I wake in the morning feeling more tired than when I went to sleep. My bones ache with fatigue and the strange dream I had replays itself in my head. I stumble around, half awake, trying to get ready for work without collapsing.

Work. I remember Don in my dream, towering and powerful, godlike to say the least, and the fury in his voice. I don't know if I will be able to look at him the same way; that image of him is hard to shake off. I haven't forgotten that he offered to show me around Montauk either. Rather than seeming exciting, the whole prospect sounds a little daunting.

The aftermath of the storm is evident on the beach. Washed up seaweed, driftwood and debris lie strewn across the beach like shrapnel, like the remnants of a war. The weather, though sunny, is several degrees colder and the sea a flat, uninviting grey. The few tourists that have ventured outside drape towels and sarongs around them and shiver under their beach umbrellas, probably wishing they had stayed inside. I am glad for the jeans and light cardigan I opted for. At least it keeps the chill out.

The mood in the Cafe Elpida kitchen, however, has not wavered. Liza greets me just as cheerfully and Mason, the sous-chef, breaks off from the country-pop song on the radio that he is attempting to sing in order to wish me a good morning.

There is no sign of Don yet, a fact that Lucille and Jean look a little put out by. The weather has been unkind to Lucille's hair which she is attempting to smooth down with tap water and some olive oil she's smuggled behind Liza's back.

"Can you believe this weather?" she grumbles when I go to the sink to wash my hand. "I mean, what is even the point of living in a beach town if it's going to be cold? The whole ocean view thing is so overrated."

Jean nods in agreement from her devoted place next to Lucille. "Totally," she says. Her head bobs so hard, I am sure it would have rolled right off it hadn't been secured to her shoulders. She adds an emphatic "Ugh," for emphasis.

"And obviously Don bailed," Lucille says, rolling her eyes, "I swear, whenever we have bad weather, he shows up half an hour late in a bad mood."

I smile but I wish she hadn't said that. It does nothing to dispel the memories of last night when, in my dream, it looked almost like Don had been controlling the storm.

"Why you girls dilly-dallying?" Liza yells, making Lucille roll her eyes and Jean scurry back to her work station. I follow behind her, picking up an egg beater on my way. "I ain't paying you to stand around and gossip about that boy!"

At the mention of Don, he strides in, carrying a basket of fresh fish. The scowl on his face suggests he's in a foul mood. His eyes are cloudy and a flat grey and his hair tousled like he hasn't slept. I guess I'm not the only one.

"'Morning, King of the Ocean," Liza says sarcastically. "What time do you call this? Because I call it late."

Don smiles a little at her good-natured humour and sets down the fish. "Liza, I call it a hard day for fishing."

Liza whistles in appreciation at his catch and he says, "They were not cooperating today. Something about stormy conditions, something about how someone needs to cut them some slack."

"Boy, you need to stop talking like you can speak to those fish," Mason laughs, pulling a huge salmon from the basked and cutting its head clean off with a cleaver.

"Ah, but I can," Don whispers loudly. He looks at me and winks, like I'm in on some private joke. I laugh in spite of myself, seeing him not as a towering figure from a dream but as a teenage boy.

"Go put the rest of the fish away, Don," Liza scolds, "We are running a kitchen here, not a death trap."

Don feigns annoyance and picks up the basket once again, heading over to the refrigerator. As he passes by me, he says quietly, "Are you still on for tonight, Sally?"

It's quiet enough that the others don't hear but I can't help but feel self-conscious. I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear and look straight at him. Spending a lot of time at home meant I had a lot time to watch TV and I've seen how the confident girls do it in the movies. Shoulders back, head held high and smile like you know you're pretty. In my case, I wasn't sure of the latter part but I fake it anyway. "Of course," I smile.

Maybe I am seeing things again, but I could swear that I see the colour of his eyes change right in front of me, going from the dark gray to a calm sea green. Up close, it's enough to make you breath catch in your throat.

Liza reckons that if God could rest on Sunday, she can too. She closes the restaurant after lunch, letting us take baggies of food home for our families or, in my case, Moira.

"See y'all tomorrow," she says as she waves us off before going back in for final checks and locking up the cupboards.

Mason has a rusty bike which he unchains from the drainpipe and he takes off down the path. Lucille and Jean linger with me and Don.

"What are you guys up to tonight?" Lucille asks, tossing her hair in her practiced move. "We could go to the movies, you know. I hear that new Batman movie is supposed to be good."

Don shakes his head and says, "I'm busy tonight, Luce. Plus Batman is highly overrated. All that lfying around? Not my style."

Lucille, though she looks a little upset about the rejection, looks thoroughly pleased at the nickname. "Maybe next weekend, then?"

"Maybe," Don smiles.

"See you, Sally," Lucille waves and Jean follows after her. I try not to feel bad that they didn't ask me to go see the movie with them. I mean, I haven't known them for very long. Still, there is something utterly satisfying about saying you have plans and actually meaning it and I would have liked to have said it, even once.

Lucille blonde hair disappears down the path, followed by Jean's bobbing ponytail. When they're out of sight, Don look at me and smiles. If I was being dramatic, I would say that smile could end wars and bring dictators to their knees. But since I'm being realistic, I'll say that if breathless was a moment, it would be right here, right now.

"Are you ready, Sally?" Don asks.

I am.