Page 80 of Plotting Summer

She quirks one of her perfectly shaped brows, exactly like the action beat I regularly put in my books but always wonder if it’s even possible. It is. “Really?”

“Yep. Good friends.” Plus a little more. I glance over my shoulder to see if I can catch Jane’s eye so she’ll come and rescue me, but she’s not at the table with Cat anymore. My gaze skirts the dance floor, and there she is, being swung around by none other than Walker. My attention lingers on them, and if they weren’t so entirely wrong for each other, I think I’d be thrilled with the idea of my best friend falling in love with my brother. But that can’t happen. He’ll break her wonderful, enormous heart.

“Walker and Jane seem to be getting along really well,” Bridget says with what seems like a genuine smile. “She’s a lucky girl.”

“They’re also just friends,” I say, taking another swig of my Diet Coke, uncomfortably aware I’m in denial but having no clue what to do about it.

Bridget gives a tight laugh. “You may need to reconsider your definition of friendship. Because that”—she lifts her chin toward them—“is more than friendship. And the way Tristan has been hanging around you all night …”

Her gaze sweeps over my expression, and I feel like I’m a page of a book being read. Or, more precisely, an encyclopedia since my emotions are completely written out for her to study at will.

Her shoulders fall slightly, and she looks over at Tristan with a resigned glance. “I thought so.”

I don’t deny it. It seems counterintuitive when she’ll figure out the truth soon enough. And maybe it’ll save Tristan from having to say something to her.

“He’s the best guy I’ve ever known,” she says, her eyes glistening when she meets my gaze again. “Don’t take him for granted or you’ll probably regret it for the rest of your life.”

I stare at Bridget as if I’ve never seen her before. And I guess, in a way, I haven’t. I always saw her as my enemy—my arch nemesis—because she had Tristan. But suddenly, I’m getting a glimpse of someone else. Likely the person that first captured Tristan’s attention all those years ago. Which, now that I think about it, isn’t surprising considering Tristan loved her for so long. My fictionalized version of her only includes the parts that made sense with my narrative. The villainized parts. But I have an unsettling feeling that there’s a whole different side to Bridget Hall I’ve allowed myself to be blinded to. “I won’t.”

She gives a small clearing of her throat and exhales a quick breath. “I think I’m gonna head home.”

I give a weak wave goodbye and watch as she passes out a few hugs, then leaves. My thoughts are spinning as I stand alone and finish drinking my soda.

Mo’s voice comes over the speakers. “We’ve got one last song to play for you before the big firework show. We hope you don’t mind, but it’s a slow one.”

A movement in my periphery has me looking to my right, but it isn’t Tristan standing there smiling at me, it’s a guy with a boyishly handsome face I’ve never seen before. Likely a mainlander here for the celebration. “Hey. I’m Todd.”

“Capri.”

He flicks his head in the direction of the stage. “I was wondering if you’d like to dance?”

I glance over my shoulder to where Tristan is still talking to Noah, and his gaze meets mine. “With me?” I ask, realizing how stupid that must sound after having just exchanged names and being that there’s no one else around, but I’m not sure what to say.

His smile broadens, and I’m guessing he’s managed to get himself several dance partners tonight with that trait alone. “With you.”

For a brief moment, I hesitate. I don’t want to say no. Todd looks like a great guy, but if I’m going to dance this last dance, I want it to be with Tristan. “I would, except⁠—”

“She promised me this one.” Tristan steps up behind me. “I’m really sorry, man. But you can’t understand the effort it took to convince her to let me have one dance tonight.”

“Whatever you had to do, I’m guessing it was worth it,” Todd says, dipping his chin to us and taking a step away. “Happy 4th.”

“It was great meeting you, Todd,” I say as Tristan grabs the empty cup from me and tosses it in the trash. Then he takes my hand and leads me toward the dance floor.

Tristan sends me a look of mock disbelief over his shoulder. “You were going to say yes to him, weren’t you?”

“He seemed nice, and no one else had asked me.”

Tristan shakes his head. “Does a promise mean nothing to you?”

I tighten my hold on his hand. “I’m pretty sure I said I’d try to squeeze you in. Besides, weren’t you supposed to be in a uniform?”

Tristan laughs, leading me toward the stage. When we find a space on the fringe of the other dancing couples, he turns to face me, his hands coming to my hips. “Is this breaking protocol?”

I wrap my arms around his neck. “I honestly don’t mind.”

A mischievous smile forms on his lips. “You don’t mind?”

I give a little shrug, savoring the sensation of his body against mine and the pressure of his strong hands sliding along my waist until they possessively settle on my lower back. “All of these secrets are getting exhausting.”