for me for a minute or two?”
Not sure if he’s messing with me or just totally clueless, I regain my composure and respond, “No microwaves here, just dehydration ovens.” Now I’m getting ready to head to McDonalds myself. Especially with my father away, it’d be my only chance to chomp down on something greasy without getting lectured about it.
No lectures for the next week or so . No disapproving looks either. And no more you-better-not-embarrass-me speeches. For now at least.
“You got any ketchup?” he asks.
“Organic ketchup.” I grab a small container of our house-made ketchup and place it on the counter.
Surfer hottie boy cringes. Even the ketchup gets a reaction from him. “You might wanna triple that ketchup for me.”
“No problem. If you want you can have a seat while you wait.”
“ Thanks.” He turns away from me and I see another tattoo on his right shoulder. Semper F i. Hot surfer boy is a Marine! Just like my father, Colonel James B. Miller. Except hot surfer boy looks like he’d last about an hour in the Marines, especially if he had to deal with anyone even close to resembling my father.
McKenzie, up and at em! Let’s go girl. Are you a Miller or are you an embarrassment ? I want more from you if you want to call yourself my daughter.
Ah, the memories. The incredibly painful past, and the not-so-much-better present, with Colonel James B. Miller.
Hot surfer guy sits down in his chair and I’m pretty sure he and his friend are laughing at me. Whatever. It’s not like he’s anything even close to my type. He’s basically a bum who apparently thinks it’s a good idea to tattoo his girlfriend’s name on his body. Forever .
“Order up,” I call out.
Hottie glances at my nametag. “McKenzie, you’ve been one helluva server today. I can’t say I’ll ever be back, but I’m glad I came.” Surfer guy smirks and nudges his buddy who seems to be drowning in his second smoothie.
I blush. I actually blush. Why the hell would I be blushing over a guy like this? I don’t date guys with tattoos and bronze skin darkened from months of doing nothing in the sun. I definitely don’t hang with guys who look like high school dropouts.
But this guy. There’s a look. A cocky but somehow all-knowing glare behind his eyes. And his chest and biceps don’t hurt either.
Jesus my father would throw up if he ever saw me with a boy like this.
* * *
Shit. I look up at the clock and realize I gotta punch out and get back home to
greet our new tenant. My father entrusted me with the sole responsibility of finding and approving a new tenant for our in-law suite for the summer.
Don’t screw this up McKenzie. If you’re going to start your own firm someday
you should at least be able to find a decent soul to rent our apartment.
I rush home and freshen up. I take a super quick shower, then throw on my
bathing suit since I’m meeting Jessie at the beach in an hour. I toss a sundress on over my bathing suit just to look presentable. I don’t even know why I bother. We always get the same person every summer, some young artist who comes here for a couple of months to paint pictures of the Gloucester coast. Dreamers, as my father likes to call them all.
But not us McKenzie. The Millers are doers. Doers make a living. Doers can raise a family. Doers leave a mark on this world .
Hence, I have one last year at Boston College before I start law school.
The Colonel’s master plan for me. To take over his prestigious firm someday.
I feel nauseous just thinking about my destiny.
I hear a car come to a screeching halt outside our home. I look out and see the end of a n old convertible Cadillac parked half on the street and half on the sidewalk- the kind of parking job that drives people in our neighborhood crazy. I grab my father’s checklist and head out through the back door.
I can see th e tenant from behind. It’s a male artist this time. He has a nice build from where I stand;
Not sure if he’s messing with me or just totally clueless, I regain my composure and respond, “No microwaves here, just dehydration ovens.” Now I’m getting ready to head to McDonalds myself. Especially with my father away, it’d be my only chance to chomp down on something greasy without getting lectured about it.
No lectures for the next week or so . No disapproving looks either. And no more you-better-not-embarrass-me speeches. For now at least.
“You got any ketchup?” he asks.
“Organic ketchup.” I grab a small container of our house-made ketchup and place it on the counter.
Surfer hottie boy cringes. Even the ketchup gets a reaction from him. “You might wanna triple that ketchup for me.”
“No problem. If you want you can have a seat while you wait.”
“ Thanks.” He turns away from me and I see another tattoo on his right shoulder. Semper F i. Hot surfer boy is a Marine! Just like my father, Colonel James B. Miller. Except hot surfer boy looks like he’d last about an hour in the Marines, especially if he had to deal with anyone even close to resembling my father.
McKenzie, up and at em! Let’s go girl. Are you a Miller or are you an embarrassment ? I want more from you if you want to call yourself my daughter.
Ah, the memories. The incredibly painful past, and the not-so-much-better present, with Colonel James B. Miller.
Hot surfer guy sits down in his chair and I’m pretty sure he and his friend are laughing at me. Whatever. It’s not like he’s anything even close to my type. He’s basically a bum who apparently thinks it’s a good idea to tattoo his girlfriend’s name on his body. Forever .
“Order up,” I call out.
Hottie glances at my nametag. “McKenzie, you’ve been one helluva server today. I can’t say I’ll ever be back, but I’m glad I came.” Surfer guy smirks and nudges his buddy who seems to be drowning in his second smoothie.
I blush. I actually blush. Why the hell would I be blushing over a guy like this? I don’t date guys with tattoos and bronze skin darkened from months of doing nothing in the sun. I definitely don’t hang with guys who look like high school dropouts.
But this guy. There’s a look. A cocky but somehow all-knowing glare behind his eyes. And his chest and biceps don’t hurt either.
Jesus my father would throw up if he ever saw me with a boy like this.
* * *
Shit. I look up at the clock and realize I gotta punch out and get back home to
greet our new tenant. My father entrusted me with the sole responsibility of finding and approving a new tenant for our in-law suite for the summer.
Don’t screw this up McKenzie. If you’re going to start your own firm someday
you should at least be able to find a decent soul to rent our apartment.
I rush home and freshen up. I take a super quick shower, then throw on my
bathing suit since I’m meeting Jessie at the beach in an hour. I toss a sundress on over my bathing suit just to look presentable. I don’t even know why I bother. We always get the same person every summer, some young artist who comes here for a couple of months to paint pictures of the Gloucester coast. Dreamers, as my father likes to call them all.
But not us McKenzie. The Millers are doers. Doers make a living. Doers can raise a family. Doers leave a mark on this world .
Hence, I have one last year at Boston College before I start law school.
The Colonel’s master plan for me. To take over his prestigious firm someday.
I feel nauseous just thinking about my destiny.
I hear a car come to a screeching halt outside our home. I look out and see the end of a n old convertible Cadillac parked half on the street and half on the sidewalk- the kind of parking job that drives people in our neighborhood crazy. I grab my father’s checklist and head out through the back door.
I can see th e tenant from behind. It’s a male artist this time. He has a nice build from where I stand;
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