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My head nods automatically, the motion jerky and uncomfortable. Stiffened by surprise. I wasn’t expecting to run into him here—or ever. And I absolutely wasn’t expecting him to recognize me.
I clear my dry throat. “Yeah, I remember.”
Drew was seventeen the last time I saw him in person. Even if I hadn’t searched his name and scrolled through some articles over the years, usually after a drink too many, I’d recognize him. His hair is a dirty shade of blond that used to be shaggy and is now just long enough to run fingers through. All the shorter length does is emphasize the way Drew’s features have hardened and sharpened. All man, no boy.
His eyes haven’t changed at all—magnetic and mossy. They pull me in as successfully as they used to.
He’sstupid hot, as Olivia would say.
I clear my throat again, in some hasty attempt to regain my composure. “You’re sort of famous, you know.”
I say it as a test, wondering how much of the guy who used to shift in response to praise remains, following years of fame and adoration.
Drew grins, an easy expression that simultaneously manages to put me at ease and make my heart race. The smile creases the corners of his eyes and exposes a devastating pair of dimples. “Onlysort of?”
He’s looking at me like he’s happy—elatedeven—to see me, which is strange and unexpected. Drew and I were never close as teenagers. We simply coexisted as part of the same group of summer kids whose parents had transplanted them to Port Haven from early June until the end of August.
Both before and after his ill-fated romance with Amelia fizzled out, Drew and I spent barely any time together. Nothing significant ever transpired between us.
Time around him was memorable—only because of my stupid crush on him. A stupid crush that never fully faded, apparently, because I feel his smileeverywhere. It douses me as effectively as the water falling from the sky did, charged awareness skittering across the surface of my skin.
“How have you been, Harper?” he asks,stilllooking happy to see me. It doesn’t falter the way fake masks do.
“Fine,” I answer quickly, expecting that to be that. Pleasantries exchanged, moving on with our separate lives.
Drew was always a genuinely nice guy. Sincere in a way few guys I knew in high school were. Sincere in a way few guys I’veeverencountered were.
My teenage self was drawn to more than his good looks. It’s nice to know fame hasn’t changed that about him. Comforting, the same way this town seems to be stuck in time.
“Are you here for long?”
To my surprise, Drew seems interested in extending our conversation beyond the obligatory acknowledgment. Which wasn’t even obligatory. He could have said nothing to me.
I shake my head. “Just tonight actually.”
Drew’s eyes skim my expression and drop down to my outfit. There’s no interest or disapproval on his face. It’s more like he’s searching for something.
A more robust answer maybe. On why I’m back and why my visit is so short. If he’s visited Port Haven with any regularity since high school, he must know I haven’t. And why.
It’s depressing, I guess—how I assume everyone I encounter is only interested in the bare minimum exchange. Even sadder how it’s almost always the case.
“Are you?” I ask, shifting my grip on my groceries. It feels rude to only answer his questions and not ask any in response. “Here for long?”
“Not sure. I got in a week ago and still have some time before preseason starts up. Was hoping my folks might be able to come up like old times, but…” Drew rubs his forehead, knocking his ball cap up and then tugging it back down. “My dad had a stroke a year ago, so it’s harder for him to get around. He and my mom basically stay put in Boston now.”
“I’m so sorry about your dad,” I say.
My memories of Aiden Halifax are fuzzy at best. But what I do remember of him, he was always jovial and smiling. A bright, happy presence and as hockey-obsessed as his son. Drew’s mother, Rebecca, was always just as cheerful. She was the type of parent who baked chocolate chip cookies and made homemade lemonade. The polar opposite of my mom.
Foolishly, I feel like I should have known about his dad’s health. But it’s a misguided notion.
Drew and I haven’t kept in touch. It’s a private family matter he’s obviously chosen not to share with the rabid fan base obsessed with his slap shot and his six-pack. He never posts anything personal on his social media. And my mother basically cut this town off years ago. I’m certain she hasn’t kept in close touch with Mr. and Mrs. Halifax.
“Thanks.” Drew rubs his jaw with one hand, drawing my attention to the sharp angle and dusting of stubble there. He’s uneasy with sympathies. We have one thing in common, I guess. “And…I’m really sorry about your dad. I wanted to go to the funeral, but I was at school and—”
“It’s fine. Thanks,” I cut him off, distantly aware of how my voice has turned sharp and brittle, nearly cracking in the middle offine. I mistook his uncertainty as being associated with his family, not mine. And while it’snotfine, it’s also nothing I want to discuss with him. Especially not here.
Drew nods once. For someone sincere, his serious expression is difficult to interpret. I can’t tell if he’s uncomfortable or understanding.
