No such luck.
He’s lazy AF.
“We’ll swim soon,” I tell her, smiling as she digs through the cooler and pulls out a juice box.
“Promise?” Phoebe’s big puppy-dog eyes blink behind the hot pink goggles.
Easton lowers his arm, rolling toward his sister.
“We’ll go in, Phoebs. Just give me like five more minutes.”
We’re having a lazy day, but I have a feeling it won’t stay that way for long.
His sister pulls a pouty face. “You said that ten minutes ago.”
Crap. He did say that…
Nothing gets past Phoebe.
I pull out a juice box too and crack the straw out of its clear plastic wrapper. What a blissful day; nothing feels rushed—no stress, no homework, high school in our rearview with college ahead of us. These are our last weeks of freedom, and he wants to spend them with me when he’s not at the ice rink practicing?
Are you serious?!
Best summer ever!
I stab the straw into the container, sip some apple juice, and close my eyes.
Ahhh.
Phoebe shifts next to me. I can feel her puppy-dog eyes boring into my soul and know her mind is probably spinning—the child never stops talking or thinking about what she’ll say next.
She and I have spent a lot of time together, too, since prom, and we’ve developed a…sort of sisterly bond? If you can call it that. She’s as close as I’ve come to having a little sister and I’m the closest she’s come to a big sister, and, well, she loves tagging along with Easton and me.
“Harper?” she asks.
“Yeah?” I turn to her, squinting through the glare of the sun, straw between my lips.
Phoebe wiggles on the deck chair and watches me through her goggles before pulling them off her face and tossing them on the ground. Wet hair sticks to her cheeks as she studies me with an expression that’s a little too serious for a seven-year-old at the pool.
“Are you my brother’s girlfriend?”
My heart skips a beat. I freeze.
The straw slips from my mouth.
Phoebe stares, her question lingering in the air; I feel a wave ofheat rising over my cheeks, neck, and forehead that has nothing to do with baking in the sun.
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. What am I supposed to say? Are Easton and I a thing? He and I haven’t had a talk about making it official—let alone in front of his seven-year-old sister!
Am I his girlfriend?
I’ve never had the courage to ask him. I have not pushed. Soon he will be going his way and I will be going mine and—
Next to me, Easton shifts.
“Yes,” he announces, his deep voice confident. “She’s my girlfriend.”
His sister’s mouth drops open, too, and now we’re both gawking at him like a pair of guppies.
