So, I shake my head. “Maybe next year.”
Then I continue toward what I want to do.
24
Iswear under my breath, seeing the parked convertible. Fiddle with the keys, like I’m actually considering driving away.
I’m not considering driving away. I’m trying to distract myself from the thrill spreading through my chest. I confused it for adrenaline, standing on that cliff last summer. But it’s relentlessly appeared since, in a pattern that makes it impossible not to associate it with Wren Kensington.
I drop my keys in the cupholder, grab a hoodie off the seat, and climb out of the cab.
She’s sitting near where she was on her prom night, in yet another fancy dress.
I walk that way, tossing the hoodie down and taking a seat next to her. Mirroring the same pose, reclined on my palms.
“Can you not wear the same color two years in a row?”
Her dress is blue this summer.
Without looking over, she replies, “Does that mean you remember what color last year’s dress was?”
“White, right?”
She huffs a low laugh. “You had a fifty-fifty shot.”
I don’t just remember that her dress the last Fourth was red. I remember it was strapless. Didn’t have much else to do while I waited for her to talk to me, aside from memorize her outfit.
“I thought you’d be at the pier,” she adds.
“I thought you’d be at the fancy party.”
“Left early,” she says, tucking a stray strand of hair behind one ear. “Kit was the one who always organized the fun part, and he was busy being a dad this year.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised.
I don’t remember exact ages, but Wren didn’t make her cousins sound that much older than us. Seems young to have a kid, although my mom had me at twenty-three. That sounded ancient when I was younger, but it’s suddenly not far away.
“Yeah. I’m happy for Kit, but it’s a little weird. Makes me feel old.”
I scoff. “You’re not old.”
“Older than …” She glances over. “When is your birthday?”
“January 10.”
“Okay, technically, you’re older than me. But maturity-wise, I probably have a decade on you.”
I laugh. “We met because I had to oversee you jumping off a cliff. But, yeah, you’re the mature one.”
“One, you did nothaveto do anything. I was fine, going bluffing, which I totally proved. Two, you hadalreadyjumped off that same cliff, remember?”
“Yeah, but I did it in a mature way. Not alone and having done it aton of times before.”
“There had to have been a time you’d never done it before.”
“Yep,” I agree. “First time for everything.”
Wren clears her throat, and I’m pretty sure we’re thinking about the same thing.
