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If he doesn’t want to talk, I won’t force him. I won’t be one of those people who exhausts him. The harbor master can drop me off like a UPS package if he likes.
It’s fine. I’m fine.
* * *
The truck pulls up beside the big top tent, and Mac kills the engine and shoves his door open in one go. I hop out too, stomach aching, and peer up at the familiar, stripey sight. I’ve seen it so many times over the years—have explored every inch of the canvas and patched its tears—yet now this feels like a strange land.
Maybe because we’d only just arrived in Sweet Cherry Cove when I disappeared? That must be it. I’m not used tothiscamping spot, with its harsh winds and salty air. The breeze whips the long grass around our ankles.
Mac rounds the truck, gathering my bags into two handfuls again. Wow, he’s seriously keen to be rid of me. He addresses his question to the truck bed. “Where’s your… tent? Trailer?”
“Camper van. It’s round the back.”
Just like that, we’re off.
If I hadn’t spent hours last night with Mac’s dark head buried between my legs, I might think he hates me. As it is, as I hurry after the harbor master, my inner thighs are still chafed pink from his beard.
“I know you care,” I say, and his shoulders hunch even higher around his ears. “Your heartless jerk act doesn’t fool me, Mr McLaggen.”
When Mac wheels around, I nearly slam into his chest. One of the bags slips, and a pair of leggings drops onto the grass.
“What do you want from me, Cocoa?” He looks tortured. Desperate. “I’m trying to do right by you, but you’re not helping. It’s hard enough bringing you here.”
I open my mouth to respond to that, heart lifting, but a whoop carries across the cliffs. “Yelena!”
My name. It takes me a second to recognize it.
I grin and wave as three people barrel around the side of the tent, arms thrashing, bright clothes streaming behind them like capes. Two men and a woman. All around my age, all lithe and wild, all wearing glittery stage make up even though the show won’t start until evening.
They surge over me like the tide.
Mac steps back, away from the chattering and the hugging. When the two men take turns to lift me up, spinning me around, I catch glimpses of his weather-beaten face. He’s solemn. Like his suspicions are proven, but he didn’t want them to be.
“This is Mac McLaggen,” I say as soon as I can get a word in edgewise. Then I back away from the grasping hands, because even though these people are family, even though I love them dearly, right now the only touch I want is Mac’s. “He’s the harbor master down in Sweet Cherry Cove. I’ve been… staying with him.”
Three appreciative glances. Artur makes a throaty purring sound.
Mac’s cheeks flame red above his beard.
“Is he coming to the show tonight?” Artur asks, smiling coyly. If I could spray him with a water pistol right now, I’d do it—even though Artur smiles like that ateveryone. His auburn hair is loose around his shoulders, and his eyeliner is smoky green.
“No,” I say, right as Mac cuts in: “Yeah. I’ll come.” A quick glance at me, then away. “I’d like to see Co—Yelena’s act one time.”
One time.
It’s always goodbye with this man. I could chase him down the aisle, and he’d still wave so-long after the ceremony—but maybe that’s a fear thing. Maybe Mac has never been missed before. He doesn’t know what he’s doing to me each time he pulls away.
So I lift one shoulder, and I aim for casual. “Sure. We’ll put on a good one, right guys?”
But deep down, I’m not casual. I’m hatching plans.
Tonight, I’m going to make the harbor master love me.
Eight
Mac
I’m handling this all wrong, I know that. Rushing my girl out of the cottage this morning; not speaking on the drive. Shutting her up and acting like a grade A asshole. She took it well, butIwanted to punch myself in the face.
