Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 108846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
“Hey, strangers!” My face splits with a genuine smile. “What are you doing here?” These two travel from Louisiana every spring like migrant birds, here for the work and the fishing. Dave has managed Sea Witch’s beach equipment for eleven years, ensuring every last piece goes out in the morning and returns before dark. Teddy’s one of his crew—a tall, quiet guy who shows up every day and lets Dave do all the talking for him.
I round the desk to give the guys hugs.
“Hey, Sloane.”
I can’t help but notice Dave’s returned affection is uncharacteristically subdued. He’s normally lifting me off the ground.
Frank reappears. “Guys. Long time, no see.” They exchange firm handshakes; Frank doesn’t hug anyone except Gigi.
“Seriously. I wasn’t expecting you until Sunday. It’s not an issue, right?” I peer up at Frank, who’s been doing all the maintenance on the trailers we rent to out-of-town staffers.
“Ready to go,” he confirms.
“Yeah … about that.” Dave scratches the back of his head as his gaze darts to the Help Wanted sign in our window. “There’s no easy way to say this, but I figured I owed it to you to tell you in person.” His chest puffs with a deep inhale. “We got hired at the new hotel. Full time. We won’t be working for the Sea Witch anymore.”
His words feel like a punch to my stomach, and it takes me a few beats to process, to make sure I heard them correctly. “But … we just talked on Monday. You’re supposed to move all the equipment out next week.” Hundreds of chairs and umbrellas that need to be hauled from offseason storage to the compound—our nearby summer lot. It’s grueling work that has to get done, and we’re already shorthanded.
Teddy’s focus hasn’t left his shoes once.
Dave’s face pinches with apology. “Just got the call. They moved up our start date. There’s no wiggle room. Sorry.”
“But …” I’m struggling to wrap my head around this bomb. “When did they hire you?”
He falters. “A month ago.”
“A month!”
“And you thought waiting until the last minute to tell us was what you owed us?” Frank erupts, his deep voice filling the small rental office.
Teddy edges toward the door.
Even Dave, who at six foot three isn’t a small guy, takes a step back. “I don’t know what else to say except we’re sorry. We wanted to tell you as soon as we could.” And, for his part, he does sound sorry.
I stare at their backs as the door jangles closed.
Frank’s giant hand settles on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “It’s gonna be fine.”
“How? How is it going to be fine?” I blink against the threatening tears. “We’ve already lost five people to that fucking hotel!” First Jay, one of my tiki cruise captains, quickly followed by four new seasonal hires who got “the call” and promptly ditched us. Now, Dave and Teddy?
“We’ll replace them.”
“This close to the start of the season?”
“Mick can take over running the crew.”
“Mick is indecisive, and he panics when he has more than one thing on his plate. He can’t supervise. He does what he’s told, not the other way around.”
“Okay, then I’ll supervise until we find someone to replace Dave.”
“And what about hauling everything out?” It was already going to be hell and now we’re down two more capable sets of hands.
“I’ll take care of it. I’ll call the crew in to start earlier. Don’t worry, we’ll get it done.”
My body sags, but it’s not with relief. It’s with overwhelming disappointment that Dave would do this to me. More, though, it’s with a heavy sense of foreboding, that worries tucked into the back of my mind have a good reason to reemerge in a told you so fashion.
“Have you heard from Jeremy?” He’s played captain for six seasons, shuttling groups to Starfish Island, a popular sandbar. He’s funny, outgoing, and a favorite among the tourists.
“He called in after getting back to the dock.” Frank drags the elastic from his hair to free his lengthy black locks from the braid he wears at work. “Why?”
“I’m getting a weird vibe from him lately. Like he might be leaving us too.”
“Nah, he’d already be gone if they scooped him up.” Frank’s heavy brow furrows with doubt. “And he makes a killing in tips. He’d work here year-round if he could.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s the problem. Two weeks ago, he asked me if I’d consider hiring him on full-time.” But I can’t afford another salary. Frank helps me run the coffee shop year during the offseason, and the tour and rentals side shuts down at the end of October until March. “And now there’s this.” I stab the local newspaper with my index finger, drawing Frank’s attention to the job fair announcement at the Wolf Hotel.
He tips his head to read it, showing off the hint of gray at his temples. At forty-four years old, Frank looks closer to my thirty-one. “This is for seasonal, not full time.”