Page 26 of Seven Rules for Breaking Hearts

“Oh, yeah. A couple hours past, on foot.”

“All right, thanks.”

“Stay safe.”

With that, the Hummer left us in a cloud of dust and exhaust fumes.

“You’re telling me there are buffalo on this island?” I asked.

Declan coughed and attempted to waft the dust away with a hand. “Technically bison, but yes. Someone brought some over to shoot a movie, back in the twenties, and I guess they just left them.” He turned back the way we came, apparently having given up his unspoken mission to see the buffalo. “Didn’t you do any research before coming here?”

I hurried after him. “I didn’t need to do research. My family used to visit all the time. And I lifeguarded at the camp for a summer.”

“You’re telling me you—” He coughed again. “You’re telling me you worked here for a whole summer, and you never knew there were bison on the island?”

I hunched my shoulders. “I guess I was too busy making sure children didn’t drown.”

Clearing his throat, he pointed at the Gatorade bottle in my hand. “Could I—”

An oddly defensive part of me was more than happy to let him choke, but I relinquished the bottle anyway. To my amusement, he chugged it, and then proceeded to go through a rapid-fire version of all five stages of grief. More coughing. “Oh my God,” he said, shoving it back in my arms like he couldn’t get away from it fast enough. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “That’s horrendous.”

“I told you I was bringing sangria.”

“You could have told me that was the sangria. I was expecting Gatorade. And I didn’t expect it to be so—”

“Strong?” I offered. I might have picked the highest percentage premixed sangria I could find. Capriccio, fourteen percent. Trying to get the most bang for my buck without chugging hard liquor.

“Hot,” he finished. “Like you microwaved it.”

Oh. That. I took another swig myself, and yeah, it was pretty warm from hiking out in the sun. Still got the job done, though.

Despite his complaints, once the initial shock had passed, he eyed the half-empty bottle. “Is that all you brought?”

I held my arms wide, turning on the spot. “Do I look like I have another bottle hidden on my person?”

Now his gaze did flick over my leggings, as well as other potential hiding places, but he seemed to decide it was safer not to answer that particular question.

I fought back a smug smile as I passed the bottle back to him. “So what’s the story behind the whole loner vibe? You used to be class clown. What happened, the whole younger, hotter Conan O’Brien thing not working for you lately?”

“I am begging you not to compare me to random redheads. How would you like it if I called you—” He stopped short, staring at the top of my head like he was seeing it for the first time. “What color is your natural hair? I’ve only ever seen it …” He made a vague gesture at my green dye, which had faded to a pale swampy color like I’d spent too long in the pool. “Well, dyed.”

“Brown,” I said, indicating my roots. “Before I got my hands on box dye in seventh grade.” I’d dyed it a wide array of colors ever since. There were a few times I’d thought about going back to brown. I missed it, sometimes. My mom used to tell me that it brought out my eyes. But then Jo and I had started the podcast, and my green hair at the time had accidentally ended up being something people recognized, and afterwards I felt like I couldn’t change it back.

And on that note, I needed to touch it up before the wedding. There were no beauty stores on the island, but I should probably see if the Vons—the main grocery store serving Avalon—carried any green hair dye.

Declan gave me an odd look. “Wait a second. Can we rewind to a few sentences ago?”

I tried to remember what I had said a few sentences ago, but I was coming up short. “Yes?”

“Did you just call me hot?”

Technically, I had. But I had a feeling he knew full well that he was attractive, and I also didn’t need to hand over all the power in this situation. Though I did take his curiosity as a good sign. “I said ‘younger, hotter Conan O’Brien.’ How you interpret that comparison is up to you.”

“But do you—”

I waved a hand to shut him up. “No further questions. Not until you answer a few more of mine.”

He gave me a surly look. “I thought you wanted to hang out, but I realize now this is actually an interrogation.” He took a long swig of sangria. When I just watched him expectantly, he sighed. “Fine.”