He looked offended. “I wasborncharming.”
I snorted.
“Anyway, I wouldn’t have to play this game if Kendall would just return my calls,” he said, grinning wickedly.
I groaned. “How many times have I told you not to make comments about Kendall to me?”
He flashed me his million-dollar smile. “A lot of times, which is why I keep doing it.”
Back in reality, I starfish onto the bed and attempt to psych myself up for the day. At ten a.m. sharp, I’m expected to report to the very same regional airport where we originally filmed ten years ago, which probably explains why I had such a fitful night of sleep, filled with steamy dreams of Ryder pressing against me, his skin slick with sweat, his pulsing heartbeat pounding a steady drumbeat into my back. Of course, the fact that I pulled the scene up on YouTube just before bed likely didn’t help.
I’m clueless about what today’s excursion is supposed to entail—were we actually going to reenact the scene? We wouldn’t really be expected to recite our dialogue, would we? I have no idea what I’ve gotten myself into, and when I attempted to broach the topic with Ryder yesterday, he just grinned and told me to show up on time.Helpful.
My phone dings with a text, and I pause my spiraling long enough to look at it.
Kendall:I just saw clips from the press conference
I groan internally. My phone had been blowing up all day yesterday with similar messages. I’d ignored every last one of them.
Me:You and everyone else
Kendall:Are you okay?
I let out a semi-hysterical laugh. I’ve never beenlessokay.
I cycle through the carousel of overly detailed responses I could give her:Seafolly is everything and nothing like I remember it. I’m afraid to fall asleep because I can’t control my dreams. Ryder still looks at me like I’m the answer to every question he’s ever asked. Also, his collarbone has me in a chokehold. I’m petrified of the Pandora’s box I’ve opened by coming back here. I’ve never felt so unsteady.
I settle on a little less of an overshare.
Me:I’m surviving, not thriving
The phone rings in my hand a few seconds later. “You have me worried,” she announces before I’ve even said hello.
“I have myself worried,” I admit, pinching the bridge of my nose.
Kendall’s the only person in the world who knows the full truth about what happened between Ryder and me back then. I managed to hide it from everyone else in my life—including Ryder himself—but she was there to witness my rock bottom, when everything in my life fell apart, when I thought the darkness would swallow me whole. She forced me out of my bed and my head; she helped me pick myself up and move forward. It’s not an exaggeration to say that she saved my life.
I fill her in on the week’s goings-on so far—Ryder showing up at my house unannounced, his ultimatum-slash-warning, his revelations at the press conference, along with yesterday’s flirtatious behavior.
She hums a noise. “I caught the vibe you’re talking about in the clips, but I wasn’t sure if I was reading into it.”
“You’re not. It’s like he’s baiting me.”And I’m terrified that I’m not strong enough to resist.“It’s hard to explain, but it feels like he’s a step ahead of me, or he knows something I don’t. It’s…unsettling.”
“And today’s the plane ride?”
“Yes, and that’s another thing. He’s afraid of flying—why on earth would he offer to re-create that scene? Nothing he’s doing makes any sense.”
I start rummaging through my suitcase, trying to determine the best ensemble for soaring over Seafolly, when I come across the faded blue sweatshirt buried at the bottom of my bag and go still. I don’t even know why I brought it. I tried to talk myself out of it, but in the end, I couldn’t seem to leave it behind. I pull it out slowly, fingering the frayed collar and tracing the raised letters with my fingers, memories crashing over me like a rogue wave. Before I can stop myself, I’ve brought it to my nose and breathed in, but it’s long since lost the scent of him.
Don’t do this to yourself.I set it back in my suitcase gingerly, careful to cushion its contents, and pry my brain back to the present.
Kendall’s gone conspicuously silent on the other end of the line. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m thinking.”
“Well, whatever it is you’re thinking, just say it,” I tell her as I walk back onto the balcony and stare out at the cornflower-blue sky, letting the sunbaked decking warm my bare feet. Down on the beach, I watch a gray-haired man fling a stick into the surf, his dog joyfully crashing into the ocean to retrieve it. “You’re the only one I can talk to about this, and I could use your advice.”
“I’m having competing thoughts.”
