Page 59 of Plotting Summer

Tristan’s lips tick upward. “What are their names?”

Why does this feel like some kind of slow torture? I get that I deserve it, but heat has settled into my face and neck, and I can’t stop squirming. “Trenton and Cali.”

“Trenton and … Cali?” The way he says Cali, it's clear he didn't miss where the inspiration for that name came from. He covers his mouth with a fist in an attempt to hide his smile. “So, that’s it? Outside of those three things, nothing else is similar?”

I clear my throat. “I mean, there are probably a few others that could lead someone to make the connection if they knew to look for it.” Like the fact that I never changed Bridget’s name, the whole football-player-with-the-introverted-book-nerd thing, and basically every minor and major detail included besides a handful of romantically exaggerated interactions between Cali and Trenton, including the fictionalized ending. “Which is the reason why I’m telling you now. With my recent success, if anyone discovers who I am—and there are people actively trying to figure out my real identity—it won’t be hard to connect you to all of this.”

His gaze goes distant, and he gives a solemn nod as if he’s finally understanding the gravity of the situation. “I guess it would be difficult to be known as the man who inspired Sunny Palmer’s first, and apparently most epic, love story. Not to mention the pen name.”

I whack my hand into his chest, and he laughs. “This is serious. There’s a chance you’ll get dragged into the whole mess right along with me.”

He shrugs. “I’m not worried.”

I lean away from him, appraising his smiling self. How is he not furious? Or at least a little bit mad? Maybe he’s in shock. I probably would be if the roles were reversed. “This is not how I expected this conversation going.”

“What’d you expect?”

“Honestly? Best case scenario: that you’d be upset and things would become super awkward between us but we’d cope with it by avoiding each other. Worst case scenario: a restraining order and some mortifying court appearances that would bring light to the whole situation.”

He chuckles.

I drop my chin, allowing my mind to stray to a place I typically refuse to let it go—how different all of this would be if Bridget and Tristan were still together. My thoughtless choice from years ago would have pulled them both into it. My mistake would have been unpardonable. “If you were married to Bridget right now, the latter wouldn’t seem that far-fetched. She would be rightly livid.”

His smile lessens some but it doesn’t completely vanish. It’s just softer now. “I guess there’s a reason everything happens the way it does.”

“I’m still sorry,” I say, glancing up at him. “If I could do it all over again, I’d do it differently.”

“Then, it’s a good thing you can’t.” There’s no teasing glint in his eye this time.

Instantly, a crushing weight is lifted from me, and I feel at risk of floating away without it. I’ve spent way too long shouldering the pointless load. I’ve spent way too long stressing about his possible reactions. But I should have listened to Tala and Jane. Of course Tristan would be generous. That’s who he is.

Tristan’s gaze settles on me with an intensity that leaves my heart pattering about recklessly. “So, what’s next?” he asks.

I give a small shrug, my insides vibrating at the potential of where this conversation might go. But there’s also a niggling, unsettling feeling vying for dominance in the pit of my stomach. A realization that with my massive, apparently flattering revelation, Tristan might be swept up in the moment. Or worse, that he feels somehow obligated to try and make something work between us now that he knows the truth. The last thing I want is Tristan to do something that will lead him to feel stuck later. Something that will hinder his ability to choose for himself. Especially now when he’s about to leave. So, for his sake, I can put my own reckless desires aside for the time being. Or I hope I can. “Maybe you … well, we—you and me both—should take a little time to process everything.”

Tristan’s hand comes to the side of my face, and he rubs his thumb along my jaw, making my legs weak beneath me. “What if I don’t need time?”

With his skin on mine and my nerves racing through me, I seem to be short-circuiting. But I’m still cognizant enough to do what’s best for Tristan. “With how I’ve forced you into this … situation without your knowledge or permission, I want to make sure you won’t have any regrets. Especially considering how you’ve mentioned your tendency toward doing what’s expected of you.” Shoot! That didn’t sound like it did in my head. “Not that I expect anything of you. Honestly. I have zero expectations.” That somehow sounds worse. And it’s not even entirely true. I’ve developed all sorts of hopes surrounding Tristan. I need to stop talking until I can recalibrate.

His hand drops to his side, and his introspective gaze lowers to the ground at our feet as if he’s trying to make sense of the nuanced messages behind my babbling comment.

And suddenly, with the massive void I feel from the loss of physical contact, I’m questioning my altruistic attempts. I’m questioning if I single-handedly ruined my chance to finally kiss Tristan Palmer. To be with him. And not even because he’s furious about my big reveal. Of course I’d self-sabotage this moment with my overthinking. I should have just kept quiet and let him kiss me. Embraced this for what it could potentially be—a summer fling. The most wonderful, most anticipated summer fling in the history of summer flings. I’ll be beyond crushed when he leaves, but the memories we’ll have made can buoy me in the hard times. “I’m not opposed to a summer fling,” I blurt before I have a chance to consider what I’m saying. Or that I’m even saying it aloud. My mouth has gone rogue in its desperation to make sure it finally accomplishes it’s lifelong goal of having Tristan’s lips against it.

His gaze lifts to mine, but instead of the smile I’d hoped to see, his lips are pulled in a straight line and his jaw is taut. It’s a look I’m not used to seeing on him. And it’s worse because I know I’m the one that caused it. “A summer fling?” he repeats in a way that verifies he isn’t a fan of the idea like I am. Or was. I’m definitely not a fan of it now.

“I just meant since I’ll be going home for the next few weeks, and then you’re leaving at the end of summer. It doesn’t make sense⁠—”

“To expect this will go anywhere,” he finishes, though it’s not exactly what I was going to say. He runs a hand over his stubbled chin. “Maybe you’re right.”

I don’t respond. I don’t know what it is I could be right about. Everything I’ve said has been wrong.

His eyes meet mine, and I don’t like the cool resolve in them. “Let’s take some time to think through things.”

Despite that I’ve achieved my original intent, my heart deflates and sinks to the bottom of my chest cavity, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to revive it. “Yeah. Okay.”

He hesitates, then takes a step back. “Let me know when you’re back in town.”

Tears prick my eyes, but I nod. “I will.”