“This is great. Why have we never stayed here? I want to go to the beach for a dip.” Wells clapped his hands together. “Where should I change?”
“Oh.” My breath did a funny gallop against my rib cage. “I guess we can go in the main bedroom. It’s only a full bed.”
Wells nodded. “If you’re okay with it?”
“Of course,” I said, forcing sunshine into my tone. I made a mental note for a new to-do list. One that offered strategies for forgiving a soulmate when he’d done something unforgivable. “It’s what makes sense.” I gestured toward Natalie. “The other room has two twin beds...” I said, trailing off. My original plan had Natalie and me bunking in there, Caleb on his own.
Natalie flicked her hair over her shoulder and sank onto the couch. “I’m okay with sharing if he is. I’ll text him.” Her fingers flew over her screen. She reclined and narrowed her eyes. “Should I chalk this up as a maid-of-honor duty?”
My palms broke out in sweat. I glared back at her. “New rule. Forget one day at a time. We’re one hour at a time here.” I pretended to consider. “Maybe one minute? I have no idea what to think.”
Natalie mimed writing. “Dear Diary,” she began, and with a yell, I tackled her.
“Well, this is unexpected,” Wells said when he returned to us laughing over tangled limbs. His bathing suit was neon with palm trees from that expensive French brand. “Forgot my loafers,” he grumbled, brushing a kiss on my forehead.
“Your sandals are in the shoe bag.” I pointed toward the door.
“A shoe bag. I adore you.” Natalie checked her phone. “Caleb says he doesn’t mind, and he can take the couch, too, if it’s weird.”
Wells unzipped the bag. “I wish I remembered the loafers. The sand here is rougher than the Hamptons.”
Nat and I exchanged a glance. I widened my eyes at her, a warning.
“Is tonight the cookout at your parents’?” Natalie asked, baring her teeth in the semblance of a smile.
“Yup. Dinner out tomorrow, cookout tonight.”
Natalie stowed her phone. “?’Kay. I’m going to go give my soulmate a call and walk up to town.”
“Give Helena my love.”
“Always do. Want me to pick up some snacks and stuff?”
“Perfect.”
A few minutes later, I was alone in the cottage. I unpacked, and then with the soundtrack of the vacation version of my mother in my head, I scoured light switches, doorknobs, and faucets with Clorox wipes until I’d dusted off my internal permission to relax. At last, I lathered myself in head-to-toe mineral sunscreen and changed into a black bikini, jean shorts, and a straw sunhat. I emerged from the bedroom barefoot.
Caleb stood beside a bookshelf full of ocean-themed relics. His bathing suit was simple, black; his biceps rounded beneath a faded black T-shirt. He raised his eyebrows and thumbed a Marshall speaker on. Music filled the room.
“You scared me,” I said, my hand to my neck. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Sorry. Got my brownie points in. Immediate visit, and fast enough to be pleasant.” His smile flashed, then his eyes dropped over my frame before snapping back to me.
A tiny thrill rumbled low in my belly, zipping through my hips and trailing up my throat. So, it was going to be like this. “You’re a little too buff for a museum curator.”
“What, these?” He did a small snort. “The previous tenant of my office left behind an installed pull-up bar. When I’mworking off-hours, the museum is... slow. As you might expect.”
“Huh.” I retrieved a spare beach tote from where my aunt Josie always stashed them: a narrow hall closet I used to hidein. I checked to make sure Josie hadn’t painted over the secret height tick marks hidden on the side wall, something that hurt equally for its charm and the little heart next to the last mark with my sister’s name. I closed the closet and shook out the tote. “I wish my job was slow sometimes. Even before all this, news is just fast.”
“Well.” He rubbed his chin. “It’s the opposite of my job. Yours is constant because things are always happening. Mine is deliberate because we choose to ruminate on the things that already happened.” His voice dropped. “Remember? History.”
“I like that,” I said slowly. “Mine’s the present. Yours is the past, used to inform the future. You’re responsible for making sure it’s not forgotten. And in many ways, you have the power to choose what stays.”
“IwishI had that power.” His face, his eyes, direct on mine.
“Caleb.” A warning. A chastisement.
“No, you’re right.”
