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It’s hard to admit that about swimming. Itwassomething I loved, but it’s been a few years since I’ve felt that way.
“Anyway, it’s probably been…a year. Maybe more.”
Busy’s jaw drops. “What? Reid. First, the names. Now, the lake?” She lets out a long sigh. “You are so lucky I moved in right next door.”
I shake my head, trying to hide the way I want to constantly smile when she’s talking to me. The shit she says just makes my soul feel lighter, even with the subject matter of our earlier conversation still lingering slightly. It’s been a while since I’ve smiled this easily, without the looming fears of the future hovering and sapping me of the joy most people experience in the day-to-day. And I don’t know whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing.
It’s good because talking with Busy feels like my soul has taken a much-needed breath, and I can’t help the voice in the back of my mind that says I want to get to know her better, want to understand the things that makehersmile.
But it’s a dangerous feeling, too.
A reminder of the decisions I’ve made for my future and what’s to come
Of things I will never have.
chapter five
Busy
The paint looks like shit.
I stare at the wall, at the light green layer I just finished, my eyes narrowed and my arms crossed.
Like literal shit.
The color looked more sage when I opened the jar, but now that it’s on the wall and contrasting with the forest green of the other two walls and ceiling, it has taken on a hue that reminds me of one of Junie’s diapers that made me want to hurl myself through a window.
What is that? A moss green? Olive, maybe?
Gross.
There’s no way Briar’s going to dig on this. Not a chance in hell. Or if shedoeslike it, I need to strongly advise her that we need to go with a lighter color, something with a bit more brightness and poppy energy. Definitely not…this.
Sighing, I decide to break for an early lunch instead of continuing with a second coat. Until I know for sure what my sister wants to do, I don’t want to move forward with any more painting.
Every day this week, Briar and I have eaten lunch together, heading down to the beach park and chucking a blanket downon the grass. It’s been great, catching up on some of the goings-on around town and hearing about how she and Andy are doing.
But she’s down the mountain today, picking up an actual truckload of books she purchased from a bookstore that’s closing, so I’m on my own.
I roll my eyes. I’malwayson my own. That’s the reality, isn’t it?
Shoving that thought aside, I grab the lunch bag I packed for myself this morning and wander out to Main Street, looking left toward the mountains and the direction of Cedar Cider before turning right and heading toward the lake. Just because Briar isn’t here doesn’t mean I can’t still enjoy the view and some vitamin D.
“Oh, sorry,” I say, bumping into someone coming out of one of the shops.
Reid.
I’m instantly overwhelmed by him—by his scent and his height and that soft grin that’s had me going weak in the knees since before I knew how to explain what that meant.
I blink, trying to get my bearings. “Sorry,” I say again, shaking my head and tucking my hands into my back pockets.
“You’re fine.”
I glance behind him, realizing I’m standing in front of Cohen Custom, his father’s shop. Or I guess, maybehisshop? I haven’t been inside in a long time. For about a year after that summer when Reid was a lifeguard at camp, I found any excuse I could to wander inside, hoping to bump into him. In those preteen dreams, we’d strike up a conversation and he’d realize I wasso much morethan just the girl from summer camp.
It’s hard not to laugh at my younger self and just how clueless she was.
“You been painting?”
