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“Oh, are you writing a book, too?”
“No.”
“Then I’m using it,” she chirps, popping open the bottle and taking a swig of what I’d thought was my beer.
I reach for the bottle and say, “You can’t use that; I’m copyrighting it.”
She laughs, and for some reason, I pull out my phone and record a voice memo. “I said ‘Are You for Real’ on August 13, 2023.”
This only makes her laugh harder, and she twirls away from me, dodging my reach for the bottle. “Even if you were writing a book, you can’t copyright the title.”
“I’m sure I’ll find a way,” I say.
She takes another glug from the bottle as I stare at her perfect, glistening lips. “You’d be surprised at everything you can’t copyright.”
“Yeah?”
“Truly! Like general plots, it’s the same thing. Because it’s not just plausible but probable for two authors who’ve never met or read each other’s work to be fans of the same TV baking contest and base a story around a fictional version of said show.”
I nod and say, “Really?” even though I have no idea what she’s talking about. Mainly, I just want her to keep talking because she glows. Yeah, I said it. She glows when she’s talking about writing.
Soon enough, I’m smiling back at her, which prompts her to steer the conversation to my restaurant business. I don’t know; it seems pretty dull compared to her job. And I’ve forgotten all about what was irritating me about her just now.
She listens intently, smiling, nodding, asking questions. The more I talk to her like a normal person instead of a jerk, the more she smiles.
Fine. I like making her smile, even if she’s infuriating. Something in my chest settles down when Caroline looks happy.
And I finally admit to myself that I am too fucking exhausted to keep resisting her charms.
Maybe I’ve been too hard on her. After all, Mom and Dad love her, and so does everyone else on Paradise Lane. I’ve seen how she jumps up to help Mom at the store, and I’ve eaten the cookies she gave me to bring to my dad. I’ve seen how she humors Gretchen and Matthew’s kids, who are a handful and a half.
Maybe it’s sleep deprivation. Maybe it’s the three beers I had before she arrived at the party. Maybe it’s because I have never obsessed this much over a woman—whether out of affection or annoyance.
But I have to admit: Caroline has grown on me.
* * *
It is officially latewhen the sky is completely dark in Northern Michigan in August.
Everyone on Paradise Lane came out for the fish fry and had their fill of perch, trout, potato salads, baked beans, beer, wine, and juice boxes. It was great hanging out with everyone. I might have been upset that the Hamiltons cancelled on the Brendans, but the community promoted the hell out of the fish fry, and the event drew some of our other favorite people back for a visit. Josh and Penny came up from downstate. They’re always a hoot when they re-tell the story about how as kids, their families used to vacation here together. By an accident of overbooking, Josh and Penny ended up renting the same cabin a few years back, and reconnected. They got married on this very dock.
Then there’s Bree and Cody, who live with their kids down in Cedar Isle on the other side of the peninsula, on the shore of Lake Huron. Cody builds boats and Bree works at the library. They came with their kids and were kept busy playing and splashing in the water with everyone else’s kids and dogs.
Everyone complimented Mom, who made her famous strawberry-pretzel-Jell-o thing that she calls a salad but I call a delicious dessert. Even Dad came out with his walker, to the enormous delight of everyone.
It felt like a big, happy family reunion.
And now, most everyone has wandered to their homes and cabins for the night.
Gretchen and Matthew’s kids, full of campfire pies, s’mores, and memories, are passed out in their beds at the resort’s main house. Josh and Penny are already asleep in Cabin 1, and Bree and Cody and their kids are bunking in Cabins 3 and 4.
Caroline and I have been hogging the conversation, but Gretchen and Matthew don’t seem to mind. We’ve spent the last hours talking about her books and her asking me about my restaurants back home in Dallas. However, the longer I talk to her, the less Dallas feels like home.
Home feels like this. Sitting here with old and new friends, talking, laughing, and enjoying good food and beer until the sun goes down. Talking to a woman who challenges me and makes my head swim with happy thoughts and hopeful thoughts. And, sure, filthy thoughts.
Is Caroline my friend? Has she moved from an infuriating, contrary woman to a friend? I suppose she has. Do I want more than friendship? Does a bear shit in the woods?
If the worst thing about Caroline is she drinks all the coffee and eats all my favorite ice cream, that’s on me. I’ll just have to get up earlier in the morning.
