“Running the gift shop, for one, whenever Bethany can’t.”
Tate raises an eyebrow, his mouth tilting into the beginnings of a grin. “That could be good. Anything else?”
“I haven’t thought it all the way through yet, but I guess anything.”
Tate’s grin widens. “So does that potentially mean any sort of job? Like, ‘Oops, someone flushed a hot dog again—better call the new girl’?”
Eryn frowns at him. “I’m sure he doesn’t mean that.” Then she looks at me, tilting her head. “You don’t, right?”
“She did say she’ll do anything that doesn’t involve getting on a boat.”
Tate’s smile is now so comically wide I could count his molars.
“But neither of us agreed to anything yet. She said she had to figure some things out on her end, and I’m not thrilled with the idea of spending a good part of my summer on some pointless research project.”
His grin crashes like a toppled sandcastle. “What—why?”
“Did you miss the part where she has this delusional theory about Kezia Gardner, of all people, that I’m supposed to help her prove?”
“And didyoumiss the part about her doing all the stuff that makes you a miserable bastard to be around? What is the matter with you?” Tate swipes at my head, but I duck just in time.
“Um, you’re the one who cleans the bathrooms,” Eryn points out.
“Um, we can all be miserable bastards, Eryn,” Tate says. “Wren doesn’t get a monopoly on that.”
She loops her arms around my neck, her wet hair brushing against my cheek, and I shift infinitesimally away from the cold contact. “He’s not miserable.”
Tate steps back with mock outrage, hands raised in defense. “Whoa, whoa. Are you just going to sit there and let her get away with calling you a bastard?”
Eryn immediately releases me and straightens. “I never said that.”
“No? Cause I called him”—Tate makes air quotes—“a miserable bastard. Then you said”—he moves to drape his arms around myneck but I shove him away with one arm, so he pretends to hold an invisible me while doing a not-terrible Eryn impression—“‘he’s not miserable.’ The only implication is that you think heisa bastard.”
Eryn rolls her eyes.
They keep going, bickering the way they always do, the rhythm of it familiar, comfortable. I watch the way Eryn shakes her head at Tate’s dramatics, the way he jabs at her just enough to keep her entertained. They’ve been this way since third grade. There was a time, back in junior high, when I thought they might end up together, but neither of them showed any interest in being more than what they were.
If someone had asked me back then if I thought I’d ever end up with Eryn, I’d have said never. But here we are, going on four years.
“It doesn’t matter since I doubt she’ll even come back. She didn’t expect me to ask for anything in return and there’s no way she actually wants to work at McCleave’s. She’s got that tourist energy.”
“Tourist energy?” Tate hangs his head. “Man, you’ve got to let that go. Not everybody is the same as—”
“Okay, okay,” Eryn interrupts. “This conversation isn’t going anywhere helpful.”
“I’m just saying...” Tate leans back on both hands. “This could be a good deal. Just don’t be an idiot and run off free help. See how I avoided calling you a bastard? That was for you.”
A laugh slips out before I can catch it, but Eryn doesn’t join in. Instead, she says, “I think it’s a good idea too.” Her voice is calm, but it feels like a jab.
I shift more fully toward her. “Really? Because I’d have to spend time helping her, time we already don’t get a lot of.”
Her gaze meets mine, steady and unwavering, her unnaturally blue contact lenses from her mermaid costume still catching the midday sun. “I’m working at the café more this summer anyway, so really it’s only Tate who’ll have to share you.”
Defeat rolls over me, inevitable as the tide, and when I turn to Tate, his triumphant grin tells me he knows it too.
“You’re not an idiot,” Eryn says, her tone softer now. She shoots a pointed look at Tate, who throws his hands up in mock surrender. “No matter what you decide. But what’s so bad about offering someone a little help? And a research project for the museum might even be fun.”
Fun.Right. Now I feel like I’m seasick.
