Page 136 of Summer Love

I nod.

“Why?”

What do you think?

I focus on a knot in the wood of the railing.

“Because of your stupid bet.”

My voice comes out sharper than I meant it to. I don’t take it back.

Jace straightens and lets go of the railing. A crease forms between his eyebrows, somewhere between irritation and exhaustion.

“Yeah, it was stupid,” he says. “We were young. We were idiots. Sorry, okay?”

Offhand. Like it’s some teenage screwup you file away and forget.

I don’t say anything. Because after the shark attack, with Jace never going pro and Noah having to give up college, I’m not about to start a fight over the bet.

The bet, fine—I can maybe live with that. But “Sorry, okay?”—that’s not an apology. It’s a shrug. And you don’t trust someone who shrugs when they’ve broken you.

Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.

“Okay,” I say, not looking at him.

The conversation is over.

We leave the pier. The walk back is slower. We’re still holding hands, and neither of us does anything to change that.

The sound of the waves follows us. The air has cooled and shivers run up my arms. I keep quiet so I won’t ruin the moment.

We pass the skatepark and follow the path to the lodge. When we reach my bungalow, Jace stops and lets go of my hand.

My fingers close on empty air, a stupid reflex. I loosen them. Too late—he saw.

The door is right there. Four digits on the keypad, and the night’s over.

“Summer.”

I turn around.

Jace is there, close, in the moonlight filtering through the trees. His hair is a mess, his T-shirt rumpled, stained at the shoulder with my mascara. He watches me, his mouth slightly open. Like he’s looking for where to start.

Nothing comes out.

We move closer at the same time—half a step each—and he kisses me.

It’s brief, a little clumsy: his nose brushes mine, his lips just graze mine. Then his hand settles at the back of my neck, our breaths mingle, and his mouth finds mine again with a softness that’s too familiar.

We break apart fast and step back. My heart is beating too hard. A disbelieving smile tugs at my mouth.

“Good night, Jace,” I whisper.

“Good night, Summer.”

I go inside and close the door.

In the dark of the bungalow, my back against the wood, I run a finger over my lower lip.