First, grind the coffee beans. Darker the better. Brazilian was my personal favorite. You couldn’t grind the beans too fine, or else you’d end up with a grainy mess in your coffee. Too coarse and you’d waste the beans’ flavor. I carefully poured filtered water into a clean French press along with the coffee grounds.

We had to let it sit for fifteen hours, minimum, in the fridge before taking it out. Tomorrow, when we had our first iced coffee order, we’d push down the plunger and serve the aromatic, chilly drink over ice.

Working together every day, in a small amount of space, had perfected our movements until we were always in sync.

“’Scuse me,” said Lucy as she edged around me, her arm snaking for the fridge door. “Need the milk.”

I waited until she withdrew the half gallon of milk before squeezing the press between pitchers of fruit juice. By the time I closed the fridge, someone was already waiting for me.

My smile turned from welcoming to flustered, and everything inside me tingled and sparked. I was attracted to him, there was no denying that.

“Hey,” said Lucy, not sounding surprised.

“Hi, Lucy,” said Levi. He shot her a lazy grin and shoved his hands into his pockets. In red gingham shorts and a white cotton shirt, he looked every inch a beach boy.

Levi’s smile dimpled when our eyes met. “Hey there.”

“Black coffee, coming up,” I said, hand already on the coffeepot handle. It was his standing order and one that I’d gotten familiar with the past few days.

Instead of seating himself, he waited by the counter, watching me fill the cup in a steady stream. “Can I ask you a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Do you think you could”—he pulled a map out of his pocket and laid it on the counter—“gimme some pointers on the prettiest places to paint in Oar’s Rest?”

In the top right corner of the map were the words Oar’s Rest Tourist Office. It was folded in fourths, with the tourist office circled in red on the map and squiggly arrows pointing in various directions up the roads. One of the arrows led up to the lighthouse.

He ran his hand through his hair. “I haven’t had much of a chance to explore. I’ve been at the art center.”

“Oh yeah? How’s that been?”

“Unbelievable,” he enthused at once. “Everyone is so talented. It’s amazing to be around that kind of energy.”

I pointed a highlighter-yellow fingernail against the tiny depiction of the lighthouse. “This would be the best place.”

He looked down with interest. “Cool. Thanks.” But he didn’t leave. It was like he wanted to say something more, but didn’t know how.