He did that turning thing with the bottle again so it wouldn’t drip as he brought it away from my mother’s glass. Then he said, “The legal age to serve alcohol in Florida is eighteen, not twenty-one.” He stepped behind my father and poured the rest of the wine into his glass. “But yes, I’m breaking the law. I’ll be sure to tell the police chief at table six when I bring him his third Michelob.” His polite waiter voice was gone. His usual snide Sawyer voice had returned.

My mother was glaring at him.

He didn’t see her, though. He set the empty bottle on his tray and removed the ice bucket from the table. By that time he seemed to realize all on his own what he’d done. His lips parted. He looked at me.

Suddenly he straightened and turned very pale underneath his tan. “I’m sorry,” he said to my mother. “That was uncalled for.”

The table was silent. My mother’s eyes had never left him, and her expression hadn’t changed.

“I’m really sorry,” he told Dad. “I apologize.”

“It’s okay, Sawyer,” I heard myself telling him.

He lifted the laden tray high over his head, folded the stand, and hurried across the restaurant. He disappeared through the folding door into the kitchen.

“What did you say that for?” I hissed at my mother.

For the first time in a long time, my mother seemed taken aback. “It’s illegal for him to serve us alcohol,” she repeated.

“If you’re so outraged, why did you let Dad order alcohol from him?”

Dad didn’t jump in to defend her. He raised his eyebrows at her like he thought it was a good question.

“I didn’t know it was illegal,” my mother said.

“Obviously you had some idea, or you wouldn’t have tried to catch him doing something wrong and embarrass him.” I threw my napkin down on my plate and stood. “I am done eating with you people.”

“Not again,” Dad said.

“Can I have yours?” Barrett asked.

“Young lady . . . ,” my mother started.

I followed Sawyer’s path, winding among the tables. I had a hard time doing this without bumping anyone, and I wasn’t even carrying a heavy tray and a stand like he had been. At the door to the kitchen, I hesitated, looking around to see if any of the restaurant staff was watching. As I glanced into the bar, a smaller room on one side of the restaurant, my eyes met Sawyer’s dark-haired brother’s.

He held my gaze, like he wasn’t surprised to see me. He made no move to stop me.

I swept into the kitchen, moving fast. If anybody wanted to throw me out, they’d have to catch me first.

That was the last thing on these guys’ minds, though. I’d imagined six people worked in the Crab Lab kitchen. There must have been twelve, all hustling. The equipment was new, but the walls were the original exposed brick like most of the buildings that made up downtown. The ceiling was embossed tin. Oil, steam, and Spanish floated in the air. If any cooks called to me, I didn’t understand what they said. I made a beeline straight through to the back door standing open, which I assumed led to the Crab Lab’s porch for employee breaks. Sawyer and Tia had experienced more escapades there than I’d really wanted to hear about.

Outside was a different world. The night, though warm, was ten degrees cooler than the kitchen, and full of the smells of cooking, not just from the Crab Lab but also from the barbecue restaurant on one side and the Indian restaurant on the other. Industrial-strength air conditioners shouted from all the buildings up and down the alley. But the Crab Lab’s porch was an oasis, sheltered with an awning, furnished with picnic tables and ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts. The railing was spun with twinkling white lights.

Sawyer stood at the edge of the wooden stairs down, arms crossed, staring at the ancient brick-paved alley. When he heard my footsteps, he turned around. “Kaye!” he exclaimed, sounding startled. “I am so sorry.”

I kept coming and walked right into him, wrapping my arms around him.

He didn’t move, holding his arms stiffly at his sides.

“Hug me back,” I said into his shoulder. “You have to do that sometimes. We can’t always run to your truck to find the pelican outfit when we need to hug.”

I meant we were both in emotional turmoil. We needed a hug to calm what was going on in our heads. But as he obediently slid his hands around my waist and nestled his face in my neck with his mouth at my ear, he took a step closer. His hard thigh was between my thighs. His body heated mine through his T-shirt and my thin dress.

His arms tightened around me. I tightened mine around him. We’d never hugged before—not when one of us wasn’t dressed as a pelican, anyway. I regretted this now, because my body felt so good against his. His breath was soft in my ear. All the best parts of me started to tingle.

Without warning, he released me and took a step back. “Sit down,” he said, sinking to a bench himself and patting the space beside him.

I sat very close with my knee touching his. “Will I get you in trouble for being back here?”

“Nobody gets in trouble for anything that happens on this porch. That’s one reason I used to drink so much.”

“Ah.” That must also be the reason he and Tia had felt each other up nightly when she worked here last summer. I hadn’t understood then why she put herself in that position with him over and over. I could definitely see the appeal now.