Chase Wilson wants nothing more than to get out of Port Haven. After getting into too much trouble back home, what would be a vacation for most people is nothing more than a punishment for Chase - a summer spent in the godforsaken little beach town...
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OF COURSE, THE first time I'd met Chase Wilson was not the first time I'd really met him. No, that was an entirely different story, but not any less embarrassing, I'd say.
It was the day after I'd ran into him at the beach. It being summer and all, I often found myself working cheap shifts at Catalyst on the pier to help James with the influx of customers that came in to the restaurant during the day. He'd have me set tables, clean them, sweep the floors, help in the kitchen; anything except serve customers, really, since that would force him to put me higher up on the payroll and I didn't really need the cash, anyway. I just wanted to help.
This time, I didn't run in to Chase. But that's not to say that my unfortunate mishap wasn't because of him.
You see, I've always been a creature of routine; a trait I'd gotten from my dad, I didn't like to stray from the normal, and I didn't bother much double checking my normal routine, because why would I? It was the same thing every day: wake up, shower, hop on my bike, reach Catalyst, walk in the back door, get to work. Easy, simple, comfortable. Just how I liked it.
And just how I started that day, of course, until I reached the familiar restaurant and slammed right into the sliding glass door.
I swear you could've heard the noise from all the way across the pier. A loud bang, an exasperated what the hell? and James' familiar, mortified expression as his head popped up from the kitchen just as I self-induced an hour long migraine.
"Oh my God, Harper, are you alright?" The man slid open the doors and I glanced up at him, just in time to catch the tail end of amusement in his features, immediately replaced with concern.
"Why on earth was the door closed?!" I screeched, one hand rubbing my head and the other in a wild motion towards the door. "It's never closed! Why would you close it? Why?"
And that was the truth — the door was never closed, not at night because everyone knew everyone in Port Haven, and not during the day because — well, it was the back door, and a fresh breeze from the ocean was always a good idea with no one to complain about it.
But now, on that Saturday, the sliding glass door was closed.
"I'm so sorry about that, Harper! My nephew is visiting for the summer, you see, and I figured what better way to get him adjusted to the town than to work at Catalyst, you know? But I didn't tell him about the door — it must've slipped my mind, with the habit and all, and he must've closed it because...well, people close doors, you know, and — "
It was about at that time that I zoned James' rambling out. Not because I was rude or disrespectful of my elders, of course, but because it was then that his nephew stepped out from the kitchen.
And, of course, it had to be the very boy I'd run into, bloody nose and all, that previous day.
He was grinning ear to ear and I couldn't help the surge of blood rush to my cheeks as I saw him.
