Chet thrived on the busyness at the beach. His feet may have hurt more than he would’ve liked, but he couldn’t complain about wearing board shorts for a uniform, the tips he got for bringing people pizza slices and corndogs, or finally having something to do.
In the downtimes, which were admittedly rare, he caught up on the surfing competition. He’d never come to Carter’s Cove to follow it, but he was enthralled by the men and women and what they were trying to do.
He wove through bodies in the crowd, two people with their hands up. He took their orders, and then three drink orders, on his way back to the kitchen. With the system he and Olympia had worked out, he had an electronic device he could send orders in with before he even left the sand, and usually, the orders were ready by the
