Page 80 of Summer Love

It’s an obvious lie. Maya doesn’t need anyone. But Harper’s already pulling me away by the shoulder, and we head off while Ryan stays planted in the sand.

Once we’re far enough away, Harper lets go.

“Bit of a pain, yeah?”

“That’s putting it mildly…”

“No worries—I’ve got a radar for that,” she says with a wink.

“Thanks,” I breathe.

No speech, no questions. She saw, she acted, she moves on.

I like this girl.

CHAPTER 27

Summer

The sun drops below the horizon; the sky turns from orange to violet. Someone lights a bonfire on the beach. The flames climb fast, fed by driftwood and old crates. Smoke curls up through the smell of the skewers and sausages Luke’s grilling. He’s grumbling because people keep trying to help themselves before anything’s cooked.

The sand’s cooler under my sandals. String lights flick on along the surf school building. Kai sits down near the fire with a ukulele. He starts playing something soft, eyes on the flames, like no one else is there. People gather. Blankets get spread out.

Harper’s sitting next to me on a driftwood log. Maya’s on her left, legs crossed in the sand. Miles comes back with cups.

Flip circles the fire.

Tighter and tighter circles, nose to the ground, tail going. Nobody’s paying attention to him—except me, because I know he’s up to something.

By the time he snags a string of sausages, it’s too late.

He nearly takes Luke out on his way past and gallops across the sand toward the skatepark. The sausages drag behind him like a war trophy. Three kids tear after him, shrieking.

“Big guy, reigning world champion of petty theft,” I say, laughing.

Across the fire, Jace sighs. He closes his eyes, shakes his head, and takes a sip of beer.

“Don’t know him,” he says to no one in particular.

Noah’s still in the sand, flat on his back, a beer parked beside him. His cigarette glows in the dark.

The noise dies down. The conversations settle.

Jace stands.

He plants himself in front of the fire, facing the crowd. The flames light his face, deepen the shadows under his cheekbones, catch the green of his eyes. His hands are in his pockets. He’s not smiling.

“Thanks, everyone,” he says. “Thanks for coming out and pitching in. For eating too much, for trying your luck at the raffle, for letting your kids sink during the beginner lessons.”

A few laughs.

“Thanks to everyone who helped. Yumi, Luke, Miles, Sierra, Kai, Maya, Evan, Noah, and everybody else.”

His eyes sweep the crowd, pass over me, don’t stop.

“This school…” he goes on. “My grandfather started it. He built this place with his own hands. He put the first boards in the water before Coral Bay was even a surf spot.”

He breaks off. His jaw tightens.