Rules of Summer

  “No, I just felt like staying in.”

  “Cool,” he said, letting his smile linger. “Come on in. Can I make you a sandwich?”

  “Oh. That’s okay. I was just looking for one of the chocolate chip cookies.” She felt like she was floating. She’d been wishing for this all day. Now it was actually happening.

  “So how’s the hand?”

  “Good,” she said, holding it up. “Bandaged by a master.”

  “Great. Does it hurt?”

  Rory shook her head. “I think it was pretty small. What are you doing home? I thought there was a big party at the club.”

  “There was. But I left.” He slapped some turkey on a slice of bread. “The Georgica Club really isn’t my thing.”

  “Haven’t you been going there your whole life?”

  “There were a few years when we stopped going. We’d spend Fourth of July here on the beach. Have a bunch of people over and everyone would bring blankets. It was so much more fun,” he mused. “Now it’s this forced socializing. It all feels so uptight there. Or maybe I’m just not in the Fourth of July mood tonight.”

  She laughed. “I know what you mean. I just got off the phone with my mom. Five minutes talking to her and the last thing I feel like doing is celebrating anything.”

  “I hear that,” he said.

  “But you and your mom seem to get along so well,” she said.

  “Well, we already have one rebel in the family. What choice do I have?” His smile was rueful.

  “So you’re the good son. In capital letters.”

  “Kind of,” he said. “It’s just easier that way. What about you?”

  “Well, my mom got back together with her boyfriend, so now she’s no longer mad at me for coming here.”

  “Good for you,” he said with a smile. “That probably took some guts.”

  “Yes and no,” she said. “If I’d stayed in New Jersey this summer, I might have lost my mind. It was really just survival instinct kicking in.” Just then, she heard a loud pop from outside, and then a distinctive crackle. “Are those the fireworks?”

  Connor put down the knife. “They’re starting. You want to go down to the beach and watch?”

  She swallowed. This was more than she’d expected. “Sure. I’ll get a sweater.”

  She ran down the hall into her room. Down on her knees, she hunted for her sneakers under the bed, finally found them, and crammed her feet into them. Just stay calm, she thought, lacing them up. Don’t be too excited. He’s just being friendly.

  With a chunky sweater in her arms, she dashed back into the hall. Connor had a blanket in his hands. “You ready?” he asked.

  Don’t look at the blanket, Rory thought. Just don’t look at it. “Sure,” she said.

  As they walked out to the patio, an exploding firework took the shape of a weeping willow and then slid down the sky. “Wow,” she said. “It is a good view.”

  “It’s so much better from the sand,” he said. “Come on.” He grabbed her hand and led her across the patio and down the creaking wooden planks.

  When she reached the bottom, a loud sigh and whistle rang through the air. She looked up to see purple and gold rockets fly through the sky in all directions. Connor had been right. This was like having their own private fireworks display. They walked east down the beach, until there was nothing behind them but a large, grass-covered dune.

  He lay the blanket down on the sand. “Go like this,” he said, lying back on the blanket so that he looked up at the stars. She did the same thing. Their shoulders touched, but she tried not to think about that. Above them one explosion after another became a brilliant kaleidoscope of color.

  “This is amazing,” she murmured.

  His shoulder pressed into hers.

  Over and over, lights sizzled and flamed in the air, taking different shapes.

  He’s going to kiss me, she thought. Before we go back in the house, he’s going to kiss me. It was almost too much to believe. She thought about Steve’s concerned face, everything he’d said. Maybe she needed to be worried. Maybe this was all a bad idea. But lying here, feeling the warmth of his body so close, she knew that this was exactly where she wanted to be.

  They stayed there for what seemed like an hour, watching the lights burst into shape in the sky. When all that was left was the echo of explosions and the acrid smell of smoke drifting over the water, they sat up on the blanket. She wiped sand off her legs. She was suddenly so nervous that she was trembling.

  “You cold?” he asked, and she felt him wrap an arm around her shoulders.

  “A little.”

  She leaned closer to him, and he leaned closer to her, and in front of them the ocean was silver, churning softly under the moon, almost complicit in what she knew was about to happen. He tilted his face toward her, slowly, and she tilted hers toward him.

  Let this happen, she thought. Just let something happen for once.

  Slowly, she reached for his hand and twined her fingers with his. As their eyes closed, and their lips touched, a thousand objections passed through her head. But then they vanished into thin air, just like burned-out fireworks.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Isabel opened her eyes. Bright light shone around the edges of her blackout shades. She buried her head under her comforter, listening to the soft whir of the ceiling fan and the birds chirping in the elm trees outside. It was a summer Saturday morning like any other, and all was right with the world, except for the necklace of thoughts that flew into her sleepy brain and made her catch her breath: last night, Mike, sex.

  She rolled over onto her side and put her knees to her chest. Physically, she felt exactly the same. All her limbs were still accounted for. She didn’t have a fever or a sore throat. And yet, deep inside her, something felt altered. She pulled off the covers and sat up on one arm. Was this feeling bad or good? She didn’t know. Not yet. She’d need to go over all the details of the night, later, when she was more alert. For now, all she could remember was that Mike had been so sweet and gentle with her, making sure that she felt okay at every step. “Just tell me if you want to stop,” he’d said, more than once.

  No, she’d shaken her head. She didn’t want to stop, and even though it was scary to keep going, it was a relief to not have to stop. Then there had been the part that hurt, and that was, frankly, a little unpleasant, but all in all, it had been okay. More than okay—it had been wonderful. When it was over, he held her and played with her hair and told her that she was beautiful. And she’d breathed in his smell and closed her eyes and listened to the ta-TUM ta-TUM of his heart and eventually fallen asleep. Then she’d woken with a start, hours later. She’d patted him on the arm until he woke. “I have to go,” she whispered. On the drive home they didn’t speak, only held hands. When he turned into her driveway, his high beams shed a ghostly white light over the iron gates.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “I wish you didn’t have to go,” he said.

  “I know.”

  She’d leaned into him, and they’d kissed. Then she’d reluctantly pulled herself from his arms and gotten out of the car. She typed in the security code and walked through the opening gate. Dawn was already breaking, and bright pink and purple sky showed behind the branches of the trees. It was too late to knock on Rory’s window. But to her massive relief, someone had left the back door open. She’d walked in, exchanged a nod with a very drowsy Trixie, crept up the stairs, and crawled into bed.

  But now, as she lay under the covers, something about last night felt slightly off. She just couldn’t name what it was. After they got home from the Ripcurl Lounge, everything had been perfect. Mike had lit a bunch of stubby candles that he’d found in the kitchen, and then put on soft music. He didn’t break eye contact with her once the entire time. He’d been gentle and respectful. But there it was again, that gnawing feeling that something was missing. As she got out of bed and stepped into the shower, she rea
lized what it was.

  He didn’t say he loved me.

  She squeezed some shampoo onto her palm and lathered her hair. Her mind raced, begging her to hitch a ride on the merry-go-round. Wasn’t that what he should have said? she thought. Isn’t that what someone else, like Aston March, would have said? Wasn’t that what a guy who loved you said when you were being that close to each other?

  She shut off the water and grabbed the towel hanging outside the shower door. Stop, she thought. Don’t do this. You are not the girl who freaks out about guys. Ever.

  But it was too late. She’d opened the door to the questions, and now she was going to have to contend with a whole swarm of them in her brain.

  She walked into her closet and switched on the light. Clothes had always been a good enough distraction before. She pulled on a pair of skinny jeans and a trapeze-style striped top. But still, there was the thought.

  He didn’t say he loved me.

  She ran back out to where she’d dropped her bag on the bedroom floor and crouched down, rooting around inside it for her phone. You’re being ridiculous, she thought. You’re Isabel Rule. Of course he loves you. So what if he didn’t say it?

  She finally got the phone in her hands and clicked it awake. There was the text he’d sent while she was in the shower.

  Woke up missing you. M.

  It wasn’t the L bomb, but it was enough. She pressed the phone to her chest with a sigh. Everything was going to be okay. Of course it was.

  Rory sat on the edge of her bed fully dressed, staring straight ahead, and tapping her foot madly over her ankle. Last night had been a mistake. She knew that now. She’d known it almost from the moment she’d opened her eyes and smelled the coffee being brewed in the kitchen and heard the whip of the sprinklers on the lawn. Even though it had been, without a doubt, the most romantic experience of her life. After they’d said good night outside her door, she’d lain in bed and stared straight up at the ceiling without blinking for at least an hour, too giddy and excited to even think about sleeping. But still, what she’d done was probably against every single rule about being a good employee. Not that she was actually a real employee here, in the technical sense of the word, but she was close enough. It had been a mistake and a momentary lapse of good judgment, and she would have to tell him that it could never, ever happen again. She wasn’t here to fall in love. She was Rory, the smart girl, the disciplined girl, the girl who wouldn’t jeopardize a summer job with a tawdry, dead-end fling.

  Because the truth was, this couldn’t go anywhere anyway. He was Connor Rule—the golden-boy swimmer from St. Bernard’s and USC, destined for privilege and his own hedge fund and a gorgeous, skinny, blue-blooded wife. She was Rory McShane from Kittattiny High, destined for a long, arduous, uphill climb toward whatever it was she decided she wanted.

  But, she thought, her foot going still, kissing him on the beach had been wonderful. His lips, his fingers… She could have stayed out there with him all night. When she’d finally pulled away from him and suggested they go inside before anyone came back to the house, it had felt like a monumental act of discipline.

  “In a second,” he’d said, reaching for her again.

  “No, now,” she said. She stood up on wobbly, half-asleep legs to help him shake the blanket. She wished she could give herself a shake, too. All they’d done was kiss, but sand was everywhere on her: in her hair, on the back of her neck, inside her shoes, and even in her sleeves. They walked back across the quiet beach, and at the bottom of the dunes, he pulled her to him again.

  “I’ve been wanting to do this for so long,” he said. “Ever since that day at the pool.”

  “When I killed your phone?”

  “Yup,” he said.

  They kissed again, clinging to each other in the cool wind, and then he grasped her hand to lead her up the pathway over the dunes.

  They entered the house, which was still empty, and Rory couldn’t help but feel like she finally belonged here now. He followed her to her door.

  “You are not coming in,” she said.

  He smiled and kissed her again. “Okay,” he said, his hand lingering on her shoulder. “I’ll be right upstairs. Thinking about you.”

  “G’night,” she said, wriggling away from him.

  He stared at her with the same longing look. “Good night,” he said.

  She went inside and shut the door. As she showered off the sand and got ready for bed, she went over everything that he’d said. To think that he’d wanted to kiss her that first day by the pool. It couldn’t be real. She slipped into her pajamas and got into bed, feeling more blissed-out and elated than she ever had in her life.

  Now, ten hours later, in the cold bright light of morning, she knew that it had been a mistake. If she saw him, and he seemed like he didn’t want to pretend that it hadn’t happened, she would just tell him that it couldn’t happen again. It was always less painful to rip off a Band-Aid than slowly peel it.

  In the hall, Trixie ran to greet her, her collar jingling. “Hi, sweetie,” she said, scratching her head. “How’s my little baby?”

  She petted Trixie for a few minutes, conveniently stalling. But it was no use. Connor walked out of the kitchen, eating a blueberry muffin. One look at his face and she knew that ripping off this Band-Aid wasn’t going to be easy.

  “Hey,” he said, smiling. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Pretty good,” she said quietly. “You?”

  In one smooth movement, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the laundry room. Then he shut the door.

  “Connor,” she whispered, but she was cut off by his kiss. He pressed her against the door, and almost instantly, she relaxed into his arms, kissing him back, deeply, passionately. Then she pushed him away.

  “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he whispered.

  “Connor, we can’t do this,” she said. “Not here.”

  “Rory,” he breathed.

  “Connor,” she said, unable to stop smiling as she opened the door. Breathless, she slipped out into the hall just as Isabel stomped down the back stairs. Connor stepped into the hall behind Rory.

  “Hey,” Isabel said. Her large blue eyes jumped from Rory to Connor and back to Rory. She didn’t seem to suspect a thing. “What’s up?”

  “Hey,” Rory said.

  “Why aren’t you at work?” Isabel asked him.

  “I’m off,” he said. “Day after Fourth of July.”

  “Cool,” Isabel said distractedly. “Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?” she asked Rory. “In private?”

  “Sure.”

  Now it was Isabel’s turn to drag Rory by the wrist down the hall. Rory turned and glimpsed Connor watching her longingly as they walked into Rory’s room. Isabel closed the door.

  “What is it?” Rory asked.

  Isabel sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed one of Rory’s throw pillows. “I slept with him last night.”

  “Slept with who?” Rory asked, suddenly confused.

  “Mike. Who else?”

  “Oh.” Rory blinked, back on track. She’d temporarily forgotten about other guys besides Connor. “That’s great.”

  Isabel smoothed the pillow’s lace hem with her fingers. “Do you think it was the right thing?” she asked.

  “Sure. I mean, why wouldn’t it be?”

  Isabel traced a circle on the rug with her bare big toe. “I guess… yeah… I mean, right.”

  “Do you think it was the right thing?” Rory asked.

  Isabel nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”

  “Then, great.”

  “It just feels… different now,” Isabel said. “It’s hard to explain. I mean, I know you have no idea.”

  Rory let that last bit slide.

  “It’s just… the mystery, the holding back, the not letting them know how you feel—that’s all kind of done now.” Isabel leaned against the dresser. “It’s like I don’t know how to play things anymore. You know what I mean?”

 
“But maybe that’s the whole point,” Rory said. “Maybe when you’re really in love with someone, you shouldn’t be playing things at all.”

  Isabel chewed her bottom lip. She didn’t look convinced. “What’d you do last night?”

  “Oh, not much.” Rory picked up her hairbrush from the dresser and began to brush her hair. She could never lie right to someone’s face. “I just stayed home. Read. Went to bed early.”

  Isabel raised her eyebrows. “Sounds kind of sad. Want to come to the Georgica for lunch?”

  Rory stopped brushing her hair. “Really?” she asked skeptically.

  “Yeah. I skipped out on the big fireworks party last night, and now I have to go and kiss a little butt. And I could definitely use some backup.” Isabel went to the door. “I’ll loan you a cute cover-up, if you want.”

  “I don’t know if I can just take off like that.”

  “I’ll clear it with Bianca,” Isabel said. “She doesn’t own you, for God’s sakes. And thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know. For listening.”

  She left the room, shaking out her blond hair, and Rory felt a wave of guilt. After what Isabel had just told her, it felt only right to tell her about Connor. But she couldn’t. There were too many signs not to. During all the times that Isabel had racked her brain trying to think of a guy for Rory, Connor’s name had never come up, not once. That had to mean something, and what it probably meant was STAY AWAY FROM MY BROTHER in big, blinking neon letters.

  She needed someone to talk to about this. Someone who wouldn’t beat around the bush, or spare Rory’s feelings. Someone who would tell her, in no uncertain terms, what to do about this experience.

  Steve.

  She ran to the window. His black Jetta was parked next to the Prius. She went to the back door and pushed it open.

  Steve walked the tennis court, picking up scattered tennis balls through the wire slats of a hopper. He looked lonely out there, and a little bit sad. Rory wondered if he liked this job.

  “Hey, Steve!” she called. “Need some help?”