Page 20 of Plotting Summer

Oh no. This isn’t good. I can sense it in the way every cell inside my body stands at attention as though it also needs to know what he’s thinking. “What is it?”

His focus sharpens on me. “I have an idea.”

I lift my brows in response.

His thumb beats against his thigh, and he looks like he’s trying to decide how to word whatever it is he intends to say. “For one reason or another, neither of us wants to be on Sunset Harbor right now, so maybe we need to redefine our relationship with the island. At least make it so we don't dread coming home anymore.”

My heart lifts in my chest as if it’s already casting a vote of confidence before it even knows what it’s voting on. “And how does one redefine a relationship with an island?”

“Make new memories to replace the old ones. Start fresh. I don’t know. I’m just spit-balling here.”

I stare at him, attempting to wrap my mind around what he’s saying. Surely he doesn’t mean we do it together, as in the two of us.

“Dependent on you finding your keys, there's a chance you'll be around for a while.” He shrugs. “It could be fun and give us something to do while you're here.”

He does mean us! I’m desperately trying to rein in my runaway imagination that, at the slightest encouragement, is all too willing to envision what our children will look like and where we’ll live on the island. I’ve literally stolen this man’s name and used it without his permission or knowledge for the past nine years. There’s a far better chance of my having a restraining order placed against me than my having his future children. Which is why I can’t go along with his plan, no matter how badly I want to. “People will talk.”

“About two old friends hanging out?” I don’t miss the way he accentuates friends, as if he wants to make the boundary clear from the start to prevent any confusion on my part. It’s a sound idea considering I was just envisioning our children. Not that I’ll need that boundary because I’m not going to agree to any of this.

“Yes, actually.” I don’t counter his assertion that we were friends, regardless that we haven't seen each other in years, because I’m well aware our definitions of friendship are different. Everyone is Tristan’s friend, and on the island, I have Jane. “Especially those matchmaking gossips at Seaside Oasis.”

He crosses his arms over his broad chest, his smile entirely too effective. “You’re going to let a few little old ladies intimidate you?”

“One hundred percent. Those women, my grandma included, are terrifying when they set their minds to something.” And with the way Grandma mentioned Tristan earlier, it’s wise to be cautious.

“I’ve already made it abundantly clear to them that I’ve no intention of dating anyone from Sunset Harbor again.”

I ignore the way my heart flops over in disappointment at his declaration. “Oh, that’s good to hear,” I say, my tone bordering on sarcasm. “I’m confident they’ll simply take your word for it.”

He chuckles. “We’ll make sure they don’t get any wrong ideas about us.”

With another of his soul-crushing comments, my resolve remains intact.

Mostly.

“I just don't know if it’s a good idea.”

He studies me for a moment. “If you really don’t want to, it’s fine.” His expression is sincere and full of an unhelpful amount of understanding. “But whatever’s holding you hostage—whatever’s making you dread coming home—maybe it’s time to find a way forward.”

A way forward.

My chest buzzes with energy.

There’s no way what he’s offering is the answer to my current dilemma. After racking my brain again and again to try to figure out how I can make things right, the solution can’t be as simple as becoming friends with Tristan. Can it? Developing a relationship—completely platonic, of course—so that, eventually, I can confess my transgressions against him? The truth bomb will definitely be better coming from a friend. A real, actual friend. Not a previous semi-friend Tristan hasn't spoken with in almost ten years. A friend that is helping him heal his relationship with Sunset Harbor. Our little island.

And maybe Tala is right—maybe Tristan will find the whole confession endearing.

HA! I barely manage to not laugh out loud. There’s no way.

But wishful thinking aside, at least this is a plan—and an actionable plan at that. Knowing that there are people out there actively working to discover my identity, this puts the confession on my terms. Tristan won’t have to find out what I’ve done through some random news source or a reporter showing up at his door for an interview. Or worse, from gossip around the island. I can tell him myself—let him ease into it gently and prepare him for the chaos that might come his way.

I momentarily wonder if my own self-interest is swaying me. Because I’m not going to lie—the idea of hanging out with Tristan is making me dizzy with excitement. But the logic is also there. I think.

“Okay,” I say before my better judgment convinces me otherwise. “I’m in.” The intensity of his smile nearly knocks me off my feet. “But you have to promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

My brain spits out the classic line about him promising to not fall in love with me, but I push it away before it can slip out. This clearly isn’t a romance. “You can’t ask about my reason for avoiding the island.” I draw in a long, slow breath, hoping to quiet my pounding heart. “But I’ll tell you when I’m ready.” Accountability is a huge motivator for me, so offering this to him will ensure I don’t forget why I agreed to this along the way.