"Chew your food," Sophie told him as he polished off the last of his onion rings. "Your stomach doesn't have teeth."

"Parental advice," said Mac. "You don't look like my mother. You're more of a-"

"A friend," Dune said from the corner of his mouth.

"Could go further," said Mac.

"Not on my watch," said Dune.

Mac's grin was easy, as if he was quite pleased with himself. He let the conversation go.

Sophie was halfway through her waffle when Dune turned her way. She'd taken a bite of strawberry and whipped cream when his gaze settled on her lips. She slowly chewed, biting her tongue twice. She could barely swallow. The food settled like a lump in her stomach.

She went to wipe her mouth, only to have her napkin slip off her lap. Dune passed her another from the napkin holder. Their arms brushed; a reminder of his solidness and strength and her need to firm up. She didn't get much exercise beyond volleyball.

"What are you plans for the afternoon?" he asked her.

She didn't want to worry him or have him think poorly of her. He'd shot down her ideas, which she still planned to explore. "I'm going to visit store owners," she said, and meant it. She'd check out the shops after her session with Rick. "I need to invest my time wisely. I'm thinking Goody Gumdrops." Shaye's penny candy store. "Or Three Shirts to the Wind." A popular T-shirt shop.

"Don't forget the Chamber of Commerce," Dune added.

Last on her list. "I'll stop by." She would poke her head in the door. That way she could honestly say she'd been there. She gave him a small smile, then asked, "How about you, lots to do?"

"I need to stop at Pet Outfitters and buy some dog toys for Ghost."

She blinked. "Ghost?"

"My Weimaraner," he explained. "I have a beach house in Malibu, but I've yet to buy a home in Barefoot William. My mother's allergic to fur, so we stay with my grandfather when I'm in town. Mac snuck in the back door and claimed a guest room, too."

"Where does your grandfather live?" Sophie asked, curious.

"Frank lives in a stilt house on lots of acreage," Dune said. He grinned. "He has a long list of repairs lined up for me to do. Today I'll replace the broken boards on the porch."

Mac sucked the last of his vanilla shake through the straw. Sucked it loudly. "Beware of the nail gun, dude," he said. "I remember-"

"No, you don't." Dune stopped him short. "He has a lousy memory."

"I've got total recall," said Mac. "You shot yourself in the foot and required twelve stitches."

Dune shrugged. "Small scar."

"Should anyone care about my whereabouts," Mac continued, "I'm headed to Three Shirts to buy a change of clothes. Then I'll be borrowing Dune's speedboat to locate Tide One On. I'm going to play."

"You've got six willing playmates," said Dune.

Mac nodded. "Odds are good."

Violet brought his second burger. Mac dug in. Sophie nudged him, making sure he chewed. She was fond of Mac. She admired the way he lived life, always self-assured and at a dead run. His humor and arrogance would appeal to many women. Just not to her.

She preferred all that was Dune. He was mature, stable, and evaluated his next move. He had both feet on the ground. Levelheaded worked for her.

"Do you have room for dessert?" Violet offered once Mac finished his burger and she cleared away their dishes.

Mac stood up, stretched, rubbed his stomach, then dropped back on his stool. He went with Key Lime pie.

"One slice or two?" Vi knew him well.

"I'll start with one."

Dune and Sophie passed on dessert. They were both full. Sophie didn't want to weigh herself down. She was about to unicycle.

"You'll sink like an anchor if you swim this afternoon," she warned Mac.

"There'll be all kinds of floaties in the pool," he assured her.

She understood. Mac would never drown. The buoy-breasted women from Crabby Abby's would keep him afloat.

Mac finished his pie and the busboy removed his empty plate. The boy was young and in a hurry. He backed into Violet just as she set down a large glass of tomato juice before the customer seated on Dune's left. Vi jerked and the glass tipped. Tomato juice spilled on the counter.

Dune was quick. He leaned back, avoiding the spill. He made a grab for Sophie's arm, but he was a second too late.

She, unfortunately, bore the stain. Her forearms rested on the Formica and one sleeve of her silk blouse absorbed every last bit of the tomato juice.

"Ah, crap." The boy looked horrified.

Violet peeled off a handful of napkins from the holder, then went to the soda fountain and pressed club soda. Dampening the napkins, she dabbed the seltzer on Sophie's sleeve. The stain began to fade.

"We'll pay for the cleaning bill," Vi was quick to say. "Chuck is my older sister's son. Lisa is a single mom. I'm watching him while Lisa looks for work. Molly agreed to let him help out today. He's twelve, always in a rush, and needs to slow down."

Violet glanced toward the kitchen, kept her voice low. "Chuck started out in the back this morning, washing dishes. He broke so many plates that Molly was forced to order a new case. He got moved to the fryers and burned batches of french fries. Now in the dining room, he bumps into me and a glass of tomato juice spills, soaking your sleeve. He figures the faster he works, the quicker the day will pass. He plays Sandlot Softball and has a big tournament this weekend. He plays shortstop and is coordinated on the diamond, but in the diner, not so much."

"I'm clumsy, too," Sophie said softly. She shook her sleeve. The material was damp, but no real damage was done. Accidents happened. She'd had more than her fair share.

Chuck's shoulders slumped. "Here comes Molly," he said as the owner of the diner pushed through the kitchen door.

"Dune, Sophie, Mac," Molly greeted them warmly. "I heard you were here." Her short hair was frizzy and her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the stove. She was plump; a true testament to her home cooking and generous portions.

Molly glanced from the red-streaked counter to the pile of soggy napkins, then to Sophie's wet sleeve. "Do I dare ask?" she groaned.

Chuck shifted behind the counter, uneasy and expecting to be fired. Sophie couldn't allow that to happen. She felt bad for the boy. "I distracted Chuck," she said.

Dune eyed her with as much surprise as now showed on Violet's face. Mac's lips twitched. He was amused.

Molly looked skeptical. "How'd you distract him?" she asked.

"She was flirting with the boy," said Mac.

Sophie elbowed him in the side. "He's twelve."

"Sophie mentioned a job," Dune said casually.

"A job away from the diner?" Molly looked hopeful.

Sophie touched Dune lightly on his arm, appreciative of his thought. She ran with his idea. "My gardener could use an assistant for a week or two. Lawn maintenance is hard work. It's hot outside and I'd pay Chuck well."

"Pay me?" The boy's jaw dropped. "How much?"

She had no knowledge of pay scales. She took a guess. "Twenty dollars an hour."

Conversations stilled around them. Customers looked her way. She blushed. "Too low?" she asked, afraid she'd insulted Chuck.

"Too high by at least ten dollars," said Dune.

"When can I start?" Chuck sounded excited.

Sophie would discuss the boy with her gardener later in the day. "Tomorrow," she said, "nine to two."

"Do I get weekends off?" Chuck hesitantly asked.

"I wouldn't want you to miss your tournament," she said.

"I'll buy you a bag of popcorn anytime you attend a game," the boy told her.

Sophie liked popcorn. "We've got a deal then."

"Why don't you take the remainder of the day off," Molly suggested, "and rest up for work tomorrow?"

Violet glanced at her watch. "Your mom should be home in an hour. Clear the remainder of the tables; then you can cut out." She reached in her apron pocket, slipped him three dollars. "Stop for ice cream, two scoops max."

The boy turned to Molly. "Can I use you for a job reference?" he boldly asked.

"You've only been here five hours."

Chuck shrugged, then took off to bus the dirty tables.

"Thank you, Sophie." Molly patted her on the shoulder. "I owe you a free piece of pie."

"Way to go," Dune said to her when the counter area cleared. "You made both Chuck and Molly very happy."

She warmed to his compliment.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

She was ready for her unicycle lesson.

Dune paid the bill and left a sizeable tip. Violet walked them to the door. She went on tiptoe and kissed Dune on the cheek, then pushed Mac out the door. "I appreciate what you're doing for Chuck," she whispered to Sophie. "See you at volleyball practice."

Back on the boardwalk, Mac was quick to part ways. "I'm off." He dropped a kiss on Sophie's forehead. "I'll be at the Blue Coconut later tonight if you want to catch up," he told Dune. He left for the T-shirt shop; a change of clothes was his top priority.

Sophie wondered if Dune would show, and if so, who he would take home. With his looks and popularity, he would draw a lot of attention from the women. The thought depressed her just enough for him to notice.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I'm gathering my courage to meet with the shop owners," she said. Rick didn't own a store. He was considered boardwalk entertainment.

"You'll do fine," he encouraged her. "Don't be shy. Speak up for what you want."

She'd like Dune in her life. Even for a little while. She wanted to get to know him personally, not learn about him through his sister Shaye. But she couldn't bring herself to tell him so. Maybe someday.

"Take care, Sophie," he said.

She waited for him to ruffle her hair, but he didn't this time. Instead he gave her a friendly pat on the back and sent her on her way. She'd taken six steps before she turned slightly, in hopes of catching him walk away. She wanted to check out his backside. She squinted against the sun.

To her surprise she found him leaning against the bright blue pipe railing, his gaze on her. There was an intensity and thoroughness to his stare. Unnerved, she tripped and stumbled into the cinnamon churro cart. She'd never felt more awkward.

Collecting herself, she apologized for the mishap, then bought a bag of churros from the cart owner. She had no intention of eating the sugary fried dough sticks. She was full from lunch. Instead she'd give them to Rick. He was a teenager who burned a lot of calories.

She was afraid to look back a second time, so she took off for the employee parking lot. The boardwalk was long and crowded. She didn't do well around a lot of people. Crowds made her nervous. She stuck close to the multicolored storefronts. Her heart was pounding by the time she reached Rick.

She found him lounging on a beach chair at the base of a queen palm. A unicycle lay on the grass beside him. The lot was shaded and almost empty. She planned to avoid the three vehicles and the vintage Harley.

Rick rose and greeted her with a high five. He accepted the churros with a smile. He was younger than Sophie, but with the start of his beard, he looked her age easily. He wore a Tampa Bay Rays baseball cap, white T-shirt, sweatpants, and high-top sneakers. "You showed," he said.

"Did you doubt me?"

He shook his head. "You look delicate, but determined."

"I plan to go the distance."

"Let's do it," Rick said. He pulled a black nylon athletic bag from behind his chair and unzipped it. He shoved the churros in a side pocket, then passed Sophie the protective gear she'd purchased several days ago and left with him.

She dropped her purse by his athletic bag and he assisted her with her wrist and shin guards, then her knee and elbow pads. A pair of short leather gloves, too. Rick placed a small helmet on her head, then hefted the unicycle off the ground.

"This isn't hard," Rick assured her. "Don't be nervous and tense up on me. Exhale, Sophie."

She could barely breathe.

He started her lesson. Riding a unicycle was more complicated than she'd imagined. Once he finished his instructions, he held the cycle upright. She stood on tiptoe, gave a little hop, and scooted onto the seat. Only to slide right off.

The mounting took a good twenty minutes. Balance was not her friend. Her feet slipped on and off the platform pedals. She fell twice. The cement had no bounce. She'd be bruised tomorrow.

She finally settled on the very narrow, very uncomfortable seat and Rick moved to stand before her. He straddled the tire and she gripped his shoulders. Her fingers curled into his T-shirt in a death grip.

"A little hip action," he encouraged her. "Slowly rock back and forth. Think sex, Sophie. Feel the motion."

Sex was not a good reference for her. Her hips felt stiff and rusty. Like the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz.

Rick gave her plenty of time. "Looking good, girl," he praised her. "You can let go of my shirt now."