Everett grinned at me as I sat next to him, where we could both watch what looked like an increasingly competitive game.
“I lost to Gabe,” he said.
“Heisthe athlete among us,” I said.
Everett picked up his water glass. “Can I get you something?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I’m good. I just came over to see what debauchery you were getting up to while Laurel cleans out the boutique next door.”
“A little different than last summer’s window shopping, huh?” Everett asked.
“For Laurel, at least,” I said. He was right—where last summer none of us had had any real money, this summer we had roughly 1 percent more, save for Laurel, who, after a year of not paying rent and scoring three brand deals while she was abroad, was currently the richest among us.
“So,” Everett said, elbows leaned on the table in front ofhim as he turned his head to look at me. “How’s your year been, Hale?”
“You know how my year’s been,” I said. “We’ve caught up with everyone.”
“Yeah, but I’d like to hear it from you,” Everett said, bumping his elbow against mine. A tingle zipped up my arm from the spot. Laurel’s voice echoed in my head.Remember the pact.
I hadn’t expected to feel this way around Everett. I’d spent my drive north to San Francisco last summer replaying our kiss, the three months I’d lived in my childhood bedroom at Hank’s before I could find my own place dutifully redefining our relationship in my head, and by Halloween, I was sure I was cured. I no longer wanted Everett Bridges in some insatiable way. But my body had other ideas. His elbow touched mine, and I was weak at the knees.
It didn’t matter, though, I reminded myself. I could want him like that and not act on it.
“Let’s see,” I said. “I’m in a tiny place with a great kitchen—my bedroom is mostly bed, but I have a gas stove, so.” I shrugged and Everett smiled, and the flash of his teeth had me pressing my knees together. “I love being back in the kitchen at Hank’s. I’m taking on some private clients. Everything is going according to plan.”
The smile on Everett’s face turned into something smaller, softer. “I’m happy for you and your plans,” he said.
“What about you?” I asked.
“I’m not sure I’m as well organized as you,” Everett said. “Myplanis more of a loose sketch.”
“I can help you,” I said. “I love coming up with a five-year plan.”
At this, Everett turned further toward me, knee pressing against mine under the table. “Stay with me on Sunday,” hesaid, and my stomach flipped over itself. His mouth twitched, eyes sparkling. “You can rip my plan apart.”
I felt my mouth open, could taste some sarcastic reply on the tip of my tongue, but nothing would come out. I was stuck like that when Laurel’s voice echoed through the bar, her footsteps rapidly approaching.
Everett and I were still caught, staring at each other.
“I’ll think about it,” I said quickly, the same rote reply I’d given earlier. I grabbed his glass of water and took a long drink.
thirteen
This Summer
Come Tuesday morning, I’m desperate to even the score between me and Everett. At dinner the previous night, he had everyone else hooked with his wild stories from set, everything from outlandish demands (his lead actor wouldn’t shoot a single thing before everyone participated in an hour-long group meditation at sunrise every morning) to weather restrictions (they spent four long days trying to film a desert scene in ten-minute bursts between monsoon-level rainstorms). I sat swirling my wine in my glass, my brief triumph of re-creating Laurel’s favorite dish from a restaurant in LA quickly diminishing under the weight of learning just how bizarre the world of filmmaking really is.
I’m in the kitchen at five the next morning so that by the time Laurel comes down the stairs I’m pulling a perfectly timed tray of biscotti out of the oven and handing her a mug of coffee.
“I don’t know how I feed myself without you,” she says as she accepts it from me, sinking onto a stool at the island.
“Lemon ricotta French toast will be ready in half an hour,” I tell her. She sighs dreamily.
Everyone else is quick to follow once they start to smell breakfast and coffee. By the time they’re all around the island,loading their plates with French toast and bacon and strawberries from the farmers market, Everett is leaned against the wall opposite me, hair still messy from sleep, the sleeves of his sweatshirt pushed up.
He lifts his mug in my direction, a barely there, devilish grin on his face that tells me he’s not so clueless about how all of this is going, after all. I return his gesture.
When I turn back to Laurel, she’s watching us.
