quite a smile but wasn’t quite not one, either.
“Hey, Cherie,” Adam Mosler said as he swung onto a stool at the counter. “Can I get a root beer float?”
“We close at eight on Sundays,” Cherie said, tipping her head toward the clock on the wall that clearly read eight-seventeen, and wondering why she didn’t like Adam as much as he liked her. But she knew why, really. Though he was cute, he could also be a complete jerk. Tonight, though, he didn’t seem to be in one of his completely jerky moods. In fact, he seemed to be in a good mood.
“Okay,” he said. “So you’re off work?”
“Soon as I sweep up.” Cherie dried her hands, lifted one of the little wrought-iron chairs, and put it upside down on top of one of the round tables.
“I can do that,” Adam said, sliding off the stool and beginning to take care of the rest of the chairs while she started sweeping. “What are you doing after you’re done?”
Cherie shrugged. “I don’t know—going home, I guess.”
“I was going to take my dad’s boat over to the south shore.”
Cherie glanced at him, then shrugged again. “It’s kind of late.”
“Not too late,” Adam countered, putting the last chair on a table. “And it’s really nice out. Come with me.”
“What’s on the south shore?” Cherie asked, her mistrust of his motives clear in her voice.
Adam spread his hands dismissively. “Nothing. It’s just a ride.” Sensing her indecision, Adam put on his best smile—the one he’d practiced in the mirror to the point where it looked utterly uncalculated. “Come on. It’s really warm tonight.”
“Let me call my mom,” Cherie said, not quite agreeing, but handing him the broom as she went to the phone behind the counter.
Adam finished the sweeping while he listened to Cherie’s side of the conversation and heard her promising not to be home late.
“Good night, Mr. Evans,” Cherie called into the back room as she hung up the phone. “See you tomorrow.”
Adam opened the door and held it for her.
“You smell good,” he said as she passed.
Cherie rolled her eyes. “I stink like sour ice cream, and we both know it. Don’t push it, or I’ll walk home right now. In fact, maybe I’ll just do that anyway.”
“Come on!” Adam pleaded. “Jeez, can’t a guy say anything nice to you at all?”
Relenting, Cherie let him lead her down to the marina near the pavilion. Rows of boats floated quietly in the dusk. A few low-flying birds were still out scooping insects from the surface of the water, a few fish were still competing with the birds for the insects, and somewhere across the lake a loon was calling.
Everything else was quiet, their footfalls sounding unnaturally loud on the wooden planks of the dock. In a slip near the end, Adam’s father’s bass boat was gassed up in preparation for an early morning fishing expedition. Adam helped Cherie in, then cast off the lines, jumped into the driver’s seat, turned the key, and fired up the powerful outboard. Switching on the running lights, he backed the boat out of the slip. “Ready, babe?” he asked.
Cherie decided to ignore the patronizing endearment rather than just shove Adam overboard, and pulled her long hair up into a ponytail, fastening it with a rubber band as Adam idled out of the marina. When they were past the buoy holding the NO WAKE sign, he pushed up on the throttle. The bow rose in the water as the stern dropped, and a moment later they had leveled on the plane and were flying across the glassy surface of the lake.
I called her “babe” and she didn’t even tell me to shut up! Adam thought. This was going to be the summer he nailed Cherie Stevens.
C HERIE LEANED BACK in the seat and concentrated on the feel of the evening air on her face as they ran across the lake. The town was behind them now, and the first of the summer houses were coming into view, spread along the south shore of the lake like
“Hey, Cherie,” Adam Mosler said as he swung onto a stool at the counter. “Can I get a root beer float?”
“We close at eight on Sundays,” Cherie said, tipping her head toward the clock on the wall that clearly read eight-seventeen, and wondering why she didn’t like Adam as much as he liked her. But she knew why, really. Though he was cute, he could also be a complete jerk. Tonight, though, he didn’t seem to be in one of his completely jerky moods. In fact, he seemed to be in a good mood.
“Okay,” he said. “So you’re off work?”
“Soon as I sweep up.” Cherie dried her hands, lifted one of the little wrought-iron chairs, and put it upside down on top of one of the round tables.
“I can do that,” Adam said, sliding off the stool and beginning to take care of the rest of the chairs while she started sweeping. “What are you doing after you’re done?”
Cherie shrugged. “I don’t know—going home, I guess.”
“I was going to take my dad’s boat over to the south shore.”
Cherie glanced at him, then shrugged again. “It’s kind of late.”
“Not too late,” Adam countered, putting the last chair on a table. “And it’s really nice out. Come with me.”
“What’s on the south shore?” Cherie asked, her mistrust of his motives clear in her voice.
Adam spread his hands dismissively. “Nothing. It’s just a ride.” Sensing her indecision, Adam put on his best smile—the one he’d practiced in the mirror to the point where it looked utterly uncalculated. “Come on. It’s really warm tonight.”
“Let me call my mom,” Cherie said, not quite agreeing, but handing him the broom as she went to the phone behind the counter.
Adam finished the sweeping while he listened to Cherie’s side of the conversation and heard her promising not to be home late.
“Good night, Mr. Evans,” Cherie called into the back room as she hung up the phone. “See you tomorrow.”
Adam opened the door and held it for her.
“You smell good,” he said as she passed.
Cherie rolled her eyes. “I stink like sour ice cream, and we both know it. Don’t push it, or I’ll walk home right now. In fact, maybe I’ll just do that anyway.”
“Come on!” Adam pleaded. “Jeez, can’t a guy say anything nice to you at all?”
Relenting, Cherie let him lead her down to the marina near the pavilion. Rows of boats floated quietly in the dusk. A few low-flying birds were still out scooping insects from the surface of the water, a few fish were still competing with the birds for the insects, and somewhere across the lake a loon was calling.
Everything else was quiet, their footfalls sounding unnaturally loud on the wooden planks of the dock. In a slip near the end, Adam’s father’s bass boat was gassed up in preparation for an early morning fishing expedition. Adam helped Cherie in, then cast off the lines, jumped into the driver’s seat, turned the key, and fired up the powerful outboard. Switching on the running lights, he backed the boat out of the slip. “Ready, babe?” he asked.
Cherie decided to ignore the patronizing endearment rather than just shove Adam overboard, and pulled her long hair up into a ponytail, fastening it with a rubber band as Adam idled out of the marina. When they were past the buoy holding the NO WAKE sign, he pushed up on the throttle. The bow rose in the water as the stern dropped, and a moment later they had leveled on the plane and were flying across the glassy surface of the lake.
I called her “babe” and she didn’t even tell me to shut up! Adam thought. This was going to be the summer he nailed Cherie Stevens.
C HERIE LEANED BACK in the seat and concentrated on the feel of the evening air on her face as they ran across the lake. The town was behind them now, and the first of the summer houses were coming into view, spread along the south shore of the lake like
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