the Jeep saga and stare at the rough waters of the Bay. Even though just below us the curve of the land shelters Seal Cove and its waters are clear and calm, I have no desire to leave the sanctuary of Logan’s parked truck.
He probably knows car trouble isn’t the real reason I chattered incessantly for the entire ride. Still, he hooks his hands behind his head and leans back, playing along.
“How long have you had the Jeep?”
“Forever. I learned to drive on that thing.”
“And that was when? Yesterday?”
“Ha-ha. Probably way before you learned to drive. Not that you’re a bad driver.”
“Gee, thanks. So you’ll let me continue to be your chauffeur?”
“Hmm. I don’t know. Don’t want you to work too hard.”
“I wouldn’t have to work too hard. You never go anywhere.”
I start to laugh, but he’s right. And he’s laughing too, as he reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. Suddenly he seems so close. As if my senses are on zoom, I smell his shirt—clean laundry—and notice the shine of his hair, the shape of his lips.
“I could drive you crazy,” he says now, his voice soft, resonating low in his chest in a way I haven’t heard before. “If you wanted.”
I look down at my hands. If you wanted. Do I want?
He turns to look out over the water, his hand dropping from my hair. I steal a glance at his shadowed jawline, the hollows beneath his cheekbones, his impossibly long lashes. Buthe’s a friend— and a total flirt. At least he’s honest. Or maybe he’s playing. How can I tell?
Lilah told me most guys lie about what they really want. I hadn’t known what she meant at the time, but now I picture Bobby asking me if I want to “study.” I’m beginning to get it.
As I follow Logan’s gaze, the water catches my eyes, won’t let go. Still, I’m hyperaware of his body across the bench seat of the truck’s cab. Maybe I’m the liar.
But my palms aren’t lying, they’re sweating, and it’s not Logan’s offer that’s making them so damp. Leaving the truck—suddenly it seems like a very bad idea. Surreptitiously, I wipe my hands on my jeans.
“Ari.” Logan lifts his right arm so it lies along the back of the seat and gestures with his other hand. We look at each other for a moment, then I slide over and curl against him. He wraps both arms around me. “You’ll be fine,” he whispers into my hair.
Trapped sunlight fills the truck. If we don’t make a move soon, we’ll be late. My thin sweater is clinging to me, damp like my hands. Logan slowly takes his arms from around me as I strip it off. Draping the sweater over the seat, I notice that he’s staring at the cove now as fixed as I’d been staring just a few minutes ago.
“It’s time,” he says without taking his eyes off the water.
“Mm. Thanks for telling me.” Sweat beads along my hairline. I wipe it away with the back of my hand. Still, he doesn’t open his door. I don’t open mine.
When I asked him questions about the exam on the way over, he’d answered easily, so why is he so hesitant—
A flame of intuition blazes through my body.
Last night as we’d walked down the beach, Logan had grown quiet. I’d mostly carried the conversation. But by the time we sat down near the jetty, he’d gone completely silent. Then we’d talked about his brother.
Nick Delaine had drowned, and now I know where. Not this cove, but a cove.
Summers Cove.
That’s why Mary didn’t want to talk about Summers Cove, why Dad warned me away.
Logan wouldn’t say hi to Bo, wouldn’t shake his hand. My pulse pounds at my temples.
We open our doors at the exact same second. Our feet come down with an identical crunch on the broken clamshells that fill the parking lot, sun-bleached white as bones. Together we walk toward the water. My legs are shaking.
A crowd of kids is gathered around the teachers from the marine sciences department. Mr. Kraig is gesturing to the three boats moored in the quiet cove.
He probably knows car trouble isn’t the real reason I chattered incessantly for the entire ride. Still, he hooks his hands behind his head and leans back, playing along.
“How long have you had the Jeep?”
“Forever. I learned to drive on that thing.”
“And that was when? Yesterday?”
“Ha-ha. Probably way before you learned to drive. Not that you’re a bad driver.”
“Gee, thanks. So you’ll let me continue to be your chauffeur?”
“Hmm. I don’t know. Don’t want you to work too hard.”
“I wouldn’t have to work too hard. You never go anywhere.”
I start to laugh, but he’s right. And he’s laughing too, as he reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. Suddenly he seems so close. As if my senses are on zoom, I smell his shirt—clean laundry—and notice the shine of his hair, the shape of his lips.
“I could drive you crazy,” he says now, his voice soft, resonating low in his chest in a way I haven’t heard before. “If you wanted.”
I look down at my hands. If you wanted. Do I want?
He turns to look out over the water, his hand dropping from my hair. I steal a glance at his shadowed jawline, the hollows beneath his cheekbones, his impossibly long lashes. Buthe’s a friend— and a total flirt. At least he’s honest. Or maybe he’s playing. How can I tell?
Lilah told me most guys lie about what they really want. I hadn’t known what she meant at the time, but now I picture Bobby asking me if I want to “study.” I’m beginning to get it.
As I follow Logan’s gaze, the water catches my eyes, won’t let go. Still, I’m hyperaware of his body across the bench seat of the truck’s cab. Maybe I’m the liar.
But my palms aren’t lying, they’re sweating, and it’s not Logan’s offer that’s making them so damp. Leaving the truck—suddenly it seems like a very bad idea. Surreptitiously, I wipe my hands on my jeans.
“Ari.” Logan lifts his right arm so it lies along the back of the seat and gestures with his other hand. We look at each other for a moment, then I slide over and curl against him. He wraps both arms around me. “You’ll be fine,” he whispers into my hair.
Trapped sunlight fills the truck. If we don’t make a move soon, we’ll be late. My thin sweater is clinging to me, damp like my hands. Logan slowly takes his arms from around me as I strip it off. Draping the sweater over the seat, I notice that he’s staring at the cove now as fixed as I’d been staring just a few minutes ago.
“It’s time,” he says without taking his eyes off the water.
“Mm. Thanks for telling me.” Sweat beads along my hairline. I wipe it away with the back of my hand. Still, he doesn’t open his door. I don’t open mine.
When I asked him questions about the exam on the way over, he’d answered easily, so why is he so hesitant—
A flame of intuition blazes through my body.
Last night as we’d walked down the beach, Logan had grown quiet. I’d mostly carried the conversation. But by the time we sat down near the jetty, he’d gone completely silent. Then we’d talked about his brother.
Nick Delaine had drowned, and now I know where. Not this cove, but a cove.
Summers Cove.
That’s why Mary didn’t want to talk about Summers Cove, why Dad warned me away.
Logan wouldn’t say hi to Bo, wouldn’t shake his hand. My pulse pounds at my temples.
We open our doors at the exact same second. Our feet come down with an identical crunch on the broken clamshells that fill the parking lot, sun-bleached white as bones. Together we walk toward the water. My legs are shaking.
A crowd of kids is gathered around the teachers from the marine sciences department. Mr. Kraig is gesturing to the three boats moored in the quiet cove.
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