I was slicing a baguette in the kitchen when Gabe and his mystery friend arrived that evening. Davi walked outside to help with bags, something patently unlike him, but the only thing stronger than Davi’s desire to not help was his curiosity.
“Where are you going?” I called after Laurel when she hopped up, nearly upending her second glass of boxed Moscato.
“Recon!” she shout-whispered in my direction before scurrying out the door.
I laughed, shaking my head before lifting the lid off a pot on the stove, stirring the simmering pasta sauce inside. Laurel was back quickly, running into the kitchen and practically colliding with me.
“So,” she said in a hushed tone. A car door slammed outside, voices floating in through the screen door. “Do you want to know?”
I shrugged a shoulder as she grabbed a slice of bread off my cutting board and broke off a bite. “Whatever.”
“Whatever,” Laurel said. “Sutton, he could be our new fifth.”
“I echo what Davi said earlier about referring to us like that,” I said, pointing my spoon at her.
“He’shot,” Laurel hissed as feet sounded on the front step. I just rolled my eyes, but she pulled me deeper into the kitchen, continuing. “But, like, not in an intimidating way? He’s, like... a little rumpled. But expensively rumpled. Like, put him in a navy-blue coastal knit sweater and a pair of round glasses and he’d be your favorite hot nineties dad, if your favorite nineties dad could also whisk you off to Spain for the weekend and keep you in bed the whole time.”
I thought for a minute, trying to conjure up this image. “What?” I finally asked, just as the front door swung open.
“Laurel, you know that yourwhispercarries like a fucking foghorn,” Davi said as we fell into a line, Laurel holding her wineglass in front of her face to hide her abashed grin. Gabe walked in behind Davi. His face was as familiar to me as Laurel’s, all kind eyes and short brown hair, and as he hugged me to him it felt like our week there was clicking together.
Except. There was still the person walking in behind him, head ducked as he dropped the luggage Davi wasn’t actually helping to carry by the front door. For a minute all I could see was the top of his head, but then he was straightening, and it was like all sound in the room died.
I don’t know if I’d use Laurel’s exact words to describe him, but not because she was wrong—because I’d already seen him in a well-loved navy-blue sweater at a party two months ago.I already knew what that tousled, golden-brown hair felt like under my fingers, soft and thick and inviting. I already knew what it was to have those eyes homing in on me, the sharpest shade of gray-blue I’d ever seen, speckled toward the middle like the nexus of a storm cloud. I already knew the sound of his breath in my ear.
“Hi,” he said, a grin just curling one corner of his mouth as he looked at me. I could tell he was thinking the same thing I was, gaze locked on mine even as the others stared at him like he was the newest attraction at a museum.
“Hi,” Laurel and I echoed, judges before him. He was game, though, and stepped forward, holding a hand toward me to shake, the cheeky grin on his face growing.
“I’m Everett Bridges.”
four
This Summer
Davi ends up falling into one of what, in college, we called his daily comas on the couch, his phone clasped to his chest even in that dead-to-the-world, snoring sleep that made him miss class on more than one occasion. Something about it makes this week feel a little more normal, until Laurel’s emails turn into a hushed phone call with her manager, one she shoos me out of her room for. I return to my room where I answer my Uncle Hank’s text asking if we’ve arrived safely, unpack my things into the dresser and closet, stare at the ceiling for a while. Usually, by this time, Laurel and I would be drinking wine on the back deck, laughing about something. Or at least talking. By six thirty, I send Gabe out to pick up the pizza order I placed, leaving me with a newly revived Davi at the counter and a pit of dread in my stomach at Everett’s impending arrival.
“I see Laurel did the shopping,” Davi says as I search through the pantry where Laurel shoved the two paper bags of groceries she’d carried in this afternoon. I grabbed fixings for a salad at the store earlier while Laurel stuffed Cheez-It crackers and popcorn, protein bars and Fritos into the cart. Back home, she’s a devout subscriber to every meal delivery service on the planet—at least those that aren’t currentlysponsoring her. Her fridge is stocked with things like ready-made kelp salads and smoothie cups she only has to add coconut water to, but when left to her own devices, she is exclusively a grazer of packaged goods.
I toss him a bag of honey-mustard pretzels. “She got you your favorite.”
“I knew I loved her for a reason,” Davi says, ripping the bag open.
I rake my dark blond hair into a ponytail before grabbing plates out of the cupboard and setting them on the counter, collect a handful of forks out of the drawer and arrange them in a perfect fan, line up five water glasses and five wineglasses next to that. When I turn around Davi is watching me, eyebrow raised.
“What.”
Davi holds up the hand he just used to pull a pretzel out of the bag, the fingers covered in the yellowy powder that coats his favorite snack splayed. “Nothing,” he says. “You just seem a little on edge, that’s all.”
“Well, I’m not,” I say. I can tell by Davi’s expression that the strained edge in my voice is fully evident. “I’m fine.”
“Yeah,” Davi says. “I know that I’m always at my peak when I’m about to see an ex.”
“Everett Bridges isnotmy ex,” I snap quickly.
Davi grins, crunching on a pretzel. “If Laurel hears you using his last name this week you’re going to be introooouble.”
I draw in a steadying breath, rest my palms on the counter behind me for support before I say anything else. When I do, Davi still looks amused. “I’m fine. I feel fine about spending this week with... him.”
