When we turn the corner of the building, a large grassy area comes into view. Picnic tables and Adirondack chairs pepper the area with giant Connect Four, Jenga, and corn hole interspaced between sitting areas. Unlit string lights swing in the breeze as mellow, classic rock spills from unseen speakers. There’s also an open-air bar and dance floor situated beside the restaurant. At first glance, I doubt we’ll find a seat, but Trevor snags us a table when a couple tosses their plastic cups in a nearby trash can.
“Let me get you a ginger ale. It might help.”
Before I can protest, he adjusts his sunglasses and tugs on the brim of his nondescript white baseball cap.
I make a mental note to tease Trevor about his superhero disguise when he gets back and kick off my shoes. The second my bare feet touch the cool grass, my stomach finally settles. This landlubber is clearly not meant for the open seas.
That idea unexpectedly makes my ribs ache. Normally, it wouldn’t bother me that I prefer to be on terra firma, but being out on the boat brings Trevor so much joy that I’m disappointed I can’t share that with him.
“Here. Small sips.” Trevor returns with a fizzing plastic cup, setting it in front of me before chugging half of his iced tea.
“Thanks, Dad,” I deadpan.
Regret sears a hole through my side when Trevor frowns, turning his face toward the water. We’ve always had a running joke about our ten-year age gap, so maybe he’s upset about the mess I made of his boat?
I open my mouth to offer to pay for formal cleaning expenses when sirens sound nearby. The wail increases until a fire truck pulls right beside the grassy area and parks on the shoulder of the main road. Three firefighters jump down from the cab, casually striding across the grass. I’d expected them to rush toward a small kitchen fire or maybe a medical call, but a man with curly brown hair arrows straight for us while the other two stop to chat up a trio of women.
“Way to be subtle, Noah,” Trevor says through gritted teeth, his aviators reflecting the firefighter’s smiling face.
“Dude, everyone in town knows it’s you when your boat shows up. Why do you even bother with that lame superhero disguise?”
A barking laugh escapes me despite my confusion over what’s going on. “I thought the same thing. Who does he think he is, Captain America?”
“Right?” The firefighter offers me a high five, and I take it.
Trevor is not amused. I don’t think I’ve seen him frown this much since he caught me crying in the cake batter. He’s usually the one smiling, the one trying to put everyone else at ease.
“Who’s your friend?” Noah says through a growing grin.
My roommate visibly stiffens. “This is Kenzie, my—”
“Kenzie.” Noah sends me a wink that I have no idea how to interpret. “I know who you are. I’m Noah. Trevor’s long-time friend.”
“Soon to be ex-friend,” he grumbles.
It dawns on me that Noah must know me from my 2.5 seconds of fame when my very public breakup was broadcast all over sports media. I duck my head, wishing I hadn’t left my hat on the boat. If this man recognized me, who else noticed?
“Nice to meet you,” I whisper to my toes, not meaning it.
At this point, I’m just waiting for Noah to make a joke like the thousands I saw after Mallory left that first night. It’d been a rough couple of hours reading comments like “pick me,” “not even that pretty,” and “pathetic piece of garbage” beneath a picture of myself atop a dugout—hands fisted, face red.
I squeeze my eyes shut, embarrassment coating me like a second skin. Maybe Ishouldn’thave left the house today. Maybe I should tear out theDo It Scaredlist and shred it into pieces. A shudder wracks through me at just the idea of mutilating my beautiful planner.
“Noah didn’t mean—”
I jolt before realizing the hand on my forearm is Trevor’s.
My roommate’s lips firm into a hard line as he removes his touch. “He recognizes your name because I’ve mentioned that you’re my roommate. I often come here for a meal when I’m boating becauseusually”—Trevor spears Noah with a cutting glance—“the good people of Wilks Beach allow me my privacy.”
The wordprivacysends spikes pricking over my exposed skin. Is Trevor trying to hide me away, just like Aaron did? Is he ashamed to be seen with me too?
“But since he barged over here in the most obnoxious way possible…”
“Thank you.” Noah makes a little half-bow, one arm folded across his firefighter blues.
“...you might as well get to know my old friend,” Trevor finishes.
The tension in between my shoulders lessens a fraction, but I can’t help asking, “You want us to know each other?”
