Page 38 of Plotting Summer

“I think it took her a while to recognize how drastically the new version of our life deviated from her original version. We got engaged right before I moved to Gainesville for my MBA. She stayed in Tallahassee to work, the plan being that we’d get married the next summer and she’d join me for the last year of my program. Then, after I graduated, we were going to move back to Sunset Harbor.” He glides a hand through his golden hair, distracting me momentarily. “The second time she pushed back the wedding date, I finally realized something was off. With the conversation that followed, she ended the engagement. Two weeks later, she and Logan were together. Two weeks.” He gives a wry laugh and shakes his head. “That was a punch to the gut.”

I’ve overheard the entirety of that story in bits and pieces over the last few years, but hearing it from Tristan adds an extra layer of hurt that I feel for him. Logan, his good friend, took his place as quarterback and then took Bridget. And on top of all of that, Logan was drafted into the NFL. So apparently, Bridget got exactly what she wanted in the end—a pro football player for a husband.

“I’m really sorry,” I say. “That’s awful.”

“It is what it is at this point. She’s happy and I’m …” His mouth quirks, and he shrugs. “And I’m finally moving on.” My heart lifts briefly, and I wonder if I’m part of the reason for it, but then his gaze drops from mine to the pavement between us. He lets out an audible huff as though there’s something else he needs to say but he doesn’t know quite how to say it. “Capri, I’m just here until the end of summer.”

As quickly as my heart lifted, it falls, crashing into the cavity of my chest with a debilitating pain. “I thought …” My words trail off as I try to make sense of what he means. “Your dad said you were coming home to run Seaside Oasis.”

“I think that’s what he’d hoped originally.” His chest rises with his slow inhale, then his eyes meet mine again. “But my family’s decided to sell Seaside Oasis. Actually, we’re selling all four of our centers.”

My lips part. “And that’s why you’re back on Sunset Harbor? To help with the sale?”

He gives a slight nod. “I’m the point guy. I know this affects you and your family, so I want you to know that I’m being super picky with prospective buyers. We won’t sell until we know the centers will be in good, capable hands. It really is for the best,” he says, as if he’s trying to convince himself as much as me. “Since Beau has no interest in running them, and I …” He pauses. “Well, my old offensive coach at FSU was just hired on as head coach at a college in California. He asked if I’d be interested in being one of his assistant coaches.”

“Wow,” I say, hoping he can’t hear the devastation in my voice. But all I can think about is how this will affect Grandma and Heath and so many other people on the island. And the fact that Tristan will be in California. But I attempt a smile. “That’s exciting.”

“Yeah. It is.” His gaze is distant when he nods this time. “My entire life I’ve been a do-what’s-expected-of-me type of person. Grandpa wanted me to play football, so I did. Mom wanted me to be involved in student council, so I did that too. Bridget wanted me to try for the pros, so that’s where I set my sights. When that didn’t pan out, I went to get my MBA like my dad suggested and never once questioned going into the family business. After I graduated, I went to Tampa to run our center there, and the plan was, with my dad’s retirement, I’d move to Sunset Harbor and take over running all four centers from here. But then I got here and… I don’t know. I felt stuck.” His gaze meets mine with intensity. “It’s like one day I woke up to realize I was living a life I didn’t choose for myself.”

There’s a warring in Tristan’s eyes that make my heart soften and my worried thoughts quiet. He clearly hasn’t made the decision lightly. So, as his friend, what he needs is my support and encouragement, no matter how much I dislike the idea of him being on the other side of the country from where I am, not to mention having someone else running Seaside Oasis. “That makes sense. And, for what it’s worth, I think you’ll make a wonderful coach.”

A slight smile touches his lips. “Thanks, Capri Sun.”

We sit—well, Tristan sits on his bike and I stand an arm’s length away—in silence for a minute, allowing our thoughts to wander. Then I feel his gaze settle on me, and I meet it.

He rolls the bike forward slightly so he’s closer to where I’m standing. His teasing grin seems too light for my current mood, but Tristan is my weakness, so I smile in return. “What?”

“Heath said Tala’s read a few of your stories,” he says. “Does that mean you have more than one finished book waiting around to be published … in need of a dedication?”

Before I have a chance to curse Heath’s name for ever telling Tristan I write, I remember the new plan. It’s a good thing Tristan knows. Every hint at the truth will make the final confession easier. “Something like that.”

“And they’re all romances?” The intensity of Tristan’s smile makes me blush.

My stomach tightens, and I’m too aware of the pre-conceived notions surrounding romance in all its varying forms. My reviews have been full of them for years: For a romance, it was decent; Three Stars! Which is as high of a rating as I’ll go for a romance; Complete and utter fluff, which is expected being that it’s a romance. See the pattern? But if I intend for Tristan to glimpse this part of me, I can’t cop-out and say that it’s a lucrative market to write in. That’s not why I write romance. “Those are the best kind of stories.”

“Really?”

“Love is a universal experience. We’re all seeking to love and be loved. It’s something everyone can understand and relate to.”

“I can see that.”

“And love, or the lack of it, encompasses countless other feelings—happiness, sadness, jealousy, heartbreak, redemption, pettiness, wholeness, and on and on. Love stories are where we can see the whole spectrum of human emotions on display—in both its lowest and highest forms. That’s what romance is. What’s better and more impactful than that?”

Tristan’s brows are raised and he gives an impressed nod. “If I were a reader, I think you might have just convinced me to pick up a romance.”

I stare at him as though this revelation is more upsetting than his previous one about his family selling Seaside Oasis. Fictional Tristan loves reading as much as I do. “You don’t like reading?”

“I read an occasional non-fiction if it comes highly recommended, but I can’t remember the last fictional book I read. I think it was a Dan Brown, maybe? Years ago, though.” I can’t seem to wrap my head around the fact that Tristan doesn’t enjoy reading, and he chuckles when I don’t reply. “I hope that’s not a dealbreaker or anything.”

I shake my head a little too vigorously. “Not at all,” I say, certain he means a dealbreaker for our short-lived friendship, nothing more. Because not only is he taking me home on Saturday, but he’s also about to move across the country. “I’m just surprised.”

“Why’s that?”

I shrug, not sure I want to answer. “You seem like someone who reads.”

He leans forward on his handlebars, his grinning eyes set on me. “I feel like I need to hear more of your thoughts on this.”

I also lean forward, lowering my voice. “Which is why I’m stopping right there.”