“Crew…”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you already know.”
She’s not wrong. I’ve known for years. I just didn’t know what to do with it.
Later, while she’s helping a tourist choose romance novels “that don’t end in trauma,” I wander the shop pretending to browse. My brain’s doing a play-by-play commentary on how easy she makes it look—building peace out of paper and dust jackets.
When she laughs, I feel it in the spot my shoulder used to hurt. When she bites her lip to hide a smile, my pulse trips like it’s late for practice.
I’m doomed, basically.
At lunch, I head to the pier where Lila sits cross-legged with her pen, scribbling in a notebook that looks more like therapy than journaling.
“You look serious,” I say.
“Working on something.” She hums to herself and tilts her head. “Also hiding from Dean. He thinks I’m napping.”
“You’re a menace.”
“Runs in the family.”
I sit beside her, legs dangling over the edge. “How’s Bailey holding up?”
“She’s pretending not to care that the entire town ships you harder than I ship my petri dishes.”
“Noted.”
Lila smirks. “She’s good for you, you know. Even with her being one of my best friends.”
“Pretty sure everyone thinks that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“I’m trying not to screw it up.”
“Then stop trying so hard.” She runs a hand through her hair, twisting the ends just like she did when she was younger. “Just show up. That’s all she’s ever needed.”
I look out over the water where the lighthouse gleams in the distance, its white tower cutting through the mist like it’s showing me where to aim.
“Showing up’s easy,” I say quietly. “Staying might not be.”
“Then make it be,” Lila says. “You’re Crew Wright. You turn impossible plays into touchdowns for fun.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “But this time, I want more than a win.”
By sunset, I find myself back at the lighthouse with takeout and no plan.
Bailey opens the door wearing paint-flecked jeans and a look that says she hasn’t stopped thinking either.
“Hungry?” I ask.
“You bribed me with Thai food?”
