What are you doing?
Why are you looking for something wrong?
Why are you trying to sabotage your own relationship?
Everything’s been perfect.
Perfect.
Boat nights. Music. Waking up next to her every morning.
She looks at you like you hung the moon.
And you’re out here inventing conspiracy theories because your friends got bored and planted doubts?
Get a grip.
You’re crazy.
The lobby door opens.
And there she is.
Big canvas bag slung over her shoulder. Hair slightly messy like she rushed. Smile bright and easy.
Like nothing in the world could possibly be strange.
“Miss me?” she asks, sliding into the passenger seat.
Immediately the car smells like her.
Coconut.
Wine.
Summer.
The weird tension in my chest dissolves like it was never there.
“Always,” I say.
And I mean it.
As I pull away from the curb, I don’t look back at the building.
Because there’s nothing to look at.
Right?
CHAPTER 8
BETH
Summer is supposedto be loud.
It’s supposed to be sticky fingers and sunburns and laughing too hard in tank tops you only wear three months a year. It’s supposed to be late nights and early mornings that don’t hurt because the light makes everything feel possible.
And for the most part?
