This time, he climbed out like that had been his plan all along, and found his towel. She hadn’t brought a towel, so she waited to use his damp one. She tried to wipe off as much make-up as she could, but her liquid eyeliner wasn’t doing her any favors.
Cameron carried his life-vest and the swim bag while she put her sundress back on, and they headed toward her car. She took his hand, not wanting him to get any ideas about darting off after Sweetie, the ridiculous alligator dressed like Belle fromBeauty and the Beast.
Grandma said Sweetie was harmless, but no thank you.
A huge tow truck was in the parking lot. She recognized her car strapped to the back of it as it headed toward the parking lot exit.
Chapter 2
Asherpulledoffhishelmet and set it on his motorcycle seat as a water-logged woman in impractical tourist sandals raced past him, chasing after the tow truck.
It served her right for parking in his reserved spot. At least, that’s what Don had said when he’d convinced Asher to call a tow truck. It was the third time that summer someone had stolen his parking spot.
Someone shuffled behind him, and he turned to find Cameron Peters standing close enough for his wet swim trunks to drip onto Asher’s shoes.
“Hi. How are you?” Cameron asked, using the talker.
Asher loved seeing Cameron use his talker so deftly. He’d only just started working with him a few months ago, when his old speech therapist had moved, and it was a fun change of pace to work with someone so young again.
“I’m good, man.” He held out his hand for Cameron to high five and then fist bump. It was a handshake they’d developed a few weeks ago. He looked around for Cameron’s mom or grandma. “Who are you here with?”
Cam didn’t respond, so Asher tried to think of a different way to ask his question. Cameron watched the woman who had stopped the tow truck and was chatting with the driver using wild hand movements.
Uh oh.“Who’s that?”
“Elly,” Cameron answered.
“Who’s Elly?”
Again, no response. There were multiple reasons for someone not to respond. In Cameron’s case, it usually came down to three reasons: Cameron didn’t understand him, he didn’t know how to navigate his talker to find the answer, or he just didn’t want to communicate. Based on his sunburned face indicating that he’d already had a full day and was probably exhausted, and Cameron’s general disinterest in answering questions, it was probably the latter. “Can I use your talker?”
Cam allowed him to take it, and Asher navigated to the family page. There, he saw a button labeled Eliana. He pointed to it.
“Is this Elly?”
Cameron pushed the button. “Eliana is my oldest sister. She lives in Boston. Eliana makes videos.”
Her picture on the button was small and blurry, but he saw some family resemblance in the hair color. He hadn’t heard about Eliana—only Julia, who occasionally brought Cameron to his sessions.
“I didn’t know you had two sisters!”
Cameron snatched his talker back and navigated to his favorite pre-programmed phrase. “I am a man of mystery.”
“You sure are.”
Eliana stalked toward them, her dark eyes a thundercloud blue. “You’d better not park there! My car was just towed,” she called to Asher, fuming. “You would think if the speech therapist isn’t here by one, their spot is fair game.”
He took her in: her cheeks pink with both sun and heightened emotion. A few freckles also broke through, the wholesome and sweet look at odds with the daggers in her glare. Her hair was mostly straight but fell into a natural wave toward the tips. Yep, the quintessential, entitled, beautiful tourist.
Even if she was related to one of his favorite people in the world.
“I went home for lunch,” he said. He enjoyed going home for lunch. He didn’t know how much longer he’d actually be able to secretly live in his late-grandpa’s bungalow at The Palms—he was shocked he’d made it this long already with no one finding out. But it’s where he felt closest to his grandpa, and he was missing him more than ever.
“You’re the speech therapist?” She huffed as she took him in from head to toe with folded arms. “You don’t look like a speech therapist.”
“How is an SLP supposed to look?” He clipped his helmet onto the bike and turned to face her fully.
“First of all, you’re not wearing scrubs,” she said.
