Meet Me at the Lake

I spent my morning in the pastry kitchen with Peter, filling profiteroles and telling him about the improvements I’m going to make if Mom and Dad let me take over as general manager. I was worried things would be different when I came back this summer, that Peter wouldn’t have time for me now that he’s head pâtissier. I suppose I’ve always worried that he’ll get sick of me. But he’s the same old Peter. Only this summer he’s experimenting with sourdough starters, and he gets to control what music gets played in the kitchen. If I never hear Sonic Youth again in my life, I’d be perfectly happy. He’s also growing a beard, which makes him look even more handsome, not that he cares about that type of thing. And not that I care anymore, either. I got over my crush on Peter years ago—he’ll never think of me that way.

He doesn’t like Eric, but Peter never likes the lifeguards. He says all the sun must have fried his brain cells. That’s okay. Peter wouldn’t be Peter if he approved of the guys I date. Anyway, I know Eric’s smart—engineering degrees are no cakewalk. And you should see him in a bathing suit.