue, and I love dogs and ice cream and laughing so hard that I almost pee my pants.”
Leah pushes her lips together, crushing the smile that wants to form. The girl—Vivi—looks triumphant. “There, now I’m not a stranger anymore. You know all sorts of personal things and even one embarrassing thing about me. But you don’t have to tell me your name if you don’t want to.”
“I’m Leah.” She gives Vivi’s hand a quick squeeze, not even really a shake.
“Hi, Leah. So very nice to meet you. And what about you, cutie pie?” Vivi tilts her head at me, and a few round curls bounce toward the ground and back. Did she call me cutie pie? The only person who calls me that is Betty. Betty is sixty-something and has known me since I was born. “Or are you also leery of strangers?”
“Jonah.” I deepen my voice as proof that I’m a guy. Not a cutie pie.
Her laugh sounds like wind chimes. I don’t know what I said that was funny. She stands on her tiptoes to slide an apron over my head.