Under The Boardwalk

Gus wondered just how soft Jack’s heart was.

* * *

TOSHA, BERNIE AND several other vendors came by as Gus finished stocking and cleaning the Midway Bakery. The sign crew had already been there and a large electric cookie with the name Aunt Augusta’s Midway Bakery hung over the shop.

“I should get a new sign,” Bernie said. “Had the same hand-painted French-fry sign for fifteen years.”

“Can’t afford it this year,” Tosha commented.

Gus propped her elbows on her counter. “I’m sorry. I tried to see him before the deadline. Three times. I should’ve fought harder for all of you.”

“Nonsense,” Tosha said. “It’s business. And you’re not responsible for all of us. You’ve got enough on your plate. I plan to see how this summer goes and then reevaluate for next year. Gonna take it one ice-cream cone at a time.”

“Summer hasn’t even started and we’re already in too deep to change anything,” one of the souvenir vendors said. Ricardo sold Starlight Point hats, shirts, key chains and plastic snow globes featuring the roller coasters and the Star Spiral. “Got all my merchandise ordered already.”

“One thing I’m not short on is employee applications,” Tosha said.

“Me, too,” Bernie agreed. “But I only need a few summer workers. Had to turn a bunch of ’em away this year. Way more than usual.”

“A friend in human resources told me Starlight Point was cutting the summer workforce ten percent across the board. That’s two hundred people they’re not hiring,” Tosha said.

“Apparently the new management figures on keeping more of the profits for themselves,” Ricardo grumbled. “I think they’re going to learn some things the hard way.”

“Doesn’t solve the problem of our contracts,” Hank reminded the group. “That’s what I’m worried about right now.”

“We could try renegotiating later in the summer,” Gus suggested.

“Don’t see why Jack would do that,” Bernie said, “unless it was in his favor.”

“I guess I don’t, either,” Gus admitted. “The only thing I can do right now is get all my shops ready for Saturday and hope like crazy I’ll make so much money this summer I can cheerfully hand over a chunk of the profits.”

They all nodded seriously.

“And if I don’t, I’ll chase him down and pelt him with rubber bands until he either cries uncle or names a roller coaster after me. The Zinger.”

“That’s the spirit,” Tosha said. “Now back to work.”

Gus headed for the Wonderful West and her Last Chance bakery. With her long stride, she zipped past her friends setting up their food and souvenir stands, power walked by the Scrambler and passed the old Silver Streak coaster that had stood by the bayside of the peninsula for forty years. Carousel music put a spring in her step and strengthened her hopes for a great season.

A bicycle bell jingled right behind her, cutting into “In the Good Old Summertime” tinkling from the carousel organ.

“Ride?” Jack asked.

He pulled in front of her on the red tandem bicycle. Although early in the summer, he already had a nice tan. His dark hair waved back from his forehead, his deep brown eyes less serious than usual.

Gus stopped on the bright white concrete, which was baking in the afternoon sun.

The ride was tempting. The Wonderful West was a good hike from the front entrance, and her hair was already stuck to the back of her neck. But the shade trees were just ahead. She could make a break for them and resist the charming and enigmatic Jack—the man who made her heart race and her blood boil.

“Depends on where you’re going,” she said in an attempt to stall and escape gracefully.

“Canada,” he answered. “It’s just across the lake.”

“I figured. Are you a decent driver? How’s your safety record on this thing?”

Jack planted both feet, balancing the bike between his long legs. Gus felt the heat even more. Why did the company owner and general enigma have to be so attractive?

“See this scar?” he asked, pointing at a small white line on his chin. “That was from my first bike accident.”

“How old were you?”

“Twenty-five. I’ve gotten more careful since then.”

“I see,” she said. “I’m considering your risky offer.”

“Last Chance.”

“I’m thinking.”

“No, I mean, I assume you’re headed for your Last Chance bakery. You might as well get on and save your energy for opening day. I’m hoping for fifteen thousand people. At least.”

At the thought of baking fifteen thousand cookies, Gus surrendered and swung her leg over the seat in back. She would need all her energy if his prediction came true. From the backseat, her view was all broad shoulders and tailored suit. Why didn’t he get heatstroke in those suits?

“I can’t see anything from back here,” she said.

“Don’t need to. You can’t steer, either.”

Before she could protest, the bike started rolling. Gus gripped the handlebar and pedaled, trying to accustom herself to being totally at someone else’s mercy. She focused on the shops, restaurants and trees whizzing by. She attempted to summon carefree childhood memories of racing on a bike, the wind in her hair. But she wasn’t fooling anyone. She wanted to steer that bike like kids wanted to catch Santa on Christmas Eve.

Especially when Jack careened much too close to a tree. And when he skirted the edge of a curb in front of the HoneyBee kiddie coaster. He nearly crashed into an oncoming bike, but swept to the side at the last second and gave Gus only a brief glimpse of the near disaster.

The man was a maniac on a bike.

“I want off,” she said.

“Trust me. I could do this with my eyes closed.”

“I think you are.”

He finally stopped in front of her Western-themed bakery sandwiched between the shooting gallery and the train tracks. She stepped off the bike, straightened her apron and admired her new sign as she tried to regain her equilibrium. The sign was like the one at the Midway Bakery, but Aunt Augusta’s Last Chance Bakery was spelled out in neon ropes and the cookie wore a cowboy hat.

“Nice,” Jack commented. “You’re breathing new life into these bakeries.”

He planted his feet again. Gus thought for a moment he’d put down the kickstand and invite himself in. Instead he sat and looked at her as if he were at a loss. He must have a million things to do with only days until the season started. Just like she did.

“Work to do,” she said, unable to restrain a smile.

He nodded. “Want me to pick you up later? It gets pretty lonely on this bike by myself.”