“Tyler,” Cassie called. “What are you doing over there?”

Tyler glanced up. His dad was already peering at him over the top of his wire-rimmed glasses, his thick eyebrows pushed together in consternation. Dixon Holt cleared his throat and tipped his head toward Cassie.

Tyler rolled his eyes and slapped the laptop shut. He walked around the end of the counter to where Cassie was waiting, the tool belt now dangling from her pink-manicured fingertip. “I’m working, Cassie. Like I do every day.” He took the tool belt from her and hung it back on its hook on the wall.

“Can’t you take a break? A bunch of us are heading down to the beach today. We already have a cooler packed.” She took a step closer and pressed her ample chest against his. “I got a new bikini. It’s real cute.”

He reached up and nudged her off him. “I’m sure it is, but I can’t go. You know that.”

Cassie exhaled. “It’s our last summer, Tyler. Can’t we have some fun?”

“It’s your last summer. Not mine. I’ve already started the rest of my life. I don’t get a summer anymore.”

Not that he’d had a real summer in years. While other kids spent the long summer afternoons sleeping off the party from the night before or swinging from a rope swing at Soldiers Creek, Tyler had spent most every summer day since he’d turned thirteen—and every day after school when he wasn’t on one ball field or another—helping out at the store. He loaded bales of pine straw, pallets of horse feed, and bags of every kind of soil and fertilizer under the sun; chatted with customers and rang them up; and generally prepared himself for the day when he’d take over as the next owner of Holt Feed and Seed. It had been his future since he was a kid, and he hadn’t spent much time considering any other outcome. He’d never had time to. It was only now, when all the other kids his age were looking forward to college and a future of their own making, that he was seeing the consequences of accepting what was right in front of him.

Cassie pulled her phone out of the pocket of her cutoffs and checked the time. “You get off at six, right? We’ll still be there. We’re bringing food and staying for the sunset.” She grabbed the pen from the front pocket of his shirt and wrote West Beach—come find me on the inside of his wrist. She slid the pen back in his pocket, then with her eyes locked on his, called out, “Mr. Holt, I think you work Tyler too hard.”

His dad grunted in response. Cassie lifted onto her toes and kissed Tyler full on the mouth, surprising him and causing him to take a step back. She laughed and sauntered out the door, where her friends were waiting in an idling truck.

Unable to face his dad, Tyler grabbed a rake and headed for the back parking lot to clean up the excess pine straw from that morning’s delivery. A few minutes later, Tyler lifted his head to see his dad watching him, his shoulder propped against the door frame, arms crossed.