Page 35 of Plotting Summer

Right when my breaths were coming more easily, my lungs constrict again. It’s honestly like this man is in possession of a manual on romance. A question I have to answer? Classic. “It can’t be about my reason for avoiding the island.”

“It won’t be.”

I hesitate, still not sure I want to agree, but those darn green eyes of his are hindering the signal from the logical part of my mind again. Besides, real friends are open with each other, and that’s what we’re supposed to be. Real friends. “Okay.”

“Okay? You’ll answer my question?”

I shift under his appraising gaze and lift up my index finger. “One question.”

“Hmm.” His gaze goes distant and he brings a hand to his chin, then his thumb rubs across his bottom lip.

I’m not staring. You’re staring.

“I’ve got it,” he says, and I hurry and pull my eyes from his lips so he doesn't notice me gawking. “The day we took the sunset boat ride⁠—”

“It can’t be about that either,” I say, shaking my head. Thankfully, I’m already bright red from biking here, so my intensifying color shouldn’t be too noticeable.

He lifts his hands in a calm-down motion. “I was just going to ask: before that, when you were sitting in the fishing boat by the dock, what had you been thinking about?”

Exactly like when Tristan asked me that day ten years ago, I’m back on home plate wearing roller-skates, with a racket in hand and wondering where in the world that pitch came from, what I’m supposed to do with it, and what game we’re even playing here. I give a tight laugh, hoping to buy myself some time. “You remember that?” The whole experience is ingrained into each neuron in my brain, but I’d assumed Tristan hadn’t thought about that moment a second time.

“Every so often, the memory pops into my head.” He shrugs casually, as if he isn’t asking me to bear my soul to him. “It seems like something worth knowing. What can cause such a look of utter contentment?”

I glance toward the lighthouse, still attempting to figure out exactly how to answer. Then I recall Tala's idea about giving Tristan hints that’ll make my final confession seem less random. Nothing too condemning, but a minor revelation. “I have stories in my mind—full on scenes and characters. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, it’s like I’m watching a movie.”

“And what movie were you watching in your mind that day?”

My heart thumps as if encouraging me to continue, but I shake my head and hold up my index finger again. “Sorry, just one. You’ll have to win another competition if you want that answer.”

He flicks his head in the direction of the lighthouse. “First one there wins?”

“Not a chance.” I laugh, glancing at my watch and standing to get the picnic basket off the back of his bike. It’d probably be safe here, but between the heat and the birds, we’ll just have to tote it along. “But we should get going. We want to make sure we don’t get stuck on the island at high tide.”

Tristan steps up next to me and takes the basket. “I don’t know, that sounds pretty memorable.”

We start across the sandbar that leads to the lighthouse side. “Especially with Beverly and Bill for company.”

“Who?”

“The couple giving us a tour of the lighthouse.”

“Since when can you take a tour of the lighthouse?”

“You just have to know the right people, I guess.”

His brows are lifted, but he doesn’t say anything. Being a Palmer, Tristan is one of the most well-connected people on the island while I keep a much more intimate circle, if you will. But Tala brought her kids to see the lighthouse a few weeks ago and got to talking with the couple that were just hired as property managers for the historic site. They gave Tala and her kids an impromptu tour and were apparently super happy to do it, so Tala reached out to them on my behalf to see if they’d be willing to do another one for us.

When we’re nearly across the sandy, tidal path, the lighthouse door opens. A stout woman with gray curls and a friendly face steps out to greet us. “I don’t even need to ask if you’re Tala’s sister,” she calls. “You look just like her.”

“Okay, so my sister knows the right people,” I whisper before lifting a hand in greeting. “I’m Capri. And this is my friend, Tristan.”

Tristan waves a hand.

“I’m Beverly. It’s nice to meet you both.” Her kind eyes take us in. “And don’t you two look cute in your coordinating outfits.”

Tristan and I share an amused glance.

“It was his idea,” I say, shooting a grin his way. “He likes matching when we go out in public together.” I can see him shaking his head in my periphery, his laughter vibrating in the humid air between us. Success.