My perfect summer was in jeopardy, and no boy, no matter how cute he was, would be able to save it. Only I could do that. With some serious CPR, although this time I’d stay as far away from mouth-to-mouth as possible.

I waved at a few customers on their way out the door, savoring the salty breeze that swept in along with our boss, Tom. He lifted his hand to tip an invisible hat, and his gruff voice called out, “Not too late for a sandwich, is it?”

“Coming right up!” I promised, already slicing into a round of blue cheese. I pulled away a creamy, marbled wedge and set it aside. “Hey, Lucy, can you—”

She was already on it. “Done, and done!” she pronounced, showing me two slices of rustic, thick-cut bread grilling in the pan, surrounded by a light, buttery froth.

We worked in unison, Lucy slathering apricot jam over one slice while I put blue cheese on the other, spreading it evenly with a butter knife. Then, while I began putting ingredients away, she stuffed arugula leaves between the slices and put the sandwich in the panini press.

“How’s the day been, ladies?” Tom asked, leaning against the counter. He raked his eyes over our clean workspace.

I had to answer before Lucy did. Quickly, I jumped in. “Pretty good. Had a few new people come in for lunch,” I said, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach as I vividly remembered yesterday’s blue-eyed customer.

The butterflies beat their wings in steady, insistent flap flap flaps.

“Looks like tourist season is going to hit us any day,” said Tom.

“I’m already seeing more out-of-state license plates,” added Lucy.

Tom grunted, scratching at his wiry black stubble. “Right on schedule. I always love to see ’em come, and I love to see ’em go.”

We didn’t need reminding. Tourists were all anyone in Oar’s Rest could think about in the days leading up to T-Day.

The sandwich sizzled inside the panini press, fragrant sweetness spiraling upward when I lifted the lid to take a look. Using a spatula, I slid the perfectly golden sandwich to a plate. “Dig in.”

Tom grinned around a mouthful of his first bite. Lucy and I exchanged a smile—we both knew how much Tom loved a savory grilled cheese with just the right amount of ooze.

“Everything come in okay?” He chewed, swallowed. “Ariel around?”

I thought of the new inventory still boxed and taped in the storeroom. Lucy’s eyes were on me as I cleared my throat and said, “Um, well … she took off earlier for her lunch break.”

Tom frowned. “Again?” At my nod, he sighed. “I’m sorry. Hiring her was a mistake. She seemed so earnest.” He rested his cheek against his palm, the worry lines at the corners of his eyes deepening.