friends at college and leave him behind.
But if that hadn’t happened while Ethan played two seasons in the USHL, no doubt Casey had nothing to worry about.
Problem was, he had trouble sharing his best friend with other people.
In Glen Hill, Ethan circled Main Street twice before conceding that there was no street parking to be found. “Why don’t I drop you off and come find you once I find parking?”
“I’ll wait,” Casey said. “I’m not in a rush.”
They eventually found a spot on a side street, and Casey grabbed his messenger bag before walking to Main Street with Ethan.
Downtown Glen Hill wasn’t much. Several shops, a salon, a couple of restaurants, a grocer/general store, and Casey’s destination: the antique store, boasting a small Now Hiring—Inquire Within sign on the front window.
Like every antique store he’d ever frequented, Ansel’s Antiques was chaos heaped on top of disorder with nary an obvious organizational system in place. Casey’s left eye twitched.
Antique dressers and desks were topped with tableware, silverware, and lamps. Oil paintings were propped on top of glass-fronted cabinets displaying floral plates, ceramic figurines, perfume bottles, and antique Christmas ornaments. Home décor, ships in glass bottles, cuckoo clocks, gilded mirrors, chandeliers, old picture frames, oil lanterns, vintage globes, bone china tea sets, antique photographs, jewelry, and pocket watches and fancy hats.
And there was an entire second floor of what Casey knew from a previous visit was more of the same.
From behind him, Ethan, amusement thick in his voice, said, “I can see your eye twitching from here.”
“Shut it,” Casey muttered, ignoring Ethan’s snort of laughter.
At the back, the store widened. Tucked into a corner was the customer service counter where a woman in her fifties and nearly Casey’s six-foot height was sorting through some papers. She looked up when he stopped at the desk, wireless reading glasses perched on the end of her nose and lips painted pale pink turned up in a smile. “Hello there.”
Casey gave her his best smile and held out a hand. “Hi. I’m Casey Preston.”
“Hello, Casey. Joyce Donovan.” Her penciled eyebrows—colored red to match her shock of bright red hair that stuck out in a short cap of curls—rose, and her gaze drifted over his shoulder.
Casey turned and found Ethan balancing a delicate china mug and saucer painted with tiny pink roses and gold trim in his palm. It looked dainty and breakable in his large hand. Something about the way he handled it so gently when he placed it back on a table made Casey’s heart melt.
And then a tiny black kitten with white paws trotted up to Ethan and batted at his ankles.
“Oh. Hi.” Bending, Ethan picked it up, fitting it right into his palm, just like the teacup. “Where’d you come from?”
Gah! Was there anything cuter than a hot guy holding a kitten? Before he could melt into a puddle at Ethan’s feet, Casey turned back to Joyce and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “That’s my friend, Ethan.”
“What can I help you with?”
“I saw your sign in the window.” He dug into his messenger bag and came out with a folder. “I brought my résumé.” Placing it on the counter, he crossed his fingers. Glen Hill was small and surely he wasn’t the only student looking for a part-time job.
“Let’s see what we’ve got here.” Even with the reading glasses, Joyce brought his résumé up to her nose. “Lighthouse Bay Genealogy Center,” she muttered to herself. Then, louder, “Where’s Lighthouse Bay?”
“Coastal Maine.”
“And what did you do at the Genealogy Center?”
They chatted for a few minutes about Casey’s previous experience, although it wasn’t much. He’d been working at the Genealogy Center since he was sixteen, starting as a part-timer on evenings and weekends in high school and then being promoted to keyholder and taking over the day shift full-time after graduation. As he talked with Joyce, he was always peripherally aware of Ethan’s whereabouts, as if Ethan had a beacon that Casey could zero in on at all times.
“And what makes you want to work in an antique store?” Joyce asked, gaze narrowed. “It’s not exactly a thrilling job. Not many young men would be interested.”
Casey shrugged. “I have an interest in old things. Where they come from, who once owned them, why, and how they got into their possession. I’m majoring in archeology at GH.”
“And what’s your availability like?”
Ethan wandered to the front of the store with the kitten while Casey continued with his impromptu interview. If he’d known he was going to