I turned and looked at the back of Max’s boat. Perfectly polished dark wood and plush padded benches stared back at me. “Can we hook up a tube to this boat?” I asked, my inner child jealous of those kids.
“No. No hookup on this beauty, unfortunately.”
“Bummer.”
“But I can take us out farther and crank up the speed, if you want.”
“About time!” his dad hollered from the bow.
Max gave me a knowing grin and steered us out of the harbor, accelerating once we rounded the lighthouse. I sat back down in the chair next to his, tied back my hair, and stared out at the waves, smiling every time ocean spray collided with my face. I was determined to be in the moment and tried my best not to spend the whole time wondering if Luke and Luna were having fun at the parade.
When we got back to the Phelps compound, Max’s mom went up to bed and Max and his dad went to the living room and cracked open an expensive bottle of bourbon. I was exhausted. A few hours ago, my day drinking had turned the corner from a buzz to the beginnings of a hangover. Maybe I should’ve kept drinking like Max had. He and his dad both looked a little flushed. It wasdefinitely the most drunk I’d ever seen Max. But he seemed happy, at ease.
I was jealous. I hadn’t felt at ease all night.
At dinner at the yacht club, Max’s mom, already a little drunk from the champagne on the boat, mentioned that they weren’t surprised Max found a new girlfriend on the island. I wasn’t sure what she meant by that, and Max shot daggers from his eyes when she said it, so she didn’t elaborate.
Sensing the need for a subject change, I asked his parents, “Do you get here for dinner often? The food is excellent.”
“Oh, yeah. This is one of the only places we can have dinner during peak season. Everyone here is too interested in themselves, or too proud, to stop me and ask for a photo. If we go anywhere else, the interruptions from fans are constant.” Ed chuckled, and Brianna and Max joined in.
I forced a smile. Wouldn’t it be nice to be so beloved by your readers they want pictures with you? I’d almost asked, but I refrained.
Ed brought up his writing career a few more times throughout the night, and my heart hoped Max might mention I’d started writing, but he didn’t.
After dinner we’d gone toanotherprivate club that Max’s parents were members of. There must’ve been about a hundred people there, enjoying an open bar and a clear view of the fireworks from the back dock. Max introduced me to everyone as his girlfriend. Almost everyone’s first question was: What did I do for work? Each time Max proudly said I was a Peters & Dowling attorney, it made me feel weird. Despite the relaxed and celebratory vibe, it felt like we were networking.
Some people asked how we met first. Those conversations were more fun. Max told them how he saw a stunning woman working at the coffee shop behind the bookstore and he somehow came up with enough confidence to talk to me.
“By the end of the conversation, I realized he was flirting withme,” I would add at that point. “He asked me out, and the rest is history, I suppose.”
When Ed put the bourbon glasses on the round, white coffee table in the center of the Phelps’ palatial living room, I excused myself to go to bed, saying I wasn’t a bourbon drinker. Max followed me into the hall, lifted my chin, and stole a kiss.
“Want me to come up with you?”
“No, it’s okay. Enjoy the time with your dad!”
“You sure?”
“Yes,” I said, rising on my tiptoes to kiss him again.
I slipped out the front door and crossed the driveway to his apartment, oddly content with being alone for the first time in hours.
When Max got back to his room an hour later, I still hadn’t fallen asleep, but I kept my eyes closed and lay there motionless. Pretending.
Like I had been since the moment I left Luke’s.
22
Ispent the Saturday after the holiday at the beach with Max. It was hazy, a bit cooler on this side of the island with the wind careening around the sandy, burnt orange cliffs. We spread out a blanket, and he knelt behind me to rub sunscreen onto my back, taking his time, and leaning over me to kiss my cheek when he finished. We read our books for a while—a romance novel for me, a business-y nonfiction book for him. Then Max asked if I wanted to go for a walk along the shore.
I was unintentionally quiet at first, lost in an idea that the book I was reading had sparked. The two main characters begin at odds with each other—it was a rivals-to-lovers romance—until one day the male main character reveals something personal about himself that makes the female main character soften toward him. I needed a moment like that for the characters in my story. I looked down at the sand, watching the frothy water slip over the tops of our feet before being sucked back out into the ocean, considering what personal detail my main character could reveal to make the SEC investigator see her in a new light.
“I think this is my favorite summer yet.” While I was looking at the sand, Max was looking at me.
I smiled. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” He squeezed my hand. “My life was just going along, linear, boring, and then all of a sudden, there you were. Like a shooting star landed right in front of me.”
