“I need hypotheticals,” Gabe said. “Give me a scenario.”
“Maybe you say you’re a fan of the beer she’s drinking,” I said, nodding toward a woman at the bar who had beennursing the same craft, tastes-like-a-pine-tree IPA since we arrived.
“Okay,” Gabe said, nodding.
“You love her jukebox choice,” Everett said, as Talking Heads came over the speakers and a chorus of cheers erupted in one corner.
“I could do that,” Gabe said. “And then what?”
“Then you... talk,” I said. “Hopefully she’ll respond.”
“Don’t bring up wanting kids or a house,” Everett said quickly. “You’re just practicing talking to someone.”
“Right,” Gabe said, nodding. “Just talking.” He looked at Everett. “About what?”
I sat back in the booth as Everett coached Gabe through talking points and the natural flow of conversation, like Gabe didn’t already talk to people all day, every day. But his nervousness was endearing, a trait of Gabe’s I’d always loved.
Laurel came sailing back through the crowd, her drink held high above her head until she reached the table. “There are at leastsevensingle women over there who would be thrilled to meet someone like you tonight, Gabe,” she said once she reached us. She looked at me and Everett. “Did you prep him?”
“He’s ready for surgery,” I said, nodding at him.
“I think I might throw up,” Gabe said.
“All part of it, pal,” Everett said, grinning at him.
“I’m going to post myself at the bar,” Laurel said. “So if anything goes awry you can tug your ear and I’ll intervene.” She held her hand out to Gabe. “Up, up, up.”
Gabe gave us one last nervous glance before he took her hand and let her lead him through the crowd.
We watched as Laurel pushed him toward a blond woman. Even from our spot, we could easily make out Gabe’s crimson cheeks.
“He’ll do fine,” Everett said. He had one arm thrown across the back of the booth, eliminating any barrier between us.
“You don’treallyfeel like you’re going to throw up when you talk to a girl, do you?” I asked him. He looked away from where Gabe was anxiously smiling his way through the interaction to me. His mouth curved, eyes warming.
“You make me pretty nervous sometimes, Hale,” he said. The words rooted into my stomach with all the others, fluttering around. Pleasant. But that wasn’t the right word. Things were more than pleasant with Everett. I couldn’t think of anything better then, though. It was like floating in the water on a warm day, something bobbing gently in me.
“I’m not supposed to make you nervous,” I said. “I’m your pit stop before the real thing, remember?”
Everett’s gaze roved over my face, his expression going serious. For a minute, I worried the joke had gone too far, that I’d poked the same thing in him that Laurel’s comment had scraped against in me earlier, this idea that neither of us were interested in a real relationship, something I didn’t think was true.
“I wouldn’t call you a pit stop,” he said, voice low. “Didn’t we decide we’re summer people?”
“Right,” I said. “Summer people.”
For a brief, breathless moment, Everett’s gray-blue eyes flashing as he looked at me, I wished the week were over. I wished it was the two days we’d promised each other, however foolishly. I wished that everyone else didn’t care so much about the stupid fucking pact, and that I could kiss the half-smug smile that showed up on his face the longer we watched each other, the longer the silence stretched. That maybe it wasn’t just two days ahead of us.
But, rule aside, he was right. We were summer people, Everett and me. If the rest of us were year-round, constant, thenthe two of us only came around once a year. And there was something exciting in that, in a way. In the anticipation of it. In knowing there was nothing permanent here that could go away. We couldn’t disappoint each other if the only expectation was showing up. Romantic as a life outside of this time with Everett might seem, it was impossible; or so I kept reminding myself.
My phone buzzed on the table, and I looked down to see Laurel calling me. We both whipped our heads to where she was sitting. She was pointing toward the group, smile huge, directing our attention to where Gabe was fully making out with the blond girl.
“That was fast,” Everett said.
“He never needed our help,” I said. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t fall in love with her.”
Everett laughed, but Gabe would bring the girl back over to our table a little while later and introduce her to us. She was a pediatrician, visiting from Denver for her friend’s bachelorette party. Her name was Mia.
twenty-one
