Slow Dancing on Price's Pier Read Online Free PDF

opened the display fridge and peered in. It was sparkling clean. “Oh.” She stood up, put her hands on her hips, and scanned the shop to see what needed to be done. “Slow night?”
    â€œEh. Pretty slow,” Jules said. “For a Friday. But it’s a little early yet.”
    Thea heard a faint buzzing and saw Jules’s eyes go wide with surprise. His hand jerked toward his pants pocket to stifle the sound, and inwardly, Thea smiled.
    Jules was twenty-one years old, a junior in college whom she’d hired every summer since he was sixteen. He was an art major—long-haired and frail-boned—and he frequently came to work with paint splotches on his jeans and under his nails. Though he worked hard, he partied hard too. His phone book was a who’s who of the Newport club scene. Sometimes, it boggled Thea’s mind that he was just one year younger than she was when she’d had Irina. At twenty-two—while he was partying and literally painting the town—she’d been learning to breast-feed.
    â€œListen,” she said. “I’m not doing anything tonight. If you want me to take over for you, I’m happy to do it.”
    Jules eyed her suspiciously. “Really?”
    â€œIt’s no big deal,” Thea said, and she walked to the tall white locker that held their aprons. “Go out. Have a good time.”
    Jules took a step toward her, put a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t mind staying,” he said. “I mean, if you want to, like, go out. You know? Go get into some trouble?”
    â€œPlease,” she said, laughing. “Women with ten-year-old daughters don’t cause trouble.”
    Jules stepped back, crossed his thin arms over his black T-shirt. “How old are you? Thirty? Thirty-one?”
    â€œThirty-two,” Thea said.
    Jules’s smile tipped up at one corner, and he gave her an exaggerated once-over. “You could definitely cause trouble, Thea. Believe me.”
    She chuckled and turned away. “Get out of here. I’m ordering you. I’m the boss.”
    â€œAll right, but . . .”
    â€œNope. Out.” She finished putting on her apron as he took his off, and she watched him out of the corner of her eye as he dug his car keys out of his pocket.
    â€œSo, I’ll see you later?” he said.
    â€œYup! Later!” She picked up a rag and began to wipe down the counter. Then he was walking out the door, and another customer was walking in, smiling, and a few minutes later the first rush of a Friday night was pushing through the door, and the world was beginning to slip back into place.
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    By three a.m., Garret had had enough. He’d already gone to the gym, gone for a walk, and gone for a beer, and now there was nowhere left to go but crazy. Irina had hit her head on his bookshelf just when Jonathan had been about to put her to bed, and now she simply would not stop crying. She’d told Jonathan that she didn’t want to stay over—that she wanted her and her father to go sleep in their house . And for a while, it had seemed his explanation held. But once she’d hit her head and the tears had started, there was no end.
    Jonathan came into the living room where Garret was pretending to watch a late night horror movie—though he’d hardly been able to focus on it over Irina’s bloodcurdling screams. She was still weeping in Garret’s bedroom, but she was beginning to sound tired now, the sobs less forceful, the tears probably dried.
    Jonathan dropped down on the sofa beside him. He was wearing dark navy pajamas, a matching top and bottom that had doubtlessly been purchased by Thea. His skin was pale and dull, and his brown eyes were glassed-over. “I don’t know what else to do.”
    â€œThea’s going to think we tortured her.”
    â€œIrina’s always had a flair for drama.” Jonathan rubbed his face. “I think she’s