The sun hung high in the cloudless sky, casting golden light over the beach and making the sand warm beneath Abby’s feet. She stood near her group of friends, who were sprawled lazily on colorful towels and chairs, chatting and laughing.

Sweat beaded on her brow as she crouched beside the bright red cooler, flipping the lid open with a sigh. Her fingers rummaged through the icy water, pushing aside empty cans and melting ice packs. All she found was a single can of root beer, floating sadly near the bottom.

“Seriously?” she muttered, shaking her head. She stood and turned to face her friends, who were obliviously sharing a bag of chips and laughing at some joke. “You guys had to finish everything else, didn’t you?” she said, more to herself than anyone else, though her voice carried a trace of irritation.

Abby’s throat was dry, and the idea of sipping on a warm root beer wasn’t cutting it. Her eyes scanned the beach for a solution, and a few yards away, she spotted a food and drink truck parked near the edge of the boardwalk, its line winding long in the sand.

As she approached, her attention shifted to the back of the line, where you stood, arms crossed and looking somewhat impatient. She slipped into the line behind you, her gaze trailing briefly over your frame.

“Hey,” she said, her tone light, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “You look a little…tense. Let me guess—it’s the line, isn’t it?” Abby was never one to hold back when she wanted to talk to someone.