I hurry back towards the kitchen, both hands going up to tug my hair tie lose as I turn the corner. My phone sits on the end of the island by my beach bag. I kick my flip-flops off next to the stool as I snatch up my phone and my tumbler of iced tea. I tap the front of my phone and read the time. 4:17 p.m. Dang, I’m cutting it close.
