Still, I can’t shake the half second our gazes locked for the rest of the morning as I sit on the beach with Gabe and look at the pictures he showed Everett on the boat, as I rinse the sand off my feet, as I slip on a green dress that makes me technically a little overdressed for this lunch place and swipe on mascara before heading downstairs to leave for lunch with a man who is very much not Everett. Which is a good thing, I remind myself as I say goodbye to Davi where he’s on his computer at the island and grab Laurel’s keys from the table in the entryway. Because Everett and I are not something, and we haven’t been for a long time.
But it’s him I see as soon as I walk out of the villa, shutting the door to his car, surfboard sticking out the back. His hair is still damp, a towel in one hand.
“Good waves?” I ask as I approach him.
“Pretty decent,” he says.
“At least you remembered to put a shirt on for the drive back this time,” I say. I don’t know what it is, this need to say things like that to Everett, small comments delivered in a barbed tone. We agreed to a truce, but after last night, standing so close to him on the stairs, it somehow feels easier to talk to him this way than to be altogether friendly. That would be too close to inviting him back in.
He’s in my path when I reach him. When he doesn’t move I tilt my head back, squinting up at him. “Where are you going?” he asks, not unkindly, but with enough intention behind it I know he’s trying to delay me.
“I’m going to lunch with my future husband, if you don’t mind,” I say, stepping around him. He turns sideways as I do, letting me go.
“Send my best to Mr. Pascal,” he says.
“Oh, I’ll let him knowthe directorsends his regards,” I say over my shoulder.
I expect Everett to respond. Want him to, so I can prove to myself that we’re both feeling the same way. We toed some line last night that we need to steer clear of. But he doesn’t say anything. When I get into Laurel’s car, he’s still standing there, watching me as I drive away.
It would make things so much easier if Cooper could be the great love of my life. And maybe that would be possible, if my mind weren’t so stuck on the way Everett—who Cooper does want to spend a fair portion of our lunch discussing—watched me drive away from the house. I can feel the spreading cracks in the dam I’ve put up when it comes to Everett, pressure mounting behind it the longer the sun bakes down on my shoulders, the more Cooper and I discuss recipe testing and award-winning movies and his daughter.
I’m a terrible date, I’m sure of it. I’m distracted and a little annoyed and by the time we’re hugging goodbye in the parking lot, I’m positive any interest Cooper might have had in me has to have waned. But he surprises me, asking if he’ll see me at Laurel’s divorce party tomorrow, says that he’s looking forward to it.
I drive back to the villa in silence, windows down, stewing over a problem that still feels nebulous to me, a storm cloud I can’t seem to penetrate.
I drop Laurel’s keys on the table in the entryway and kick off my sandals. The house is quiet as I walk into the kitchen and grab a glass from the counter, fill it at the sink.
“How was lunch?”
The rim of the glass clinks against my teeth as I jump nearly out of my skin. I slam the cup down on the counter and turn to where Everett is sitting in one of the armchairs in a corner of the living room, his finger holding his place in the book balanced on his knee.
“What—have you been lying in wait or something?” I ask, heart hammering in my chest.
Everett lets out a sound somewhere between a scoff and a grumble, like his larynx can’t make up its mind, and doesn’t answer my question.
“Lunch was fine,” I say as he stands up from his chair, tosses his book back onto it, and walks over to stand on the opposite side of the island, arms crossed in front of him.
“This man is supposed to be your future husband,” he says. “And lunch wasfine?”
I start walking around the island, not looking at him. “I just said that because I was mad at you.”
“That seems to be our main motivator this week,” Everett says. The space between the kitchen and the living room is narrower than I realized, and when I meet Everett in the middle of it, he doesn’t immediately step aside, just like he didn’t at his car earlier. I cross my own arms and lock eyes with him, ready to win whatever face-off he’s decided to drop us into.
“Where is everyone?” I ask.
“They went into town,” he says.
“Why?” I ask.
“Lunch,” he says, and I’ve never heard such a mundane word quite so charged. Everett makes lunch sound like a slap in the face and an innuendo all at once.
“You didn’t want to go?”
“I had some reading to catch up on.”
I glance at the chair. “Right. Movie research couldn’t wait.”
“Why was lunch just ‘fine’?” Everett asks.
