Her Maine Squeeze (When in Maine)

Chapter Six

The lunch crush is even crazier than usual, with a line extending from the counter to the door. This is getting out of hand.

Something has to change around here. I can’t keep doing it on my own. In the summer, maybe I’ll hire a high schooler or two to help out. But what will I do in the next seven months?

The bell above the door chimes, and I look up in time to see Oz walk through the door. He’s wearing a green flannel shirt that brings out the color of his eyes, noticeable even from across the room. But what’s he doing here? Our date isn’t until later.

He pushes his way through the crowd and walks around the counter. Then he goes to the sink and begins washing his hands.

“What are you doing?” I hiss.

Ignoring my question, he asks, “Where do you keep the gloves?”

I gesture to a box beneath the counter, and he pulls a couple of gloves out of the box and proceeds to slide his hands into them. “I’m here to help. Put me to work.”

I stare at him incredulously. “You’re a bit overqualified to make sandwiches.”

He grins, and he looks so much like the boy I used to know that my chest aches. “I’m an architect. I like to build things—including sandwiches.”

The bell above the door chimes again and the Fog Harbor mayor enters, followed by his entire staff. I glance back at Oz’s smiling face. I could certainly use the help, and he’s offering. I give him a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

He salutes me. “At your command, boss.”

Turning to face the crowd, I call out, “Okay, everyone. Form two lines, please. I have help today.” The crowd cheers in response.

For the next three hours, Oz and I work side by side, building sandwiches for what seems like every resident in Fog Harbor. Oz is a natural with the customers, smiling broadly as he takes their orders. At one point, our hands brush as we each reach for a slice of cheddar cheese. Even though we’re both wearing plastic food safety gloves, the contact makes my stomach somersault.

When the crowd starts to thin, Oz leans over to whisper, “This doesn’t count as our date, you know.”

My lips twitch into a half-smile. “Does that mean I have to pay you? What’s the going rate for a sandwich architect?”

He chuckles. “One jar of dill-jalapeno pickles.”

I tilt my head, as if I’m considering. “Hmm. That’s awfully steep. I’ll need to think about it.”

“I’m prepared to negotiate,” he says.

After the final customer leaves, Oz helps me wipe down the tables. He stacks the chairs on the table so I can sweep the floor. With his help, cleanup takes half the time.

I put the broom back in the closet and stretch my arms over my head. “Thanks for your help today, Oz.”

“It was my pleasure, Lindy.”

I laugh. “You have an odd sense of pleasure.”

He quirks an eyebrow and folds his arms across his chest. “I got to spend the day with you, didn’t I?”

“Oh.” How am I supposed to respond to that? I awkwardly tie a knot in a strand of hair.

“Plus, I was hoping with my help we could finish in time to catch the last matinee movie. I saw that they’re showing old Hitchhock movies this month, and The Birds is playing today. Is it still your favorite?”

He remembered my favorite movie? “Yes.”

He grins. “Good. Then the two tickets I purchased won’t go to waste.”