I grab a beach bag and throw a swimsuit, a towel, and some SPF in it. I’m too hungry to change now—I can do that later. I run down, and Adam’s got his Jeep in the driveway, waiting for me.
“How do you feel about breakfast burritos?” he asks as he opens the door for me.
“Yes. All of them. Now, please.”
He laughs, his eyes doing that sparkling thing again. “Where do you think Mr.Jacob was about to take you?”
“Probably someplace nice, to be honest. But he was going to ruin it by showing me photos of his great-grandchildren.”
Adam bursts into laughter again. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but…yeah. He was up there in years, wasn’t he?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know what my grandmother was thinking.”
“Does she appreciate money? ’Cause he and his whole family are old money.”
I nod. “She appreciates little else, to be honest.”
Adam cuts me a glance with the corner of his eye. “And what about you? Do you appreciate money?”
I pause. “I like having food in my cupboards and gas in my tank.”
“Right. But your grandma wasn’t setting you up with Jacob Clearwoods for food security. She was trying to hook you up with Hamptons parties and wine tastings in Napa…”
“Yeah, I know. I know.” I close my eyes for a moment. “I’ve never cared about that.” I shake my head. “I just want someone who’s…you know.”
He grins. “Sexy? Smart? Charming?”
I shake my head again, smiling as I consider the answer to his question. “Someone nice.”
“Nice.”
We’re pulling into the breakfast place, getting in line at the drive-through. “Nice is boring, though, Sky.”
“Nice is not boring!” I wave my hands. “What’s the opposite of nice? Huh? It’s mean. I don’t want someone mean, I want someone nice.”
“But that goes without saying, doesn’t it?”
I frown and look away. “You’d think. But no. It doesn’t go without saying.”
Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything to this. Or, at least, I don’t think he will, as he takes my order and insists on paying for my egg-and-chorizo burrito with extra avocado and cheese, alongside a veggie burrito with scrambled tofu for himself. But it happens fast—as I’m inhaling my burrito in the most unladylike manner possible—he says, while driving back toward the main road, staring straight ahead, “You deserve so much better than what this fucking town has given you, Sky.”
“Hmm,” I say through a full mouth. When I swallow, I add, “Thanks?”
He’s kind of lost in thought, I think, running a hand over the dark red scruff at his chin. “If it were up to me…”
But he doesn’t finish the sentence. He instead grins and says, “You like swimming?”
I want to ask him,What? If it were up to you, what?Maybe he’d go around punching everyone in the face, like he did to Grayson. Or maybe…I don’t know. I can’t think of anything else. Him pretending to be my friend is the only alternative, and we’re already doing that literally right now. That’s why he asked me to the beach, right? So folks could see us being friends, per our agreement.
“Um. I like swimming. Especially when the water is warm.” I close my eyes and smile. “I hate it when it’s weird and barely warm, with extra-cold pockets you swim through like there’s a collection of subterranean air conditioners working in there.” I glance his way. “What about you? You like swimming?”
He nods. “It’s how I exercise, since high school. I used to be on the swim team. But now I just go to the Y and do laps a few days a week.” We turn down the skinny, pine-tree-lined road, heading back toward Cranberry Falls. I guess he wants to do themore private Crescent Beach today, rather than the one downtown. Which is fine, of course. Just a surprising choice, given that we’re supposed to be seen as friends. “So what’s up with that other guy you were seeing, or whatever?” he asks out of nowhere.
“What guy?”
He laughs. “The one you mentioned the other night, at the festival? You were talking to him, and—”
“Oh right.” He means @tryingsomethingnew. “I think he ghosted me, actually.”
