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I did the same, leaning my elbows back on the railing. “You want to know something funny?”

“Always.”

“Do you remember when I showed up? When I moved here?”

Quieter, softer, no laughter in his voice this time, he said, “Vividly”.

“Hmm.” The sound just left my throat before I could stop it. But I ignored it the same as I ignored his tone.

“Anita offered me a cup of coffee that afternoon, and I looked around the shop, like, thinking things had changed, and she’d installed one of those machines and was offering to sell me a latte or something! Even though she’d offered me coffee the year before every time I stopped by, that was still my first thought. Weird.”

“Prescient,” he countered before asking, “Do you still use that ancient coffee pot?” He was referring to the old-fashioned machine with a pot so stained it was more brown than clear.

“Yes.” I nodded, laughing. He pretended to shiver.

“So gross.”

“It’s a really good idea, Dalton. I’ll … Anita and I have already decided to keep the clothing store open, at least for a year, and run it ourselves, but maybe down the road …”

The reading chair was visible off to the side through the door, and I tried really hard not to picture the two of us as we’d been last winter, him hovering over me in that silly elf hat, my heart racing for another reason when it should have been alerting me to danger, to a situation that I needed to remove both of us from.

What was he thinking about, staring at the same spot? Was he remembering our kiss and how I’d rejected him, how he’d run, and how we’d managed to avoid each other in the same small town for an entire year? Was he thinking about his father and Brett and their company’s desire to buy the building? Or was he remembering the good times he’d had there, working with Anita and hanging out with his best friend? Was he thinking about Austin and what might have become of their relationship if it had meant more to his friend than “Austin being Austin”?

Another pregnant pause had settled between us, and I felt the need to fill it. “Are you guarding again next summer?”

“No, actually. I’ve got an internship,” he said, his voice getting higher, making it sound like a question. “In Alaska.”

“Oh.”

Chapter Nine

Dalton at Twenty-One

I’d gone to Alaska the summer after my freshman year and had been accepted into a program that had me back there for nine months my sophomore year. Between my family’s travels, school, and all the time I’d spent abroad, I’d barely returned to Breakwater, not even for winter break sophomore year, which we spent on our first family trip with Mallory.

It wasn’t until the following summer, after my second summer in Alaska, that I was finally back in Breakwater, and then it was only for a week before heading back to UNH for my junior year.

Austin had picked me up from the airport that summer, and on the drive home, I’d done something I’d never done before.

Finally, on my way home from Alaska for the one short week I would be at the beach before school started up again, I texted Turner.

Well, no, I mean, we’d texted before. I scrolled through our conversation during the car ride home from the airport.

The short text chain under the name Turner Misher held a few back-and-forth messages, asking when I could help out at the store from, like, three years ago. From the winter I’d kissed him, then run away before he could reject me even more than he already had. More recently, but still months before now, I’d let him know that I wouldn’t be home for winter break, because my family had decided to do some traveling on the West Coast and into Canada before dropping me off in Alaska, where I'd be until the end of the following summer.

He had replied simply. Letting me know that Brett had told him about my internship. The word congratulations was the last thing either of us had said to each other, a year ago.

How we’d managed to hardly see each other since our conversation on the cold, Christmas boardwalk amazed me. I hadn’t tried as hard to avoid him after our talk outside the toy store that Christmas, but with school and my studies abroad, I’d spent more time away from Breakwater than in it for the better part of two years. I’d be back at college in a week, and I really, really wanted to see Turner.

Cell service had been spotty for most of my trip, so I’d been really cut off from my family and friends. Austin filled me in on the recent Breakwater drama as we drove home from the airport even though there was only one update I was interested in.

“So, get this. Some guy showed up out of nowhere a few months ago and has been spending a lot of time with Miss Anita. He might even be living above the store with her?”

“How does Turner feel about that?”

“Well, your lover boy ran off to London if that’s any indication.”

I swung my head so quickly in Austin’s direction, I knew he could sense it. A snicker flashed on his profile. “Yeah, he’s in England for a couple of weeks, visiting bookshops or coffee shops there or something. He’s finally shutting down the clothing store at the end of this season and trying to figure out what to do with that space. My dad says it was Miss Anita’s idea that he do some exploring while he’s there, to, you know”—Austin glanced my way quickly before looking at the highway again—“show him the world, and get him out to meet people. Or something like that.”