I laugh nervously. “Well, that’s probably not good. But I would like to apologize formally for what happened to your store’s window. That was wrong, and I’m sorry. I’d also like to say that it was not my intention to destroy your property. I was aiming for your sign.”

Mr. Phillips coughs. The other man at the table laughs under his breath.

“Well, Miss Saint-Martin …” Mr. Summers starts.

“What I mean to say is that it was a moment of anger for what Adrian did to me and my cousin,” I explain. “But no matter what he did, what I did was wrong. I feel terrible, because that’s not who I am or more importantly, who I want to be in the future. And I know my grandmother talked to you about the window, and about Lucky Karras, and the whole mistake of him taking the blame for it, but that’s all in the past.”

“Oh?” he says, crossing his arms over a crisp white shirt.

“What I would like to do is to pay you back for the window,” I tell him. “But I can’t afford to do that. So instead, I was thinking … what if I took photographs of your window displays for your website? I’m a great photographer. You might even remember that I was up for consideration for an internship at Coast Life, but you thought I was too young.”

“That’s true,” Mr. Phillips says, scratching his ear. “She’s quite good, too. Has a professional portfolio. Her father—”

I shake my head. “I’d like to stand on my own merit, if you don’t mind.”

Mr. Phillips holds up both hands and smiles. “So be it.”

Mr. Summers looks me over. “I admire both your apology and your offer, Miss Saint-Martin. I’m not sure if I’m in need of a photographer right now, but I’ll think about it.”

The restaurant’s patio lights flip on and a buzz goes through the café tables. Uh-oh. That means the flotilla will be starting up soon. And now that I’m standing under mood lighting, a Juicy Clam waiter spots me and is coming to shoo me away from the patio ropes.

Time to flee.

“Um, okay, well … thank you for your time,” I tell Levi Summers quickly. “I’ll ask you again in the future. I’m tenacious. It runs in my family.”

Mr. Summers smiles, but not unkindly. “You don’t say …”

Ducking away, I wave goodbye to Mr. Phillips and head back down the pier to find Evie. She hasn’t gone far, and Mom still hasn’t found Aunt Franny and Grandma but is busy chatting at one of the food-truck windows.

“Hey,” Evie calls, waving me over through the crowds. “What was that all about?”