El laughed, a soft, uncomfortable thing. I knew her enough to tell she was embarrassed. “Opposite of my parents, then. They like my art, but only as a hobby. They don’t think I’ll be able to support myself or do anything in the real world with it.”

There was an awkward pause.

“I should, uh…” Elodie tilted her head toward the door.

“See ya,” I said.

Levi hung back, and just as I was about to ask him if he wanted to grab dinner, Elodie whirled around. All her embarrassment was gone. “Hey, I was just heading to the Dairy Bar,” she said. “Have you been there yet? They have amazing ice cream. Wanna come? My treat.”

Before he could say anything, she took hold of his arm. “Seriously, it’s the best.” With a tug, she’d already started shepherding him toward the door.

Look back, look back, I chanted in my mind. I didn’t know what I thought it would prove, but I wanted to count on Levi. My perfect summer wasn’t exclusive to my friends. It could still be a perfect summer with Levi in the picture.

She kept up a stream of conversation, but he twisted around and shot me an apologetic smile.

It was cold comfort.

At the end of the day, after the last customers had shuffled out, we got to work tidying up. Soon, Busy’s was spotless, everything ready for the next morning.

“Wanna grab some dinner from Lorcan’s?” I wrung out the last wet rag in the sink before slapping it into the washing basket. “Elodie dragged Levi off, and kinda took my dinner plans with her.”

Lucy gave me a sympathetic look. “Mom is expecting me for dinner. Meatloaf night.” Her lips turned glum, curved to the floor.

I laughed. I knew what that meant. Lots and lots of ketchup. Lucy’s aversion to ketchup-smothered meatloaf was legendary, and everyone except her mother knew about it. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just so weird she keeps forgetting you hate it.”

Lucy made an unhappy face. “She claims it’s out of habit. Apparently three generations of Bishop women have been ketchup lovers. It’s in our blood, she says, which is a whole new level of gross I don’t want to think about.”

We said our goodbyes, exchanged hugs, and went our separate ways. Lucy, owning a car, lugged the leftover confectionary delights in her trunk. On her way home, she’d drop them off at the soup kitchen or the food pantry, whoever’s turn it was this week.

My bike ride took me up the bluffs. My thighs burned pleasantly from the strain of my rapid pumping and the wind blew through my hair, cooling my sweaty scalp. The waves surged below me and the entire town was suffused in an amber glow. In the flattering evening light, even my own skin looked bathed in bronze.