“Max!” Molly blurted, louder this time.
It was official—they were never going to actually kiss, were they?
The surfer, who didn’t seem to be in any kind of hurry to get his feet wet, glanced from Molly to Max and back again.
“Yes?” Max asked, as calmly as he could manage.
Molly pulled a face. “I hate to tell you this, but I don’t think your pancake queue had anything to do with your actual skills at the griddle.”
“I’m not following.” How had they gotten back to pancakes?
“Oh, dude.” The surfer’s eyes went wide. He looked at Molly. “He doesn’t know, does he?”
A trickle of dread snaked its way up and down Max’s spine. This was going to be worse than being recruited for senior yoga or wheelchair balloon volleyball against his will, wasn’t it?Farworse.
He had a sudden urge to crawl into Ursula’s hole and let her bury him in the sand. “Know what?”
Molly made a little spinning motion with her pointer finger and aimed a meaningful look over Max’s left shoulder. Her mouth twitched, like she was trying her best not to laugh.
“Turn around and take a look.”
Chapter 12
Seconds later, Molly stood alongside Max as they gazed up at the aquarium’s entry in the SandFest sand sculpture competition. The team that Mavis had recruited to build it must have been working since sunup. Situated in all its glory just beyond the pier, the sculpture was truly a sight to behold. How Molly had failed to notice it earlier must have been a testament to her focus on trying to put an end to her pretend relationship with Max…or maybe she’d been a tad distracted by almost kissing him.
Again.
Why did that keep happening?
Never mind.Molly couldn’t think about that now—not when Max seemed like he might pass out. He’d gone instantly pale when he caught sight of the sculpture, and now that they were getting a closer look at it, he appeared to be a little green around the gills. Molly wondered if she might need to resuscitate him for real this time around.
“It’s me,” Max said woodenly.
“Indeed it is.” Molly bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.
The sculpture was a perfect replica of Max himself, albeit with some superhero-like embellishments. Sand-Max stood atop a giant sea turtle, surrounded by dolphins, coral, and a swirling school of tiny fish, giving him a definite Neptune-like vibe. He even clutched a trident that had tiny shells pressed into it from top to bottom in one of his hands. Sand-Max’s other hand cradled a baby sea turtle whose shell was covered with overlapping sand dollars. It was an elaborate homage to Max as god of the sea. A hand-painted sign with the name of the aquarium and its entry number in the contest was speared into the sand at the base of the intricate creation.
As lovely as those details were, Molly had hardly noticed them at first. Her attention had immediately gone straight to the sculpture’s impressive physique.
Max blinked. “Where’s my shirt?”
What shirt? The sculpture was bare-chested, with a definite six-pack. Or eight-pack. Maybe even a twelve-pack. Was a twelve-pack a thing? Molly hadn’t stopped to count, but muscles bulged everywhere—from the sculpture’s strong shoulders all the way down to his flat, sandy stomach.
“At least they gave you pants,” she said, somehow resisting the ridiculous urge to drag the tip of her pointer finger along the indention that ran down the center of Sand-Max’s torso. Thank goodness there were rules against touching the entries in the contest.
“Yeah, I suppose it could have been worse.” Max scrubbed his hand over his face. “I just don’t understand. How…why?”
Molly gave him a sideways glance. “Do you seriously need to ask that question?”
She knew exactly how, why, and most importantwhowas responsible. This was the work of the OG Charlie’s Angels. Molly would have bet money on it.
It all made sense now—the gigantic line at Max’s pancake station, so many stares and whispers when they’d been trying to have a simple conversation. Thanks to Mavis, Ethel, and Opal, Max was the talk of the town.
The older women were nowhere to be seen at the moment, but their fingerprints were all over this. Literally. Molly was pretty sure she saw a thumb-sized indentation in the sand right around one of Sand-Max’s oblique muscles. It bore an uncanny resemblance to the inky smudges that dotted Opal’s bingo sheet every Tuesday. Molly would know that thumbprint anywhere.
Ursula started wiggling in Molly’s arms before she could say anything about the guilty party, and within seconds, a flash of black and white spots bounded into view.
“Sprinkles, stay away from the—” Violet’s voice came to an abrupt halt as she jogged to a stop alongside Molly and Max and took in the sand sculpture. She blinked a few times and then slid her gaze toward Max. “It’s—”