inner tonight is Dad's famous lobster rolls. We sit around the table, balcony doors open, letting the summer breeze filter in. My mom loved our family dinners: she'd light some candles, decorate the table, and we'd each have a turn to share stories about our day.

Dad's always involved impatient customers or delivery mishaps, Lexi's were always about some book she was reading, and mine were always silly stories about my time on the dock. I'd pretend I'd seen a mermaid or a shark or something, and Mom, in typical Mom fashion, would just smile and go along with my ridiculousness.

We still go around the table now, but everything is different. Lexi talks about marine biology, Dad talks about bills and a hole in the roof, I don't talk much except to ask Lexi to pass me the vegetables, because I'm still wound up by all of the change that's happening. Between Ryan breaking up with me and Jordan selling the cafe, I'm not in the mood for small talk, I'm too busy thinking about him.

To think I'd thought he was here to save this place, save my dream of one day turning the cafe into something incredible. Instead, he's turning it into a nightmare. Almost all of my favorite memories of my mother involve that cafe, and now it feels like losing her all over again.

"You okay, Evvy?" Dad asks. "You're unusually quiet. Emphasis on unusually."

"I'm fine," I say, but I can't fake it anymore. I push back my chair and get to my feet. "I just remembered I've got to do something at the cafe. I'll be back in a little while."

"Call me if it rains," Dad says. "I'll pick you up."

"I will. See you later."

Before I can even think about it, I'm grabbing my bike and cycling to the cafe. I just need to see it again, in the flesh. Just the color of the shutters, the sight of the flowers in the beds seems to calm me. I can imagine her standing there in the window, beckoning me over with a smile. I'd scramble off the dock and fly through the doors, greeting her with a hug.

I'd spent so many afternoons after school here, the place became my second home, the decor and people as familiar to me as the inside of my house. And it's not just me this place has significance to, it's the whole island. For years people gathered here in droves for the food, mostly because it was the first cafe to open on the harbor. It wasn't just about the fritters or the scenery, it was the community, a place you could go and feel loved; it was the very heart of the island.

My favorite memory was on the night of a storm. I'd been playing on the docks while Mom was locking up, and this storm rolled in out of nowhere, the way they are prone to do on this island. Mom threw open the doors and ushered me inside, but by the time I made it to her, I was already soaked to the bone.

She locked the door behind us, grabbed a towel from out back, and bundled me to her chest while we waited out the storm. I was terrified back then of the sound of thunder, and every time the sky rumbled, I'd flinch and squeeze my eyes shut. Mom would squeeze me harder, stroking my hair in a bid to soothe me.

"I hate storms," I'd said, nearly on the verge of tears. "Why can't it just be sunny all the time?"

"Because," Mom said, still stroking my hair, "without the rain, there'd be no such thing as a rainbow."

I looked at her then, thinking this over. She was right, as always, and after that, it's like I wasn't so afraid anymore. I knew that no matter how gray the sky got, how much the rain poured, it wouldn't last forever. The clouds would clear up and the sun would be back, lighting up the island again.

Swallowing hard, I stare through the shuttered windows, able to see her so clearly in my head. It's like her smile is etched into the glass of the windows, her laugh in the cracks of the colorful bricks. Every part of her lives on in this cafe, continuing her legacy. And Jordan is going to sell it.

My hands ball into fists at the thought. I keep wondering what I can do to stop this, but there's nothing. If Jordan is set on selling, what could I possibly say or do to stop him? From what I've seen, he doesn't exactly seem the type to be reasoned with.

I'm about to turn and head back when movement in the window stops me. I ditch my bike and take a step closer, pressing my face to the glass. Jordan is inside, standing on a ladder as he inspects the holes in the ceiling. Even though I know I shouldn't, even though no good will possibly come from this, I take a step forward and knock on the glass.

His head jerks up. He pauses, squinting through the dimly lit cafe. When he can't quite see who it is, he climbs down the ladder, wipes his hand on a nearby hand towel, and crosses the cafe toward me. The shutter flicks up until we're face to face through the glass. With his hand on the door, he hesitates.

I raise both hands like I come in peace, even though I'm not sure I do. Our encounters so far haven't exactly been joyous, but I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt before I do something drastic.

After a brief pause, he unlocks the door and props it open, leaning on the doorframe. I hate to admit it, but he looks unbelievably handsome right now. He's towering over me like a model, his angular jaw even more pronounced under the yellow haze of the sconce lamps. He's wearing another tight tee, revealing his tanned biceps, which look even larger when he impatiently crosses them.

"What are you doing here?" he asks.

"Good question." I slip past him, much to his surprise, and he closes the door behind me. Slowly, I take in the cafe, which is a mess right now. The floor is littered with puddles from the leak, and Kali, who often leaves things to the last minute, hasn't bothered to mop up.

"I have no idea how this place is still running," Jordan says, following my gaze. "The place is falling apart."

"There hasn't been much money left after all the bills to fix the problems," I say. "The last hurricane kind of did a number on the place. It feels like we've been fighting to keep this place afloat ever since." I take a deep breath, stepping closer. "It's why I got so excited when I thought you were here to fix things up. We've kind of been waiting on a miracle."

"That was your first mistake."

"What was?"

He's silent for a moment as he picks up the mop, refusing to look at me. "Believing in miracles."

"And here I thought I was the pessimist."

He grins now, the storm in his eyes lightening. "You are."

"How do you know? You don't even know me."

"Call it a hunch."

I scowl and lean against the counter, watching his forearms tense as he mops up the puddles. "This place is your family's legacy," I say. "You're a descendant of the great Bootleg Benji. Why would you want to sell?"

His eyes slowly roam the cafe, clearly unimpressed. "And what a legacy it is."

My heart pounds faster. Even though it's the cafe he's insulting, it feels like he's insulting me. "Look, I just came here to give you one last chance."

"One last chance to what?"

"Redeem yourself," I say, like it's obvious. "To do the right thing and not sell the cafe."

He stops mopping now, clearly intrigued, and closes the distance between us. Clearly, he's never learned about etiquette, because he's standing so close that he practically has me trapped between his chest and the counter. "Or what?"

My heart does this weird little flip. "Or I'll have to stop you, obviously."

He tries his best to suppress a smile, but it doesn't quite work. "I think I'll take my chances," he says, and he slips an arm behind me. My mouth falls open, certain he's trying to cop a feel, but then he pulls back his hand and I see he's holding the towel I was leaning on. "Guess I'll be seeing you, Evvy."

I clench my jaw. Clearly, trying to reason with him was a mistake. I move away from the counter and push right past him, storming back over to my bike. If this is how he wants things to be, then two can play that game.

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