Slow Dancing on Price's Pier Read Online Free PDF Page A

bottom of the tank, the sleepers that were too listless to move, the soft shells that rattled around in their own peeling bodies.
    While Jonathan dragged his feet, Garret and Thea bent by the hips over the open tanks and competed to spot King—the biggest lobster in the bunch, the lobstrosity. Jonathan had tried to tell Thea and Garret that there was no King, that every week someone came and bought the biggest lobster (“to eat it!”), and that King was a different animal each time they saw him. But Thea and Garret didn’t care. They goaded each other mercilessly: I dare you to put your hand in. I dare you to touch his claw.
    Jonathan and his brother had always been quick to fight, but that first summer with Thea, things between them settled down. Garret was the one who was most likely to steer them into trouble. Jonathan was the one most likely to bail them out. And somewhere between was Thea, who commanded the whole enterprise of their friendship even when none of them knew it. The balance was perfect. At least, it had been for a while.
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    For the first time in longer than she could remember, Thea faced down a Friday night that included neither her husband nor her little girl. She had no idea what to do with herself, but the world had given her plenty of options:
    From her mother: You know what you should do? Tell your husband to come over so you can cook him dinner. That’s all you need. One dinner, he gets a little tired, a little homesick, and now he might as well just spend the night. Call him. Tell him you’re cooking right now.
    From Irina: I know! You can go to a bar. Wouldn’t that be cool, Mom? You never go to bars. Kristi’s mom does it all the time. You could go with her!
    From her friend Dani: You know what you should do? You should go shopping. Seriously. Buy new underwear. That always helps me.
    For most of her life, Thea had been good at taking advice. She’d taken her mother’s advice that she marry one of the Sorensen boys—though not the one everybody expected. She’d taken Jonathan’s advice that she buy a minivan instead of a Subaru Impreza. She’d taken Irina’s advice that LOL was better than ha-ha.
    But none of the advice she’d received about what to do with her first Friday night alone seemed right. She’d cleaned the house, she’d caught up on bills, she’d called a few friends—but all were busy cooking dinner for their children or going out with their husbands (if they picked up the phone at all).
    Loneliness squeezed her heart, and so before Thea gave in to sitting on the couch, eating Oreos, and watching reruns of decadeold sitcoms, she left. She headed back to the coffee shop, walking the five blocks from her house to the pier with her hair pulled up in a baseball cap and her work sneakers on. At seven p.m., the pier was in full swing—music playing through the open windows of bars, pedestrians crowding shoulder to shoulder in the thoroughfares. But because the Dancing Goat was tucked away at the end of a narrow alleyway, it was often a somewhat more peaceful refuge away from the panic and frenzy of the main pier. The head barista, Jules, was surprised—if not a little dismayed—to see Thea when she came through the door.
    â€œThea!” Jules put his cell phone in his pocket but not so quickly that Thea hadn’t been able to see that he was texting when he should have been working. A few customers were sitting together at the tables, talking easily and sipping their drinks. The apprentice baristas—Rochelle and Claudine—gave her a quick wave before going back to their conversation with the couple at table eight.
    â€œHi, guys!”
    â€œI wasn’t expecting to see you!” Jules said.
    Thea walked behind the counter, feeling better already. “I figured you’d need some help with the refrigerator project.”
    â€œWe just finished,” Jules said.
    Thea