Page 108 of Summer Love

Summer tips her head back and rinses her long hair. The braided bracelet slides down her wrist.

The bracelet I left on my pillow for her to find when she woke up.

She didn’t want me. She blocked my number. She never came back. And yet she’s wearing that bracelet today.

Why?

I swallow, throat dry.

I’d forgotten how beautiful she was. Or I’d convinced myself otherwise—six years sure I’d exaggerated.

I’d been lying to myself.

The water shuts off. Now there’s nothing but Flip working at the frisbee. Summer grabs a beach towel off a rusty hook and wrings out her hair. The door creaks.

She steps out, hair wet, the towel wrapped around her. Her skin catches the light, golden. Water still runs down the back of her neck.

Her eyes meet mine.

“You’re still here,” she says, clipped.

I tip my chin at Flip, lying in the grass with the frisbee between his paws.

She doesn’t answer. Neither of us moves a muscle.

Flip gets up and trots over to me, frisbee in his mouth. He nudges my knee with his nose until I take it.

I throw it over the fence onto the beach. Flip takes off after it.

“Later,” I mutter and follow him.

I’m in deep shit.

CHAPTER 36

Summer

WEDNESDAY

My phone reads 5:52 a.m. when I stop pretending.

I haven’t slept all night. Yesterday plays on a loop—the run with Noah, the fall into Jace’s arms, his hand on my waist, his warm voice that…

Stop.

I get up, pull on leggings, a sports bra, a T-shirt. I tie up my hair, massage my right foot, lace up my sneakers. No need to think. The motions have been the same for years: move before my thoughts can drag me too far.

Outside, the lodge is empty. The sky is pale gray, the air cool. The solar lanterns along the path are still lit, small yellow smudges in the mist.

I pass Noah’s cabin.

This morning he’s not outside. The door is shut, the curtains drawn. Disappointed, I keep walking. Then I stop and double back.

I knock. Nothing. I knock again. Still nothing.

Just as I’m about to give up, I hear shuffling footsteps, a rustle, and the door opens.

Noah appears in his boxers, eyes puffy with sleep, one cheek creased from the pillow. His hair is flat on one side, a strand plastered to his temple. He blinks in the morning light.