Barefoot by the Sea

“Why not?”

“’Cause he’ll think I’m, like, a slut or something.”

Marcus looked at her. “Who cares? He’ll fire my ass if he catches me in the kitchen now.”

Who cares? She did. But she didn’t want Marcus to get fired, either. “Then tell him you’re doing inventory. You’ll get promoted, not fired.”

He looked at her, a mix of fear and hope in his dark, dark eyes. God, he was cute. “Please, Marc.”

The handle moved again and, to his credit, Marcus shot up, taking two long strides and opening it himself, using his body to block any view of the pantry. Ashley pushed to her feet and slipped out of view behind shelves.

“What are you doing here?” Marcus asked, sounding like the guiltiest person on earth.

“What are you doing here?”

“Um, just…” Inventory, you moron! “Working.”

Ashley closed her eyes and let out a silent grunt.

John pushed the door farther open. “Working on what?” he demanded, accusation in the question.

“You know, like, stuff that needs to be done.”

“In the pantry?” John asked. “What exactly are you doing in there?”

“Nothing, man. You don’t have to be a dick—”

“Marcus?”

Oh, gawd. Aunt Tessa was here.

“What’s going on?”

Marcus didn’t answer, but glanced to his side, where Ashley stood. Why not scream my name, pal? She gave him a pleading look and put her finger to her lips.

“I’m counting inventory,” he finally said.

“Counting inventory?” John definitely wasn’t buying it. “Or stealing inventory?”

“I’m not stealing anything!”

“Then let me in to see what you’re doing.”

Marcus stood frozen. “Tell him it’s cool, Tessa. I come in and do inventory a lot on Sundays for overtime.”

“Are you alone in there?” she asked.

Ashley almost slid back to the floor. Shit, shit, shit.

“Yeah,” he said, about as convincingly as a two-year-old with chocolate on his face. He started to step out of the pantry, carefully keeping them from coming in. “I’m done anyway.”

“You want to show me your jacket pockets?” John demanded.

Ashley’s jaw dropped. He really thought Marcus was a thief? Would Marcus subject himself to a search or sell her out? That would really tell her what he was made of, wouldn’t it?

“Eff you, John.”

“That’s Chef John to you. Empty your jacket pockets.”

From her hiding place behind the door, she couldn’t see Marcus’s face but could imagine the hot look of hatred he was giving John right now.

“Empty them or don’t come to work tomorrow.”

She heard a brushing of sound, probably his hoodie. “I don’t have anything, see?”

“What’s that?” Tessa asked.

Silence, then Marcus kind of laughed. “Like a Boy Scout, you know?”

“You take condoms into the pantry?”

Ashley closed her eyes and dropped her head back.

“Who’s in there?” John demanded.

Ashley put her face in her hands and bit back tears. She was so totally screwed.

“Nobody,” Marcus said.

She pulled her hands away, the first bit of hope curling through her. Of course he’d cover for her. He liked her. A lot. It wasn’t just sex.

“You’re in there alone?”

“Of course I am,” he said, his foot scuffing as he started to walk away. “Now I’m gonna book. See you guys tomorrow.”

“I’ll walk you out,” John said.

“I’m cool, man.”

Ashley stood stone still, waiting for the door to close, for the nightmare to be over. Instead, it opened a little wider and a familiar dark-haired head peeked in. Ashley stayed stone still, holding her breath, praying Aunt Tessa wouldn’t see her hiding in the corner.

“Ashley?” No such luck. She walked in, frowning. “What are you…”

“He’s gone,” John said, walking right in behind her, then halting at the sight of Ashley. “Don’t tell me, you were working on the inventory with him.”

“She won’t tell you that,” Tessa said quietly. “Because Ashley doesn’t lie.”

Ashley gave her aunt-by-friendship a pleading look. “Please don’t tell my mom, Aunt Tessa.”

Tessa blew out a slow breath. “I’m going to walk Ashley home, John.”

And that might give Ashley time to make her case. She hoped.

Ashley was silent all the way out of the restaurant and onto the sands of Barefoot Bay, and Tessa racked her brain for the right way to handle this. Carefully, of course. Tenderly. With mature understanding and patience. Like a loving aunt, not a worried mother.

Ashley shot her an expectant look.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Tessa demanded. So much for tender and patient.

“Right now, I’m thinking that only I would have the luck to get busted by the aunt who would die before she kept a secret. Why couldn’t Aunt Zoe have come in there?”

“Zoe would kill you. I’m only going to yell. Ashley, what are you doing with him? He’s twenty years old!”

“Nineteen, so we’re only two years apart.”

By whose math? “He’s almost twenty and you just turned seventeen about five minutes ago.”

“Three weeks ago, Aunt Tess.”

“I don’t care.” She guided Ashley around some shellers, lowering her voice so they didn’t hear. “That’s too much of an age difference.”

“Age difference?” Ashley shot back. “My mom robbed the cradle.”

She suddenly sounded much, much younger than seventeen. And a lot more like the tempestuous and sometimes sullen young teen she’d been after the hurricane. Since then, Ashley had matured in so many ways.

Obviously, she’d matured as far as boys were concerned. “Ashley, Clay is only six years younger than your mother. And they’re both adults.”

She huffed out a breath. “I knew this was going to happen.”

“Look, I’m saying this as someone who loves you dearly and deeply. A boy his age—no, a man his age—is not appropriate for a girl who just turned seventeen.”

“Appropriate? Who even says that anymore?”

“You want me to spell it out? An almost-twenty-year-old young man is thinking about sex every minute of every day. I’ll bet a month’s salary you weren’t in there doing inventory.”

“I was saying no,” she said quickly but with not nearly enough conviction.

“He had a condom in his pocket.”

“At least he’s smart and careful.”

Tessa stopped suddenly, kicking up some sand. “Are you still a virgin?” The question slipped out with a little pain in her voice. Not that she had any right to ask or even that seventeen was that young, but she loved Ashley like she was her own daughter and she—

“Yes, Aunt Tessa,” she said, grabbing her arm and pulling her forward. “I am. I swear on my life, my name,