Page 60 of Plotting Summer

Tristan lifts a parting hand, but before he can turn to leave, I move in front of him and lift onto my toes, placing a light kiss on his cheek. It’s impulsive and slightly reckless, but I can’t just let him walk away without some kind of indication of how I feel about him. Even if it’s super minor and way too brief. “Thanks for understanding,” I whisper.

For once, I can’t quite decipher the mix of emotions in his eyes, but when he brushes his fingers across my cheek, the slightest flicker of hope is reignited within me. “See you soon, Capri Sun.”

I don’t look back as I start up the stairs. I’ve used up all of my strength, and I’m worried that one backward glance will break open the floodgates. So I slip inside the front door and pull out my phone:

CAPRI

I told Tristan.

JANE

I’m assuming you aren’t with him anymore since you’re texting?

CAPRI

I’m back at Tala’s.

JANE

I’m headed over now!

TWO WEEKS LATER

I glance around my office floor at the scattered boxes of unpacked books. The morning I drove back to Naples, Tristan and Heath had skipped their run to load my boxes into my jeep. I hadn’t realized they were planning on doing it, so by the time I woke up and got going, Tristan was already at work. Keith, my neighbor, unloaded them for me when I got home, and now they’re sitting on my floor like a painful reminder as to how those stinking boxes uprooted my entire life. And that the only place I want to be right now is with Tristan. I’m pathetic.

It's not that I haven’t heard from Tristan. We’ve texted back and forth a few times, but I can tell he’s trying to give me space—whether to allow me to concentrate on work or because it was my idea to take time to process, I’m not sure. And with how we left things—well, how I left things—I’m confident he requires a little space himself.

If only I hadn’t mentioned the summer fling comment. It clearly didn’t go over well. Which shouldn’t surprise me with Tristan—he’s an all-in kind of guy. But the last thing I want is for him to feel obligated to be with me. Ever. Let alone when he’s about to move across the country in pursuit of choosing his own path in life. Of doing what he wants without thinking of anyone else. That’s a huge deal for him. I won’t stand in his way.

If we had more time to see if things could work, I’d absolutely take it. But we don’t. In fact, he texted two days ago to inform me they found a buyer for all four of the centers, including Seaside Oasis, and that the sale should be finalized the first week of July. So as much as I actually don’t want a summer fling either, I also don’t see another option currently. Besides us not being together at all. And I really, really hate that idea. Because real life Tristan is even better than fictional Tristan. Like so entirely better. Even with his tendency to assume meetings are shorter than they’ll be, his subtle insecurities (like riding a bike with a bell) along with his less-than-subtle jealousy, his overly competitive nature, and his professed dislike of reading (which I still can’t understand) —even with all that, I’m falling harder for him. He’s perfectly imperfect. He’s real.

My gaze catches on the flashing cursor on my screen, and I shake Tristan from my thoughts for the millionth time. No wonder these edits are taking exponentially longer than I’d expected. The only thing I seem to be able to focus on is Tristan, and our almost kiss, and where he’s emotionally at in his processing, and how I probably ruined everything, and then right back to our almost kiss.

Concentrate, Capri.

I skim the last paragraph of changes I made, trying to determine the next logical place to add this new character. I know the addition will make my book better, but more than once, I’ve considered my sanity at attempting such a significant change this late in the process. What if I mess it up? There will be no time to fix it.

My phone buzzes, and my gaze shoots to the screen. The fact that my phone has remained off concentration mode for the last two weeks has definitely not helped my productivity, but when I see Tristan’s name, I feel the compromise was worth it.

TRISTAN

How’s the editing going?

CAPRI

Super slow. How are you?

TRISTAN

Good. Do you have a minute to chat?

My heart rate doubles instantly and my chest tightens. What does he want to say that he can’t over text?

CAPRI

Sure.

My phone rings and I pick it up. “Hey.”