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You won’t stay long enough to even care. Seeing Oliver again doesn’t change that. We are completely different people.
But if we’re different, why is his smile the same?
“You doing okay?”
The sudden voice causes my body to jump. My head whips around to see Oliver walking toward me. My flight instinct almost kicks in, but my feet cement me to the sand.
Oliver rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”
I wave him off because talking is still eluding me.
“Are you from around here?” he asks, knocking the wind out of my lungs.
With a swallow, even though my mouth is drier than a desert, I choke out, “No, I’m from Darien. It’s a few hours from here.”
“Have you ever been to Alliance before?” How was I going to answer this question? He raises a brow at my lack of an answer.
“Nope, first time.” The first of many lies.
“You know, there was air by the fire, but I get it. Staring out onto Lake Michigan is pretty awesome.”
I almost say that I’ve missed the view.
“I like your hair, by the way,” he says, turning to look at me, but I find myself unable to look away from the lake. Like if I look at him, all of this will be ruined. “The pink looks really good with the blonde.”
“Thank you,” I say meekly.
“Have you never seen one of the great lakes before? You haven’t looked away this whole time.”
“Yes, I’ve seen all of them before. I’ve just missed it,” I answer honestly.
“Have you ever been surfing?” he asks.
“On a lake? Isn’t that solely an ocean thing?” I answer. “I highly doubt anyone can actually surf on a lake. There’s not enough–”
My breath hitches when I forget to keep looking at the water and make the mistake of looking at Oliver. His sea-green eyes darken with some sort of intensity.
“If you really think you can’t surf on a lake, how about you come back tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I teach kids surf lessons, and I’ve been told I’m a pretty good coach, so maybe I’ll give you a free lesson.” He winks at me with a grin. “Give me your number, and I’ll send you the location.”
Then it hits me.
Oliver Moore.
Oliver Moore, my childhood best friend, is flirting with me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sally
Oliver Moore wasn’t always a flirt or criminally handsome. I didn’t think much of romance when I was ten. I certainly didn’t feel my breath hitch when looking at his pudgy face.
The first time I met Oliver was after my parents had started arguing. It felt like my parents were constantly in competition to see who could yell the loudest, who could make the most noise, and, most of all, who got the last laugh. Though, no one really laughed here.
That night’s argument had revolved around forgetting to pick up a loaf of bread. So, instead of getting a meal that night, I was subjected to listening to them yell at each other. Another day of barely eating.
