Page 113 of Summer Love

He turns his head toward me. We exchange a look.

The wind whips my face, the water races under my board. For the length of one wave, we glide side by side.

The wave weakens. I bend my knees and dive. The ocean swallows me and everything turns blue, cold, and silent.

When I come up, Maya is yelling from out back:

“¡Increíble!”

I laugh. Jace surfaces a short way off and shakes his hair out of his eyes. The ghost of a smile crosses his face. It’s not the one from earlier, the one meant for Noah: it’s softer—and more dangerous.

Noah claps from his board. Maya shouts louder than anyone.

I push my wet hair back off my forehead. Jace holds my gaze a second too long, then looks away and paddles out.

CHAPTER 37

Summer

THURSDAY

Iwalk into the back room of Tide & Tales Bookshop. Sierra’s put on “Birds of a Feather” by Billie Eilish, low enough to sit under the conversation. The string lights bathe the room in a warm glow.

Almost everyone’s already here.

Ruby’s claimed the corner armchair, Doc Martens up on the armrest, flask in hand. Harper sits on a cushion against the wall, a book turned face-down on her thigh. Miles sits cross-legged near Maya, a mocktail in hand. Maya plays with her thin braided anklet.

Sitting on a cushion, Chiara cuts a loaf of banana bread into even slices.

“Luke made it this morning,” she says. “He put pecans in.”

She passes the plate around; I grab a slice as it goes by. The banana bread is warm, dense, the pecans crunching between my teeth. Really good.

Sierra taps the notebook in her lap; her rings click against the stiff cover. She waits for everyone to settle in. I sit down between Maya and Harper, my back against the wall. There are two or three more women than last week, including a grandmother in a floral dress who brought cookies.

It’s warm, loud—too perfect.

“I’ll make tea,” I say. “Anyone want some?”

A few hands go up. Maya asks for an Earl Grey if I can find one.

The kitchenette is tiny. A counter, a sink, a kettle, two shelves full of mismatched mugs. I step up to the faucet to fill the kettle… and end up with wet feet.

I look down.

Water is spreading across the floor, out from under the cabinet. A puddle widening around my sandals.

“Sierra? I think we have a problem…”

Maya leans over, takes in the damage.

“¡Ay, no!”

The water isn’t gushing, but it won’t stop, and the kitchenette floor is already soaked. Sierra races off for mops. Chiara grabs a bucket. Ruby doesn’t move from her chair, but she points under the sink.

“It’s the fitting. You can see it from here.”

“Great, Ruby. And what do we do with that information?” Sierra says, a mop in her hand.