“It’s true,” I say. “Too many people are invested.”
“Yeah, the entire internet,” Josie says. “I’m really sorry about that. Had I known, I would’ve told Mia it was a bad idea to post them. She highly encouraged it though.”
“Encouraged?” I ask, blinking a few times. “Give me an example.”
Wendy watches me, trying to figure out where I’m going with this.
“Well, she was the one who kept suggesting we take photos at every event. She positioned herself near you guys on the Fourth of July. At the surf competition, she made sure to get shots where your face was clear. I thought it was just content for the B&B socials.” Josie chews her bottom lip.
Wendy crosses her arms. “That’s the most Mia thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I feel awful,” Josie says.
“Don’t, please,” Wendy offers.
“Okay.” Her smile returns. “Did Gran text you an hour ago and tell you the B&B is now booked through December?”
I look at Wendy. She looks at me.
“What?” Wendy asks. “I looked at the reservations earlier.”
“Apparently, someone featured the B&B on their blog and talked about how those who stay there find true love. You haven’t seen anything about this? They’ve interviewed countless people who found the love of their life after staying at Seaside.”
Wendy laughs. “I’m speechless. Why didn’t Gran text me?”
“I don’t know. She hasn’t wanted to bother you lately. You’ve been working so damn hard,” Josie says just as some guy calls her name in the distance. “Anyway, have fun. Get a drink or five. Cal made gallons of Coconut Crush and Slap Yo Mama. Help yourself.”
Wendy grabs my hand and leads me through the crowd past the fire. There are ice chests, stuffed with gallon jugs of orange and pink concoctions. She picks up a marker and writes our names on the outside of the cups.
“Which would you like? Slap Yo Mama will have you waking up half naked on the beach.”
I smirk. “I assume you know that from experience?”
“I’m just a girl, Dyson. I’d never.”
She pours us both a Coconut Crush because I value my dignity.
We hold up our cups.
“To the best summer,” she says.
“To you.”
We tap them, then drink.
“Sometimes, you’re cheesy.”
“But still accurate.”
The first sip is cold and sweet with a kick that will sneak up on me. Cal walks past and claps me on the back hard enough to spill my drink.
“Good to see you, New York.”
“Thanks, Cal.”
Someone switches the playlist to oldies, and Wendy’s hips start moving.
“Dance with me,” I say.
