She pushes herself up and leans toward me, those irresistible pouty lips only inches from mine. “You hated me.” She breathes the words with a delicious air of teasing and seduction.
I lunge for those perfect lips and capture them with my own. She lets out a soft moan and melts into me. I roll her onto her back and position myself on top of her, pushing my tongue further into her mouth.
I don’t know how long we stay like that, our mouths moving hungrily against each other. That’s the thing about Harper. It’s so easy to get lost in her kisses. To let them swallow me whole and erase everything else that’s happening in the world.
The pain in my arm.
Gone.
The anger I feel toward my mother.
Gone.
I pull away and gaze down at her. Harper Jennings is beautiful in every light, but this is where I love her face the most. In this quiet hideaway. With the moon reflecting in her eyes.
“Do you still hate me?” she asks, and I notice the distinct lack of teasing in her voice. There’s a gravity there. A silent supplication.
I tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I hate you more than I’ve ever hated anyone.” My words are gentle. My tone is a lullaby. She understands.
She closes her eyes, and I kiss her again. This time tenderly. This time just a soft touch. On her lips. On her nose. On her cheek.
“I hate you, too,” she whispers into my ear.
And then, back to her lips. She raises her hips up, pressing into me. I reach down and slide my hand under her shirt. She kisses me harder. I move my mouth to her neck. Her body shivers in response.
“How did you even find this place?”
I pull back and look at her in surprise. “What did you—” I start to ask, but I’m not able to finish because Harper’s hand clamps down on my mouth. Her eyes open wide, and that’s when I comprehend what’s happening.
We’re no longer alone.
And the voice I hear next turns my blood to ice.
“I was surfing one day when the tide was unusually high. My board actually drifted way back here.”
Holy shit. It’s Mike.
I scramble to my knees and peer over the small log that has thus far shielded us from view. But I know that won’t last long. It’s too dark to see detail, but I can definitely make out two shapes—two people—walking toward us.
“It’s amazing!” the second voice says, the one I originally thought was Harper’s. And that’s because it’s definitely female.
Mike knows about this place too? And he’s brought a girl here?
Without another word between us, Harper and I scurry on all fours to the far edge of the alcove so we can try to circle around the perimeter back to the entrance.
“Hardly anyone else knows about it,” Mike says.
I fight back a snort. Yeah, except for Harper.
“I used to come here more often,” Mike goes on. “But this summer . . . I don’t know. Things just got a little crazy, I guess. It’s nice to be back, though. It’s nice to be here with someone.”
We’ve nearly made it back to the thick brush and tall weeds that cover the opening. But Harper, who has been crawling in front of me, stops short when she hears this. She turns and peers into the darkness, like she’s trying to see what’s going on.
“Thank you,” the mystery girl says quietly. “For bringing me here. For showing me this piece of you.”
I catch a glimpse at Harper’s reaction in the glint of moonlight. She looks livid. And worse than that, she actually looks like she’s about ready to jump out and start screaming at him.
She opens her mouth, and I lunge forward to tackle her. Fortunately, the sand muffles the sound. Harper squirms free and glares back at me. I shoot her a warning look and point to the opening just a few feet ahead of us. With a silent huff she resumes crawling.
Once we’re through the brush and back on the beach, she stomps away from me. I run to catch up, making sure we’re close enough to the surf for the waves to hide our voices.
“What is your problem?” I growl. “Do you want us to get caught or something?”
She ignores this question. She’s too busy stewing in her own fury. “I can’t believe he would bring someone there. To our place.”
I blink in disbelief. “Hold up. Your place. That’s where you’ve been bringing me?”
She bites her lip, looking totally conflicted, like she can’t decide which issue to tackle first. Her jealousy or mine. She shakes out her hands, as though she’s trying to shake off tiny, invisible bugs. “There was no other place to go!” she yells defensively.
“Harper,” I begin heavily, “Mike is my best friend. And that used to be your place with him. Don’t you realize how fucked up that is?”
“Not as fucked up as him bringing some bimbo slut bag there. It’s different with you and me. We’ve known each other forever. He brought a total stranger there. I’ve never even seen that girl before.”
I frown at her. “Why are you getting so upset about this? If anything, you should see this as a good thing. We both should. If he’s hanging out with this girl, that means he’s moving on. It takes some of the pressure off us.” I stop and narrow my eyes at her. “You do want him to move on, don’t you?”
She doesn’t answer. She just looks at her feet.
I feel frustration boiling up inside me. “Harper,” I warn.
“Yes!” she finally screams. “No! I don’t know!”
“What is this?” I demand, taking a step toward her. “What are we doing here? I thought this could be something real. I thought you felt the same way. Or are you just biding your time with me? Am I just some fun little summer fling to distract you until you’re ready to go back to him?”
“No,” she says automatically, but there’s no heart in it. She wrings her hands, looking conflicted. “It’s just that Mike and I have been together forever. It’s not that simple.”
“It feels pretty simple to me,” I snap. “You broke up with him. Which, last I checked, means you’re not together anymore. Which leaves him free to bring whomever he wants to that place, and leaves you free to do”—I gnash my teeth together—“well, whatever the fuck this is.”
Her expression softens. “Grayson,” she says, and I hate the way her voice sounds. So sad and full of pity. It’s the very last thing I want from her.
“Forget it,” I spit, and turn my back on her. “Just let me know when you’ve figured out what you want, Harper.”
I take off down the beach. Harper doesn’t follow me. She just lets me leave. Which makes it all that much worse.
CHAPTER 32
MIKE
When we were twelve years old, Harper and I kissed for the very first time. I remember it like it was yesterday. The four of us were swimming in the beach club pool—me, Harper, Grayson, and Ian. It was late summer. Most of the tourists had gone home so we had the pool to ourselves.
I had dived to the bottom of the pool to grab a bracelet that had slipped off Harper’s wrist. I was just about to resurface, the recovered jewelry safely in hand, when suddenly she was in front of me. Her blue eyes were wide open under the water. Her hair fanned out around her like a white halo. She swam right up to me. She placed her hand securely on the back of my head. And she pressed her lips to mine.
It didn’t last long. We didn’t have much oxygen left. But it was amazing. It was everything I wanted it to be and more.
I had dived under that water a scared, inexperienced, scrawny twelve-year-old boy, and I resurfaced an entirely new person. There had been no time to think about the kiss. No time to agonize over what I was supposed to do or whether or not I would do it all wrong.
I felt giddy and excited and as light as air.
But above all else, there was this sense of relief. A much-needed assurance that she felt the same about me as I did about her.
Something had changed that summer. I couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly. I just knew it was different. Harper was d
ifferent. I was different. I felt different around her.
When I looked at her, I was suddenly experiencing sensations I’d never experienced before. Things I didn’t even have names for. But I hadn’t been sure if I was alone in those feelings. I’d had no idea what she was thinking.
Especially after that horrible Spin the Bottle game we’d played earlier that summer. At first, when Harper had come to me with the idea, it had seemed fun. A perfect way for me to test out these new feelings I was having. I imagined her spinning the bottle and it pointing right at me. I’d be able to kiss her without all the pressure. I’d be able to see her reaction. Maybe even feel it. All under the safe guise of a silly game.
I had never even considered the possibility that the bottle, or flashlight, might not land on me.
When it slowed to a stop and I saw that it was pointing at Grayson, the whole garden shed came crashing down around me. My ears burned. My fingers twitched. And there was a knot in my stomach the size of Tennessee.
But the worst was not yet over. When the shock wore off and I finally managed to tear my gaze from the flashlight and look at Harper, I hoped her face would give away her disgust. I hoped the very thought of kissing anyone else but me would make her insides crawl.
I hoped. But that wasn’t what I saw.
She didn’t even glance my way to see how I was doing. She just started crawling toward Grayson, her lips already pursed, her smile already giving her excitement away.
I felt positively nauseous. And they hadn’t even kissed yet. I knew I wouldn’t be able to watch their lips touch. I knew I wouldn’t be able to just sit there while Grayson Cartwright stole my first kiss away from me.
So I got up, mumbled something about my stomach hurting, and ran. I hid in the kitchen with Mamma V for the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening. When Mamma V asked me what was wrong, why I looked so pale, I told her I wasn’t feeling well. It wasn’t exactly a lie.
She made me chicken soup and let me sit in her office and watch TV on the tiny screen she kept in there.
I didn’t come out until it was dark.
The next day I worked up the courage to ask Ian what had happened. I don’t remember how I worded it, but I was careful not to ask the question directly. Regardless, Ian seemed to understand exactly what I was saying. His eyes showed all the empathy in the world.
He held out his fist, and we launched into our secret handshake—one front tap, two on top, two on the bottom, palm-to-palm crazy fingers—and then he patted me on the back and said, “Nothing happened.”
The two most beautiful words I’d ever heard. My heart sang out in relief.
Two months later, when Harper found me under that water and pressed her lips against mine, all of that worry and anxiety and paranoia just floated away.
She liked me.
She kissed me.
She chose me.
I know it’s wrong to think about that day now, as I’m standing in the middle of the Cove with Julie. I know it’s wrong for Harper’s name to be floating around in my mind, but I can’t help it. She has occupied my thoughts for far too long. Like a light that’s always on. That you never turn off. And eventually you simply forget where the switch is.
I’ve never taken anyone else to my secret spot. Ever. It was always Harper’s and mine. But maybe Julie is right. Maybe Grayson is right. Maybe Harper is meant to stay in the past. Maybe I need to stop facing backward and start facing forward.
And after seeing Julie’s reaction when we climbed through that brush and stepped into the clearing, I knew I had made the right decision. I knew she of all people would appreciate it.
She spins in a slow circle now, continuing to take in the quiet, secluded alcove. At first it’s strange to see her here, wearing my sweatshirt, her bare feet buried in this sand. It almost feels wrong. Like putting on a brand-new pair of flip-flops that haven’t yet formed to your feet. But the longer we stand there, the more acclimated I become. The more I can see how well she fits in this space. Like she was meant to be here. Like I was meant to bring her.
“It’s magic,” she whispers.
I’ve never thought of describing it that way before, but she’s absolutely right. It is magic. With the moon glittering and the waves crashing in the distance and the wind whistling, it’s the very definition of magic.
She reaches out and slips her fingers through mine. Even though I was holding her hand as I guided her here, this feels so different. That touch was functional. A means to an end. This touch is personal. A choice.
We stay like that for a long time. Not saying a word. Our fingers entwined, our gazes finding each other over and over again.
I know she wants me to kiss her. I want to kiss her. But my mind just can’t seem to send the message to the rest of my body. My legs and arms are frozen.
All those doubts that I never had time to think about with Harper come barreling into my mind now.
What if I mess it up?
What if I’ve been doing it wrong this whole time and Harper and I never knew because we never had anything else to compare it to?
What if it feels weird?
I’ve only kissed one girl in my entire life. How do you just kiss someone else and pretend it doesn’t shatter your whole belief system to the core?
Julie takes a step toward me, blinking twice. Her face is so close to mine. Her lips are so reachable. My stomach begins to churn.
I can smell the faint scent of oranges on her skin. I wonder if she served them to the kids today. Or if she just naturally smells like oranges.
She smiles and lifts her hand, rests it on my cheek. Her eyes close.
I lean into her, but something just behind her snags my attention. Something out of place and foreign in my sacred space. A dark object near the fallen log.
I pull away, releasing her hand. I walk over to it and bend down to scoop it up.
Someone else has been here. Someone left their phone here.
I turn it on to see if I can deduce who it might belong to, and I’m bombarded by a barrage of text message notifications filling the screen. I stare in disbelief, my heart pounding in my chest.
Every single one of them is from Harper Jennings.
CHAPTER 33
IAN
Don’t laugh,” I warn Whitney for the fifth time.
“I’m not going to laugh!” she yells, grabbing a cherry stem from the nearby basket and throwing it at me. It’s the morning after our conversation on the bench outside Barnacle Books, and we’re back in the woods in the middle of the island. We’ve been coming here for the past month, trying to stay away from the summer crowds. And especially trying to stay away from Grayson. I don’t know how he would react if he found out about Whitney and me, and honestly I don’t really want to know.
It’s not that I don’t care what he thinks. He’s my friend, after all. But Whitney is the best thing to happen to me in months, and I think I deserve a little reprieve.
“Just remember,” I tell her, “I wrote it a while ago. When you were still a pain in my ass.”
“I’m still a pain in your ass,” she argues. “Just play already.”
I take a deep breath and glance down at the placement of my fingers. All lined up. Everything ready to go. The song is ready to burst out of me. I’ve been waiting all summer for the right time to do this, and now there’s no turning back.
I start to strum. I keep my eyes locked on the strings. I can’t bear to look up at Whitney, just in case she starts laughing. After four bars I sing the first verse, feeling the emotions of those words that I wrote more than a month ago come flooding back to me.
“She’s at an awkward age.
Don’t even try to make it better.
Her heart’s a rain-soaked page.
She’ll try to blame you for the weather.
Like some elaborate maze
You’ll make it through if you remember
Where you’ve been . . .”
My voice is roug
h and scratchy, but it fits. It’s a rough and scratchy kind of song. Unpolished and raw. Whitney hasn’t uttered a word since I started. I plow on through the chorus, my strumming intensifying.
“If I’m wrong, what will she look like in the morning?
If I’m strong, what will bring me to my knees?
If I’m lonely in my world of make-believe,
What will she be?
Yeah, what will she be?”
It’s not until I finish that I brave a glance at her. But her face is a blank page scribbled with invisible ink.
“You hate it,” I say, pulling my guitar off my lap. I return it to the case. I don’t know what I was thinking, playing her this song, opening up this part of myself to her. It was a mistake.
She reaches out and gently touches my hand, stopping me. “No, I love it.”
I narrow my eyes at her, trying to gauge whether she’s being sincere or not.
“I’ve never had anyone write a song about me before,” she goes on.
I laugh. “Sorry it’s not a little more flattering.”
“It’s flattering.”
I snort. “In what language?”
She leans in and kisses me, and I fall back with her on top of me. I wind my fingers into her hair and pull her closer. I swear I could stay here forever. I could live right here by this creek bed. Just the two of us. No other people. No friends. No alcoholic mothers waving CDs with home videos in my face.
This is where I want to be.
“Do you think anyone would come looking for us if we never went back?” she asks, propping herself on her elbows and staring down at me.
I smile, reaching up to touch her face. She’s thinking the same thing that I am. Of course she is. Because this is perfect. Because we are perfect together, even if it took me twelve years to see that.
“I hope not,” I tell her, catching one of her curls with my finger and letting it wrap around the tip. She stopped straightening her hair. Now she wears it down and loose, the curls flying free. It’s beautiful. She’s beautiful. And I try to tell her as much as possible. But she always just rolls her eyes and kisses me again.