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But Margo tends to notice things she shouldn’t. She’s figured out why I go to the beach every morning. She gives me knowing looks whenever Hazel and I are together, and once, she whispered, “So, how long have you been secretly in love with her?” I feigned ignorance and asked who she was talking about. But I know she knows. And she knows I know she knows.
Leaning back on the dock, I take in my view of the marsh. The sun’s begun to set, staining the clouds with various shades of coral and orange.I wish Hazel was here to watch the sunset with me.
A dog barks, and I turn to see Honey running toward me, dragging Hazel by the leash as if she’s delivering her to me.Maybe wishes do come true.
A grin stretches across my face. “Hello, neighbor.”
Hazel laughs, and it’s the best sound in the world. Warm, rich, and sweet. Like fresh pancakes drizzled with maple syrup and topped with strawberries.
Honey rolls over to expose her belly. She’s clearly looking for belly rubs, so I oblige. “Hey there, Honey,” I coo. “How’s the prettiest girl in Georgia?”
I’m talking to the dog, but the words are for Hazel. I tell Honey the things I wish I could say to her owner.
“She loves you,” Hazel says, gifting me with another laugh.
I stroke Honey’s ears gently. “And I love you.” I risk a glance at Hazel. If she looked at my face, would it be plain as day that I’m head-over-heels in love with her?
But she doesn’t look at me. Her eyes are glued on the clouds. “I always forget how gorgeous sunsets are on this side of the island. Even the water is pink.”
“It’s beautiful,” I agree.But not nearly as beautiful as you.
She’s dressed conservatively, like always. Hazel is a fan of fit-and-flare dresses in neutral colors. She’s a seamstress, so the dresses are tailored to perfection, making her look elegant and polished.
But I’ve never understood why she doesn’t wear clothes that match her personality—cheerful and bright. Instead, she tries to blend in.
She fails, of course. Her beauty is a star. It shines on its own.
I pat the dock beside me. “Want to sit?”
She sits next to me, but Honey pushes her way between us. We take turns petting her as we watch the sunset. Every now and then, our fingertips brush. It’s such a small thing, and I doubt she even notices the contact. But each time our fingers meet, every nerve ending in my body lights up like the sky on the fourth of July.
It’s silly. Ridiculous, even. I’m forty-four years old.
But whenever I’m near Hazel, I may as well be an awkward teenager again.
I pull my hand away and drum the dock with my fingertips. “Coop says you’re moving in this weekend?”
She turns to me, her eyes alight with excitement. “Can you believe it? I’m going to have a place of my own.” For a few minutes, she gushes about how she’s going to renovate Coop’s house. He’s leaving behind all the furniture but she’s going to make slipcovers for the sofas and chairs. She’s also going to whitewash the cabinets and give all the rooms a fresh coat of paint.
Her enthusiasm is infectious, and I find myself grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Hazel has always had that effect on me. My biggest, toothiest grins are reserved for her. “If you need help moving or painting, I’m your man.”
Her eyes sparkle with amusement. “I could use some help repairing Coop’s dock.”
We both look over at Coop’s pier, located twenty feet from mine, and burst into laughter. It’s more of a ruin than a pier, with only the pilings remaining, jutting up from the water like the broken fragments of a shipwreck.
“If I see you anywhere near that pier, I’ll tell the mayor,” I warn.
A single blonde curl has fallen out of her bun. It’s mesmerizing, like a strand of spun gold in the sunlight. She quickly tucks it behind her ear. “You haven’t threatened to tattle on me since I was a little girl.”
I frown. “I never threatened to tell on you.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You don’t remember? You and Tuck were daring each other to jump off the porch with your bikes. You both chickened out, so I said I’d do it. Tuck said, ‘I double-dog dare you!’ But you—”
“Grabbed your bicycle seat and wouldn’t let go,” I say, remembering. It was the first time I noticed there was something special about Hazel Tuck. She was around nine, and Tuck and I were twelve or thirteen. It’d be several more years before my feelings turned romantic, but on that day, I realized there was more than meets the eye with her.
Even then, she was quiet and a little reserved. But she was daring and brave, too. And maybe even just a little bitwild.
Like most of the houses in Friendly, there’s was on stilts. So, the drop to the ground was substantial. But if I hadn’t stopped her, she’d have soared off the porch like her bike had wings. It would have been beautiful to behold—beforeshe crash-landed in a heap in the yard.
