“It is. For some people, those letters are the most honest relationships they have.” She’s not looking at me anymore, staring out at the water. “It’s easier to be vulnerable on paper, you know? When you can’t see the other person’s face. When you don’t have to watch them react in real time.”
I know. Goodness, I know.
“What if they’re disappointed?” I ask. “When they meet?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if the person behind the letters isn’t who they imagined? What if the reality doesn’t match the...” I gesture vaguely, unable to find the right words. “The version they built in their head?”
Jessica is quiet for a moment. “I think that’s the risk of any relationship, isn’t it? We’re all performing versions of ourselves. The question is whether we’re brave enough to show what’s underneath.”
“And if what’s underneath is worse than the performance?”
“Is it ever?” She turns to look at me, and her eyes are serious. “I think we hide the good parts, not the bad ones. We bury the softness because we’re afraid it’ll get us hurt. But the softness is usually what people fall in love with.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
Or how to tell her that I’ve been hiding my softness for so long I’m not sure I remember how to find it.
How do I explain that she’s the reason I’m trying to?
“You’re very philosophical for someone eating cotton candy,” I manage.
“Cotton candy enhances my wisdom. It’s scientifically proven.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“Are you a cotton candy scientist?”
“No.”
“Then you can’t prove me wrong.” She grins, and the tension breaks. “Come on. The fireworks are starting soon, and I promised Michelle I’d find you and drag you to our spot.”
“Your spot?”
“Book club has a designated fireworks viewing location. It’s tradition.” She starts walking, then glances back over her shoulder. “You’re invited. Grayson’s already there. Just relax. Enjoy the explosions. Stop calculating the cost-per-firework in your head.”
“I wasn’t—” I stop, because I was absolutely doing that. “Fine. Lead the way.”
The “book club spot” turns out to be a prime stretch of beach near the lifeguard station, where Michelle has spread out enough blankets and chairs to seat a small army. Grayson is already there with a cooler of drinks. Amber and Brett are setting up a complicated arrangement of beach chairs. Hazel is refereeing a dispute between two of her kids about who gets to hold the sparklers first. Jo Lennox is explaining something about vintage furniture to a bewildered-looking tourist who wandered too close.
It’s chaos. Warm, welcoming, small-town chaos.
I don’t know where I fit.
“Scott!” Michelle waves me over, patting the empty spot on the blanket beside her. “You came! Jessica said she’d convince you, but I had my doubts.”
“She’s very persuasive.”
“She told me she bribed you with cotton candy.”
“That’s...not entirely inaccurate.”
I settle onto the blanket, accepting the beer Grayson hands me, and try to look like I belong here. Like I’m the kind of person who has friends and goes to community events and doesn’t spend most of his time hiding behind a fake identity because he’s terrified of being known.
Jessica drops down beside me, close enough that our shoulders almost touch. “Relax,” she murmurs. “You look like you’re waiting for someone to ask you to leave.”
“Old habit.”
