Page 18 of Plotting Summer

“Capri?”

Literally the only thing that can force my current dread aside is the new, more pressing dread at hearing Tristan’s voice. I’m already calculating the odds of it actually being him and not some man with a similar voice that also knows my name. In my preliminary analysis of stopping here, my odds of running into him were statistically insignificant. Almost non-existent. Hence the reason I chose the mainland grocery store, but apparently the world is against me—including decently sound mathematical calculations.

I don’t have the bandwidth for this right now, but life doesn’t seem to care about that. After way too long of a delay, I finally look over my shoulder to confirm it isn’t some talented impersonator that inherently knows my hearing Tristan’s voice will be the ultimate prank.

“Tristan. Hey.” I lift my hand in a sort of wave, but with the magazine still in my grasp, it appears as if I’m weirdly fanning him. Quickly, I drop it to my side, removing my thumb from the page with the Sunny Palmer article to be safe. “What are you doing here?”

He gestures to his cart full of fresh produce, meats, nuts, and cheeses alongside two gallons of milk. He either eats exceptionally healthy or he’s bringing a charcuterie board to the talent show tomorrow. “Grocery shopping.” Healthy it is. Which makes sense considering his physique and that he doesn’t seem like the charcuterie type. “What about you?”

I angle the basket hanging from my elbow behind me to block him from glimpsing the feminine products thrown on top. Apparently, I don’t want to be the bearer of the news that half of the human population will menstruate at some point in their lives. Me among them. “I came to grab a few things for the weekend.”

“Aren’t you headed home tonight?”

“That was the plan, but I haven’t found my keys.”

“Still?”

I shake my head. “They seem to have vanished. So until I find them, I’m stuck on Sunset Harbor. At least for the two to three weeks it’ll take to get a new fob.”

His narrowed eyes rove over my expression. “That sucks.”

“Yeah.” I’m sure he means my losing the keys and not my being his neighbor until I find the darn things, but the unhelpful thought implants itself regardless.

“And you don’t have another fob?”

“I do at my house, but my keys to the house are⁠—”

“With your lost keys,” he says, finishing for me.

“Exactly. But I’m hopeful I’ll find them here soon. I’m eager to get home.”

“For your date tomorrow?”

It takes me a second to recall the excuse I gave Heath and Tristan earlier—‘the date’ with myself and a nice hot bubble bath. “At this point, I doubt I’ll make it, but it can be rescheduled.” Like super easily.

He nods one of his slow, thoughtful nods. “So, if you’re stuck on Sunset Harbor for the weekend, will you be coming to the talent show? Because if not, maybe we can⁠—”

“Oh shoot!” I blurt, before he can finish. Which, in hindsight, is kind of crazy considering I think he was about to suggest that the two of us should hangout. Except it would've been another pity invite anyway—a courtesy of Heath and Tala's meddling. Not that I'd risk it, even if it wasn't. I need an exit strategy ASAP. “I forgot I’m supposed to get a treat for Serenity and Jack.” I step out of line, backing away slowly. “I’d better go grab something.”

“I can hold your place for you.”

“Oh, no.” I bat the same magazine-yielding hand toward him like it’s my new appendage. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll be a minute.” I turn to leave but remember my manners and pause briefly. “It was good seeing you … again.”

He lifts a parting hand, but he looks completely dumbfounded by my desperate attempt to flee. All these years later, I’m still a master of reading his expressions. The slight hurt and confusion etched in his features nearly has me returning to his side. But I can’t. That’s not an option. If my resolve to keep my distance is already weakening at the slightest disappointment on his part, I’ll be absolutely hopeless against a more concerted effort. Not that I expect him to put forth any sort of effort.

Recommitted to my plan, I duck down the candy aisle and out of view of Tristan. I’ll be taking my sweet time to ensure he's long gone before I head to the parking lot.

It’s nearly twenty minutes later when I exit the store with a brimming paper bag in each arm. I probably should’ve nabbed a cart for my hike to the boonies where I parked, or perhaps forgone the darling yellow notebook, pens, and large selection of chocolates I bought myself in addition to the treats for Serenity and Jack. Oh, and the cursed magazine I purchased to show Tala and Jane. Even if I prefer to skirt around the issue, it’s time to develop a solid emergency plan on the suddenly-not-so-off-chance I’m discovered.

I finally reach the Suburban and set one bag on the back bumper, using my body to wedge it against the back door while I search my pocket for the keys. The Suburban no longer has a functioning fob, so I stick the key into the lock and turn, then pull the handle. When the door’s high enough, I step back to allow the mechanism to automatically open it the rest of the way, but it slams shut. I attempt the same thing a second time before I remember Tala mentioning the lift-gate something or other not working. This must be what she was talking about.

With my armful of groceries, I glance at the cars parked next to the Suburban. The parking spaces are exceptionally tight and the burb is massive, so with how close they both are parked and the fact that some kind of liquid has recently spilled near where I’m standing that prevents me from putting the bags down, I’m not sure I have another option but to try again.

For the third time, I carefully grab the handle with the tips of my fingers and pull until the door is slightly ajar. If I can use my foot for a prop, then …

A dark gray truck stops directly behind me, but in my current position, I can’t fully turn my head to see if they stopped for me. I hear a door open and close, then hasty footsteps making their way toward me. Hallelujah! It’s a rescue!

“Need some help?” Tristan steps into view, and I honestly feel like, at this point, I can’t even be surprised it’s him. I mean, I am and I’m not. But mostly not. Apparently, his damsel-in-distress radar is in perfect working order, and for some reason, it’s currently tuned in to me. Probably because I can’t stop getting myself into scrapes. He takes hold of the trunk door and carefully lifts it from my aching fingers.