Page 116 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

I draw in a shaky breath. I just need to work harder at finding a solution. There must be a way to honor both my feelings and Oliver’s needs. Silently berating myself for not having an answer yet, I shut my eyes to keep the tears at bay. I just need to put one foot in front of the other. I’ll do my hair and wear my green dress and let Laurel be the buffer tonight. Like Scarlett O’Hara, I’ll push my worries to another day.

We don’t keep Oliver waiting this time, because Laurel is so tired, she doesn’t seem to care about primping within an inch of her life. He’s reading Sherlock Holmes outside Harbor Lights when we arrive, though, so he’s been waiting at least a few minutes. My heart stirs in my chest.

“Hey,” he says, drawing me to him and kissing me deeply.

“Seriously?” Laurel feigns disgust.

“Oh, please. Like you wouldn’t do the same,” I mutter.

“Let’s just get inside. I need a drink or three.” She marches toward the door, and we follow, hand in hand.

A few minutes later, we’re each sipping a Jack and Coke, leaning against the bar.

“How’s your dissertation going?” Oliver directs his attention to my cousin.

I shoot him a glare. “We’re trying to offer her some escapism,” I whisper.

“It’s fine, Ivy. My work is never far from my mind.” Her eyes slide between us as her lips tip up. “As I’m sure is the case for both of you, but for different reasons.”

My heart skips a beat when, for a moment, I wonder if she knows my secret. But I haven’t mentioned either job offer to her, and I don’t think my mom would have shared my dilemma with Laurel or her parents.

I fall out of my paranoid cloud when it occurs to me that Laurel probably just meant that Oliver and I like to think about work because we get to be there together.

Now my heart palpitates, but for an entirely different reason. Because soon, we may not get to work together anymore.

I tighten my grip on Oliver’s hand, which he’s resting on my knee under the bar. He shoots me a questioning look, but I shake my head. I’m not ready.

Laurel surveys the assembled crowd. “I wonder if this is what it looked like the night Grandma met that guy. It feels pretty blasé in here, but she made it seem so romantic.”

“Could be,” I shrug noncommittally.

“Well, whoever he was, Diary Guy sounds totally dreamy.” Laurel swigs her drink.

“I don’t think we can assume that,” I bite out before I can stop myself.

Her eyes flick to me in surprise. “Okay, geez. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Oliver squeezes my fingers, as if to reassure me. But between the mantle of family trauma I’ve recently taken up and the fact that my plans for the future are swirling into an opaque haze, I’m feeling anything but calm.

“Grandpa was the real prize,” I babble, letting my mouth roll with my emotions. “And Grandma knew that. She got dealt a bad hand when George left, but she loved Grandpa, and he loved her. They made it work.”

Laurel raises a brow. “Who’s George?”

My mind slams into a wall. Hard. “Oh. Um, that’s just what I’ve been calling Diary Guy.”

Oliver’s fixing me with a look hovering somewhere between concern and shock. I avert my eyes from his. I don’t need him worrying about me. That’s just going to add to my guilt about what I’ve been keeping from him.

Laurel clearly doesn’t buy my fib. “I thought you were going to drop the whole Harriet the Spy thing.”

“What?” Play dumb, play dumb, play dumb, my brain sings.

She narrows her eyes. “You were going to let the past stay there, Ivy. We talked about this.”

Now she’s pissing me off. “I don’t recall agreeing to that.”

Her mouth falls open. “I don’t even believe this. What the hell did you do, Ivy?”

I glare at her. “I didn’t do anything. The truth made its way to me.”