Page 25 of Hearts on the Line

“I’m not sure⁠—”

“And third, you won’t have to suffer my brother’s company for the night.”

You matter.

I toss my head back and laugh, wriggling free from her hold. I can smell the waffle cones being baked from across the street at the ice cream shop.

It’s a smell that hits me in my gut and drags up memories I thought were long gone.

That summer, smiling at the counter, waiting for him to come over once the restaurant closed. The accidental brush of our fingers as I handed over his order. Always two scoops of raspberry chocolate chip.

“Okay, I’ll go. But I’m done at nine.”

Annie rolls her eyes. “You’re a fucking liar. Go get ready. I’ll come pick you up in an hour.”

Ethan and Wally are gone when I head upstairs. It’s not like we need to keep tabs on each other, but it feels empty when the big grump is missing.

I quickly take a shower and dress, rummaging through the bag of clothes from Annie to find a white linen slip dress. It’s cute, but I don’t need the reminder of a white dress right now. I dig further and find a black silk dress in the same style.

I’m taller than Annie, so the dress hits mid-thigh. I’m worried all of Merritt Point is about to see my thong, but at least it’s cute, and it’s not like they aren’t already talking about my return. Both Mrs. Perrot and Mr. Stronghaven, my old biology and art teachers, respectively, stopped by at the restaurant today to tell me they were happy to see me and that they miss my dad.

It meant a lot, though it was a little bittersweet for me.

My dad loved it here, and while my mom likely will never forgive me for asking to live with my dad after the divorce, I think I broke my dad’s heart when I left for California to finish high school after what happened with Ethan.

Outside, Main Street is busy with the sounds of summer. I always thought it was magic how this town came alive. There’s a live band playing somewhere down the street, and I can hear the hushed voices of passersby, the rev of a motorcycle, the shrill ding of the bell from someone entering the clothing boutique. It’s the anticipatory energy that swells on a Friday night, and it’s contagious.

But I feel like I might throw up.

I rush to the kitchen and open a few cabinets, thankful I find the one where Ethan stashes all the liquor, and grab a bottle of vodka. I quickly pour myself a shot when the door opens, and Annie cheers.

“You read my mind. Shots!”

A rush of people files in, faces that aren’t familiar, thankfully, as I swallow down the liquid and stretch a smile across my face. It’s something I’ve perfected. I can smile even when my world is crumbling.

“Ladies,” Annie announces, jumping onto the counter, “this is my friend Sloane. She had her heart broken this week. It’s our duty, nay, our honor, to celebrate this woman.” She lifts my hand into the air and grins at me.

“You told me it was to celebrate you leaving for the summer.”

Annie leans forward. “Two things can be true at once, Sloane. Welcome home!”

I glance around, certain that if Ethan walked through the door this instant, he’d have a significant cardiac event. Annie jumps down and herds everyone out to the sidewalk.

“So where are we going?” I ask. I’m thankful to be lost among the crowd. I throw on my aviator sunglasses instead, doing my best Hannah Montana impression, and hide behind them as I retreat against the building and hordes of tourists shuffle by our group.

“We’ll start at Oyster and Pearl,” answers another girl. “Then Markey’s. We always end at Markey’s.”

Everyone buzzes around me excitedly, and I glance up to the cotton-candy sky stretching toward the ocean. I take a deep inhale of the July night, vodka rushing through my veins, but it’s more this intense hit of nostalgia I’m intoxicated on. Summer in New England is like that. Makes up for the horrible winters. It’s like a reward.

Oyster and Pearl is a small place off Main Street. Purple petunias overflow in the window boxes, and a black-and-white striped awning hangs over the trendy four-paneled glass door entrance.

The hostess brings us by the bar that’s a literal boat hull, past the crowded tables inside, to a big table that’s just outside in a small enclosed courtyard.

“Heard you’re leaving for the summer, Annie.” A young server stops by our table once we’re seated. He has a crop of bouncy bronze curls cut short to his head and looks like he might be twenty at most.

“Going to miss me, Matthew?”

He cracks a smile after greeting the table and setting down a pile of menus. “We’ll get lots of business without you running such a tight ship. I’ve heard things are already pretty slow this season.”