I don’t know if he meant me or the flower, but I pretend it was the flower so I don’t blush in front of him.
“I see you’re driving more than just boats this summer,” I comment as Reed walks with me toward a brand-new oversized truck.
“My parents tend to buy my affection to make up for their busy schedules,” he says.
Where most teenagers would be thrilled at the gift of a shiny new car, Reed looks embarrassed, and I regret pointing it out. Idon’t know what it’s like to have absent parents because of work, but I know I’m more thankful to have overbearing ones than parents too busy to give me the time of day.
“I’m sorry, Reed.”
“Nope.” He stops me. “We’re supposed to be having fun!” He jerks the car door open and whisks me in with one steady motion onto the front seat.
“Wow, like rollercoaster ride kind of fun?” I giggle, feeling my heart beat faster.
“Exactly!” He beams before shutting the door.
As his F-150 whirs to life, so does the soundtrack of my fourteen-year-old summer. I’d recognize the CD I made for Reed and Miles anywhere and for a moment, it stings a little bit to realize that Miles must not have wanted it. But I bury those feelings under the ones that tell me Reed did. We exchange a knowing smile and jam out to Garth Brooks on our way to LaBeau’s, our arms out the windows.
As promised, he orders two raspberry milkshakes and two pickles. He pauses as I dunk the pickle into the shake and lift it to my lips, crunching down around the end as milkshake dribbles down my chin. He chuckles and catches the drip with a napkin before it falls onto my denim shorts.
His dimple pierces his cheek. “It’s good, right?”
His eyes are on me as if he doesn’t want to be anywhere but right here.
“You always surprise me,” I say, taking another bite of my pickle.
“Because I like weird food?” he jokes.
“Because you love life.”
“I do when I’m with you,” he says.
His comment throws me off, and I drop my gaze to my lap just as another drop of milkshake lands on my shorts.
“I’m a mess.” I chuckle.
“I’m just glad I met someone as messy as me,” he says.
This feels so easy.
So easy, in fact, that nothing about it prepares me for the situation I find myself in not twenty-four hours later.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
NOW
The entire next week Mr. Morgan keeps me busy with closing shifts. Miles’s truck is gone by the time I finish breakfast with my parents most mornings. I can’t tell if he’s avoiding me or just working. With one cabin separating them, Miles and Reed have managed to dodge each other all summer.
I don’t see Reed either. Our shifts at the restaurant overlap just enough for us to wave in passing. After the day he skipped out on work and angered his father, I have no doubt that it’s on purpose. Mr. Morgan doesn’t want me getting any closer to Reed than I already have, and I get it. He doesn’t want me to hold him back, just like I don’t want anyone to hold me back from what comes next either.
At the end of a long-awaited opening shift, I come home to Shep and Miles fishing together off the end of the dock. They have a cardboard box–sized cooler parked next to them with the lid open, and Shep reaches to pull out a Ziploc bag, handing it to Miles. On the other side rests a tackle box twice the size of the one Miles pulled those slimy marshmallows from the last time we fished together.
When I get close to the dock, I think about turning back around and giving them space, but I’ve waited an entire week for this opportunity, and it’s too long to let another day go by.
“Hey, Miles, can I talk to you for a minute?” I ask.
“I’m a little busy,” he grumbles, not even taking the time to turn around and look me in the face. But Shep does.
“Now there’s a face I haven’t seen in a while!” he exclaims, resting his pole next to him and standing to hug me. My smile broadens at the sight of him, and I stand on my tiptoes to hug him back. His cheeks look pinker today, and he has on a pair of fishing bibs with one of the straps undone.
