When Maka slips out the door the next day, the seagulls bid her farewell.
It's a lazy stroll into town this morning. She has another wagonful of wood to discard, but Nana had sent her out early enough that she has some time to stand next to the inlet, watching the boats linger in the bay before they return to the marina for their noontime rests.
When she arrives at the antique shop, the same white-haired man from yesterday greets her.
"She's dependable!" he exclaims, and then glances at the clock on the wall. "And early!"
His friendliness puts her at ease, and she laughs a little. "I had somewhere to be this morning. I hope that's okay."
"No problem at all! I'm getting started on a table today," he says. "This wood is beautiful. I had my… assistant help me bring it upstairs last night and I couldn't wait to get my hands on it. What is your name, by the way? I anticipate that we will keep running into each other, if you still have more of this fabulous timber."
"I'm Maka," she says, reaching out to shake his hand.
"Wesley," he replies, his smile warm. "Or Wes, if you like. Thank you again. It really is a pleasure."
"I can help you take this batch upstairs now, if you like," she says, rolling up her sleeves.
"Oh no," he says, shaking his head. "That won't be nec-"
"I insist," she says, turning and heading out the door without another word.
Once outside, he gives her a little shrug-smile combination and ultimately lets her get to work. She gets about half the pile upstairs before he steps in, assuring her that his assistant will be more than happy to bring up the rest, and she relents.
"Thank you," he says. "That should be more than enough to get started with. It really is some fantastic wood."
Maka hesitates for a moment, not wanting to say too much. "That wood was… special to my grandmother," she finally says. "So I'm glad that Nana found someone who'll take good care of it."
He touches a hand to his heart and nods. "I'll let you see everything I make. Promise."
"I'd... really like that," she says after a moment, and she needs to turn away from him, because there's a strange prickling heat in her eyes that nobody, especially a random carpenter that she met yesterday, needs to see. Before she exits the shop, however, she pauses. "Hey… if it's not too much trouble, do you think I could leave the wagon here this morning?"
His face brightens even more, gray eyes widening. "Of course! Leave it as long as you'd like!"
"Thanks," she says with a wave, letting out a little breath as the prickling recedes. "See you this afternoon."
When she finally arrives at Skully's, the sun has come up over the inlet, and the water is dazzling. She wants to stay here, to take in the morning air before the town lights up with the sounds of tourist traffic.
But Skully's awaits, and in she goes, the foghorn welcoming her as she leaves the sea behind.
""Heeeey, she's back!" comes the unmistakable tenor of Blake's voice from the kitchen window. "Didn't bring a book this time, did you?"
Maka smiles and slides the tip of a book out of her bag before letting it drop back in. "Don't leave home without it," she says sweetly.
"Ten minutes early," Kid murmurs approvingly from the table he is seated at with Liz, making a check mark on a short list in front of him. When Maka produces her resume, he takes it immediately and begins marking it up. Liz smiles at her, and then nods her head at the kitchen. The message is clear: if that idiot can get hired, you'll be fine.
"Let's get started," Kid says, putting on and adjusting a pair of thick, dark-rimmed glasses. Liz also puts on a pair - though the window next to them seems be getting much more attention than Maka's resume as Liz adjusts her hair.
The interview goes as expected, at least on Kid's end - lots of questions about her experience in food service or about customer unexpected portions occur due to outside influences - such as, for example, when Blake hollers from the kitchen if Kid could please inquire about whether Maka is capable of doing a keg stand.
"Please don't tell me that is actually on your resume," Liz says, tearing her gaze from the window.
"Please don't tell me you think I have ever wasted a second of my life making a resume," Blake shoots back, and Liz puts her hands up in the physical approximation of 'fair enough.'
"No resume required for your star employee?" Maka says wryly, glancing down at her marked-up resume in Kid's hand.
Impassive, Kid adjusts his glasses, but there's a kernel of frustration simmering in his eyes. "Yes, well. Our fathers are… acquaintances."
"Sometimes," Liz stage whispers to Maka behind her hand, "getting a job around here is more about who you know."
It's meant to be helpful, but it's only confusing, and Maka opens her mouth to ask what that means when the waiter from yesterday walks in the front door.
"Oh, perfect," Liz says, gesturing toward the waiter with grandeur. "Perfect example."
"...Hah?" the waiter says.
"Soul's family owns half the town," Liz says, nodding towards him, and Maka's eyes brighten with recognition.
"Oh! Hey, does a… relative of yours work at the antique shop across the bridge?" she asks.
"Uh, yeah," he says, walking over to their table. "My brother… oh, god. Are you Wagon Girl?" he says. Something that can only be described as Mounting Horror appears on his face, and it makes Maka bristle.
"That's not a nickname I particularly enjoy," she says, crossing her arms. "But yes, that's probably me."
He is clearly taken aback by her honesty, and he recoils as he grumbles, "Carried so much of that wood upstairs last night..."
"Oh, please. It's not that heavy," Maka says, irritated and suddenly regretting that she'd moved half of that wood upstairs this morning. "Not any heavier than a few of those trays-"
"Oh-ho!" Blake exclaims through the window. "Is that a challenge I smell?"
"That's probably the fries you're burning," Liz says evenly, and Blake's triumphant expression flips into an abashed one as he retreats back into the kitchen, accompanied by a shout of "this isn't over, Thompson!"
Kid shoots Liz a grateful glance, then turns back to his notes. Soul uses this opportunity to make a quick getaway, ducking down the hallway before Blake returns.
"Well," Kid says, adjusting his glasses a third time. "We got a bit side-tracked, but everything seems to be in order. We'll let you know as soon as a decision is made."
You're hired, Liz mouths at Maka, shooting her a smile and adding in a whisper, "every time he ends an interview like that the person gets hired. See you tomorrow."
"Hold on!" Blake shouts, the smell of charred potato following him in through the kitchen door. "This isn't over!"
"It... is over," Kid says, confused. "I specifically said 10:30 to 11:00, and it is 11:01." He looks up at the clock to cross-check his wristwatch.
"Not exactly what he meant, but yes, you are very punctual," Liz says placatingly, patting him on the arm. "And-" She directs her attention to Blake. "You have orders to fry. No death matches on the lunch hour."
Maka looks up at the clock as well, brow arching thoughtfully. "I should just stay for lunch, actually."
"You sure?" Liz asks. "Nobody else is in the kitchen this morning." They share a grimace, but Maka still laughs.
"I'll take my chances."
She's halfway into a veggie burger that's, shockingly, not even terrible when Kid walks back through the door.
"I spoke with my father," he says primly. "You're hired." He hands her an apron, and as she takes it, she notes that it is perfectly folded, creased into a triangle. "Liz, train her please?"
He walks back into the hallway without another word, and Maka is quickly learning that her new boss is not one for idle chit-chat.
"Got it, chief," Liz says to the door with a grin.
-ɸ-
As soon as Liz whisks away her plate, there's a menu in her face.
"Welcome to Skully's," Liz says, sounding bored. "Your one-stop shop for New England pirate-themed grub."
Blake's beaming face appears in the window again. "Wan' some lobstah bisque? Some fried clay-ms? Some chowdah? Some-"
"She's not a guest," Liz grumbles, eyes rolling up to pierce the ceiling. "You don't have to put on the Boston accent-"
"Put on?" Blake raises a scandalized hand to his heart. "Elizabeth. You wound me."
"I'll wound you, all right, if you keep that up," she says, brandishing a pint glass, and her intimidation must be successful, because he disappears into the kitchen, leaving them in peace for at least the next five minutes. "Anyway. Let me show you around."
Maka gets a tour of the bar, the patio, and the different table setups, while Liz explains things like divisions in the table sections, which plates come out the hottest and how to balance trays on one's arms in such a way that not even Blake, whirlwind that he is, can topple them.
Since business is slow, Liz… encourages Soul-the-waiter to join them for this part of the tour, and though he is staunchly unwilling to serve as a model for how to carry trays, he does give a surprisingly thorough - if stilted - explanation of the game room in the corner of the restaurant and its frequent inhabitants.
"Darts," Soul says, pointing to the corner of the room where the board sits perched on one bent, precarious-looking nail. "Middle-aged fishermen with dogs. Too many cigarettes."
He leans back against the pool table and points at it. "College kids that think they've got game. Middle aged fishermen that suck at darts."
"How… do you know all of this?" Maka asks him, and he looks surprised at the question.
"Oh. Uh. I used to… come here a lot, back when this restaurant was just a brew pub," he explains. His hesitation makes it seem like he's leaving something out, but she doesn't press. "Anyway. It's a new restaurant, but a lot of the same people come in."
"People like coming back to the same places," she says, nodding. "Shareport, especially."
He looks at her curiously, but she just shakes her head. He's not the only one who can be mysterious.
There's an old Galaga machine that he spends a minute standing at, flicking the joystick, before pointing at it and saying, "Blake, mostly."
And finally, they reach a pinball machine, tucked away in a corner of the room. Surprisingly, Soul doesn't approach it, and he and Liz exchange an exasperated glance.
"... And this one?" Maka finally says after five seconds of nobody saying anything.
"This one… has a motion sensor," Soul says. "We think it's broken, cause once it sees you, it never shuts up."
"...What?" Maka says. "It can't be that bad."
"See for yourself," he says with a shrug.
She walks in front of the machine. It's medieval-themed, with swords and cups and crowns decorating its insides, and when it sees her, it instantly lights up, flashing in little circles and swirls. But the most notable part of its activation is undoubtedly the song it bursts into:
"Excaliburrrrrrrrr! Excaliburrrrrrrrrr! From the United Kingdom-"
"The machine's from the United Kingdom?" Maka asks over the noise.
"It's from Detroit," Soul and Liz say in unison, identical expressions of disgust on their faces.
"Can we move?" Soul adds. "You'll be able to hear it from the bar, anyway."
Maka nods, eager to remove herself from the serenade, and when they get back to the bar, it has repeated the same jingle three times.
"Give it... twenty minutes," Liz says, checking her watch. "It'll stop eventually."
"I'm sorry I asked," Maka says, grimacing.
"Don't worry about it. I feel like it's part of the initiation." Liz shrugs, grabbing a towel. "Anyway. C'mon back here." She spins around to face the taps with a reverent expression on her face, extending her arms wide. "Let me show you the beer."
Soul's afternoon passes quickly and with minimal interruptions from Blake, except for his attempts to incite a Tray Holding Contest after this morning's conversation. In an impressive show of solidarity, the entire staff goes mysteriously deaf every time Blake brings it up, and when four o'clock rolls around, Soul is free.
He makes his way down the stairs, and makes a beeline for his motorcycle as usual, and he's fiddling with the handlebars when a voice rings out from behind him.
"Oh, so you're the one who drives this!" He turns around to see Wagon Girl heading down the stairs, and she looks… impressed. "Nice."
This is surprising, and he probably looks surprised. "You like it?"
"I do," she says with a nod. "It's very cool. Um…" She fiddles with her hands for a moment, choosing her words. "I'm Maka, by the way. I never introduced myself this morning."
It's true. She didn't. He appreciates not having to refer to her as Wagon Girl anymore, as it brings back bad memories. "Nice… to meet you," he says, and he finds, despite all of the pain she has caused him in the last twenty-four hours, that he means it.
"You... heading back home?" she asks.
"I was gonna… stop at the shop first," he says with a sort of strained amusement. "...In case there's any wood I need to move."
She laughs. "Actually, I need to go back there too. I... have a wagon to pick up," she says, lip quirking.
"Uh huh." They're both grinning now. "What's... with the wagon, anyway?" he asks.
"I don't have a car up here. Well," she amends, "no car that I can drive." To his questioning glance she adds, "Nana's car is a stickshift, and-"
"You haven't learned stick," he says, finishing her sentence.
"Yeah." She shrugs a little, hands in the pockets of her sweatshirt. "I just never had the chance."
He's not sure what exactly makes him say it, at that moment - he's not one to offer favors to people that he doesn't know... or anyone, really - but something in the universe wills him forward.
"I mean…" he says, a bashful hand against his neck. "I could teach you. If you want."
The question hangs in the air for a moment as she processes this, tilting her head sideways.
"Would it be… on a motorcycle?" she says with a little laugh.
"Oh, uh-" He glances down at the motorcycle, understanding the miscommunication. "Nah. We've got… other cars back at the house."
"Other cars?" she asks. "Plural?"
"Big family," he says, but now he's frustrated, because he doesn't like talking about these things. He grinds the toe of his shoe into the gravel. "You wanna learn, or not? Doesn't... matter to me either way."
"Mmm," she says, crossing her arms as she sizes him up. "...Yeah." A small smile cracks through her expression. "I'd like to learn. After work tomorrow?"
"... Sure," he says, and as he turns to grab a helmet from the front of the motorcycle, there's something almost like excitement tugging at him. But that's not normal, so he tamps it down. "Okay, Wagon Girl. I'll see you… oh." He stops and looks up at her again, helmet in his hands. He's knows why he's embarrassed to ask the next question - it's the first time he's asked anyone, after all - but it's only polite to offer, right?
"Do you uh… you want a ride to the shop?"
They both watch each other for a moment, as if they're both unsure of what she's going to say. But in a moment, she's crossing the space between them and taking the helmet from his hands. "Yeah, okay."
As they ride back across the bridge, the afternoon sun is warm, and Soul wrestles with the fact that this is such a new feeling, so interesting, having someone take a ride behind him, arms at his back. It's... nice, having someone there, though again, he doesn't investigate it too deeply. It's not like it means anything. It's just a ride. A favor.
Maka is doing that thing that everyone does when they ride the first time - she's hesitant to lean in to turns, hesitant to sit too close - and honestly, Soul is fine with that, because if there's one thing that he knows for sure about this whole situation, it is the following: if Wes is outside when they arrive, he is going to get so much shit.
And because the universe does not like him one bit, when they pull into the driveway of the shop, the first thing he sees is Wes, standing in the front yard with a quirked eyebrow and a very amused expression.
"Well hello, Maka. Little brother," Wes says, a wide grin plastered across his face as he looks between the two of them.
Subtlety has never been his brother's strong suit, and nothing spells that out more than the current state of Maka's wagon.
Sliding off the back of the motorcycle, Soul and Maka both walk over to the wagon, taking in the sight of her wagon - wooden boards tightened and glossed, and a fresh paint job on the metal parts. But the most obvious part is the giant wooden sign nailed to the side of the house, white with green lettering, that says Maka's Wagon. Wes had even encased it with planks on either side, mapping out the exact place where, presumably, she'd left it this morning.
"You gave it a parking spot," Maka says flatly.
"And you didn't even use the wood I brought up yesterday," Soul gripes.
In an instant, Wes's faux-affronted face has made its triumphant return. "Of course I gave it a parking spot!" he says to Maka. "Only the best for my suppliers. And excuse-moi, Soul." He gestures to the painted sign. "Where do you think this wood is from?"
"Aren't you supposed to make stuff to sell?" Soul says, rolling his eyes.
"I'm an artiste," Wes says. "I do what inspires me. Speaking of which," he says, pulling Soul away and whispering loudly, "What inspired you to give a pretty girl a ride to the shop today, hmm?"
He'd been prepared for this, but somehow, he still finds himself totally unprepared to respond. "Ugh. We work together. It was just a ride, don't be weird." Wes bumps their shoulders together and Soul winces, a combination of yesterday's lifting workout and Wes's implications. "Dude. We met like today."
Luckily, Maka is quick to save him from his misery. "Hey Wes, can you explain to me what gloss you used on the wagon?"
"Oh!" Wes comes running, and Soul shoots her a grateful glance behind his back. "Do you love it?"
It appears that honesty is one of Maka's core personality traits. "It's... something," she says.
"I know, I know, it's over the top, but since you'll be bringing it back and forth so much, I figured it would be nice to give it a home!"
"It is definitely over the top," she agrees. "It's ridiculous. But it's also very sweet. You got a lot done in a few hours," she adds.
"Once he gets an idea, you won't see him again until it's done," Soul says. He's re-entering the conversation with his toes in the water, weighing whether Wes is sufficiently distracted.
"Hey, I did this for you, too, little brother!" Wes swoons, pointing at a small stack of wood in the yard. "That's all that's left today!"
"It's... not that heavy," Soul mutters. Maka gives him a massive eye roll at that, but he carefully avoids eye contact, already ducking into the doorway to make quick work of the wood.
"Okay, I'm gonna get going," he hears Maka say through the upstairs window. "I'll bring more over tomorrow, okay?"
"Sure thing!" Wes says. "If you want to come back tomorrow on the bike, you could, y'know… make a habit out of it."
"Wes," she says. "It really was just a ride. And… not that it's any of your business, but I'm not in the market for… all of that, right now."
That is something worth noting, and Soul has noted it. "And stop offering people rides on my bike without my permission!" he yells, poking his head out of the window upstairs.
Wes just laughs, unabashed. "Alright, have a good night! We have a dinner to attend," he says, and Soul slowly withdraws from the window, unimpressed. He'd forgotten that they had that little function this evening.
"Good luck with that," Maka says, loudly enough that Soul can hear. "And I'll see you both tomorrow."
Maka walks back in through the side door just in time for dinner, and Nana winks at her when she comes through the door, a finger twirled around the cord of her kitchen phone.
"And what are you up to this evening?" Nana says into the phone, pointing at the already-full plate in Maka's normal spot at the table. "Oh no, don't you steer this conversation away. Yes, she's here. Just got home. She's just fine. Working hard and succeeding at everything she does, just like her Nana." She meets Maka's eye and winks again. "Mhm. So tonight. You're gonna have a nice relaxing meal and go to sleep, yes? Mhm. No jaunts to the seedy parts of town? Good. Alright, alright, hold on."
"You wanna talk to him?" she mouths, fully prepared to continue if Maka says no, but Maka nods, getting up and accepting the phone.
"Hey, Papa," she says, bracing herself.
"Maka! Hello, darling! How are you! Is Nana spoiling you?"
He's easy to hear through the phone, and Nana scoffs, offended at the notion that she wouldn't be spoiling her granddaughter.
"Always, Papa," Maka says. Nana leans back in her chair, and takes a sip of her tea, appeased. "I'll take good care of her, okay? I got a job at a place downtown today."
Nana and Papa's reactions are so identical that she almost laughs - even though she can't see him, she can picture his face in Nana's, in the blue-green joy radiating from her eyes. "Great job, baby girl! Daddy's so proud of you!"
She still finds the nickname a little grating, but she ignores it. "Thanks, Papa. I'm gonna go, Nana has dinner on the table. You doing okay?"
"I'm fine, I'm fine. I was thinking that I might bring the car up there this weekend, if you need it," Spirit says, his voice still wavering with excitement.
"Oh!" Maka says. "Um… actually. I'm okay," she says. "You can keep it."
She can hear the disappointment in his voice. "...You sure? You don't need it for the wood? Nana mentioned you've been using the wagon."
"... Yeah," she says, and she's not entirely sure why a small smile is working its way onto her face, but it's there. "I've... got some other options for transport. So I don't need a car."
"Okay, baby girl. Love you."
"You too, Papa."
She sits down in the kitchen, feeling a little wired, a little stretched. She's been in this kitchen so many times, but suddenly, the summer feels full of possibility. The dichotomy between familiar and new is bizarre, and she feels, all of a sudden, like this summer's going to be one to remember.
"Hey, Nana?"
"Yeah, MK?"
"Thanks… for having me stay this summer," she says, looking up from her mashed potatoes.
Nana's expression softens, and she leans over to kiss Maka on the head. "Oh, baby girl. Don't you worry. It's no problem at all."