Ride a Jet Ski
Glittery makeup like Heather used to wear
Put on the green dress
Low-key drugs???
Sleep under the stars
I’m laughing by the time I finish. It’s probably the most embarrassing bucket list ever penned, and I doubt I’ll accomplish half of it before the end of August. But it also feels radical—two months of adolescent freedom. And I know where to start. Luca and Lavinia are visiting for my birthday, and the twins love a party.
I spend another hour on the island, shooting a roll of film then taking a swim, before I pack my things and untie the boat. It’s a short ride back to the cottage and my bathing suit is wet, so I throw my caftan at my feet and my hat on my head. I start the motor and pull away from shore, mindful of the fallen tree trunks and rocks beneath the surface.
And then I see a burst of yellow.
I’m so startled that I turn the throttle without looking where I’m going. There’s an earsplitting scrape of metal, and I’m flung forward. My elbows hit the middle bench, my knees the floor.
Groaning, I slowly pick myself up and peer over the side. There’s a rock just under the surface, and I’m stuck on it. I’m shipwrecked.
I hear the whir of another boat pulling alongside mine. The engine cuts.
“That was interesting,” a wry voice says.
I push my hat off my face and find a familiar yellow speedboat floating a few feet away. In it is a man with celery-green eyes.
“It’s you,” he says, mouth arching. His dimples wink. “Whoa.”
9
“Do you need help?”
I hear the words, but I must be in shock because all I can do is stare. The man from the grocery store is here, shirtless, in the yellow boat from my picture.
His body is absurd. It’s big and broad yet tight and toned, and it fills six feet of space better than any other body.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
