“Um.” I glanced at the long stalks in his hand, tipped by bristly purple blooms. “Did those flowers do something to offend you?”
“Oh.” He stared at them. “It’s spotted knapweed.”
“And what? They hurt someone in your family?”
He gave me his familiar wry grin. “They’re an invasive species. It’s one of the island initiatives, for volunteers to weed out the knapweed.”
“So you just walk around pulling up bad seeds?”
“It’s nice,” he said. “I like weeding. You feel very productive. And relaxed.”
“Do you spend a lot of time weeding?”
“With my grandma, yeah.”
We walked a few more feet. “Thanks for walking me home. You didn’t have to.”
He shrugged. “Basic human decency.”
“Even so. I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be.” He half smiled. “Save your impressed-ness for more worthy things.”
“Like what?”
He considered me. “I can tie a cherry’s stem into a knot with my tongue.”
“You cannot!” I let out a startled laugh. “People can’t actually do that.”
He locked his hands behind his back and looked up at the sky, feigning innocence. “Impressed?”
“Yeah, actually.”
“Good.”
Our eyes met, our gazes locking for a second too long. Warmth flushed through me. I looked away, overheated and strangelyembarrassed. To distract from my discomfort, I stretched my arms high, fingers interlaced. “I guess I’ll have to find a different summer fling.”
“What?” Noah almost stumbled.
“Oh. You know.” The words tripped out too freely—because of the late hour, or the alcohol, or the stars scattered high, or because we were alone on this lane lined with flowers and sand. “I can’t spend all my time trying to uncover family secrets, can I?”
“I thought... You can’t?”
“Of course not! It’s summer! Look at this place! At what nights we have!” I flung an arm out to indicate our surroundings and spoke grandly, because if you’re saying something over-the-top, you might as well be grandiose. “We’re on a romantic, windswept isle. Perfect place for a whirlwind romance.” I glanced over at him, my heart beating so loudly I imagined he could hear it. I was poking him, and I wasn’t sure how he’d react.
“And you thought a drunk beach party was the place to find it.”
“Why not?”
“Maybe not the best prospects hanging out there.”
“Iwas there,” I pointed out. I stepped in front of him, forcing him to stop walking. What was I doing? I should not be doing this. My skin tingled, and I felt cool and nervous and fluttery. “Youwere there.”
He met my gaze. “I wasn’t looking for a summer fling.”
“Why not? Isn’t this your last summer before college? You don’t want a last hurrah?”
“Not really.”
