“You’re giving overprotective dad vibes right now.”
He shrugs, unbothered by that. “What if those guys from the restaurant are out and you run into them on your walk home? Would you still feel perfectly safe then?”
My expression falters. “Is this you offering me a ride?”
“Absolutely.”
I huff as if riding in a car with Myles Ford again is a hardship. “Fine.”
He nods, and I follow him to his Bronco, which has an orange surfboard strapped to the top. We settle in and he pulls onto the street.
“At least it’s not pouring this time,” Myles notes. “My towel’s still damp from this morning.”
“Surfing?” I guess.
“Yep.” He regards me for a second. “You’re not big into that, are you? I never see you out there.”
“I’m not a morning person.”
He laughs and nods. “Enough said.”
He reaches forward to flip the radio station to something else, and a little part of me dies because it was on Benson Boone’s newest song and I might actually give up my left boob if it meant I could see that man live in concert. I look out my window to hide my dismay.
“So, got any big plans tonight?” Myles asks.
I wish. “No, not tonight.”
Not any night, the cynical part of my brain reminds me.
“I heard there’s a party over behind the dunes. Where you and Kat came on her last night in town? I was planning to stop by on my way home. You should check it out.”
My first instinct is to politely decline, because I’ve never been to a party without Kat. But wasn’t I literally just thinking about how different things are this summer, and that I’m going to have to make some changes if I don’t want to stay inside my house for the next two months?
I muster up all the courage I have deep down somewhere—the same courage I use on tourists who I catch with glass bottles on my precious beach—and respond.
“Maybe I will. I reek of tartar sauce, so I’ll definitely have to change first.”
Myles chuckles. “I’m not going all the way to my house and coming back out here, so everyone’s gonna have to deal with the stench on me.”
He smells like he always does—which means very, very good—but I keep this to myself.
“Good thing it’s outside,” I joke instead.
“Ouch,” he says, grinning.
We chat easily until he drops me off.
He leans over as I’m getting out. “I hope I see you tonight.”
“I’ll ask my parents,” I promise, and float to the front door on a cloud.
As soon as I step inside, I temporarily put my elation aside and go in search of Margarine. I find her on her bed in the living room, her tail thumping when she sees me. My parents are on the couch, each with a book in their hands, and a record playing in the background.
“Hi, my sweet girl.” I crouch down and curl around her, burying my face in her fur. I stay there for a long moment, breathing her in and stroking her ears. “So she’s really okay?”
My mom nods. “She’ll need insulin shots every day,” she says. “And we have to change her food. The vet recommended she lose a few pounds, too. So we’ll work out a schedule for daily walks. I know you take her out quite a bit, but we need to make sure we’re consistent with it. It all might take some getting used to, but the important thing is, it’s manageable.”
I take Margie’s face in my hands, and she licks my cheek.
