“What?” I asked, even though this was all sounding familiar.
“I always went last,” he repeated. “With no one after me, Ava let me stay on the phone longer. I usually got two or three extra minutes.”
He sounded proud of himself.
“Good for you,” I deadpanned, then squeezed my eyes shut to imagine the mess hall. His eyes were something—Ihadto remember the rest of him.
“I was ten but looked seven,” he added after a couple seconds of silence. “Short and skinny—”
“With a buzz cut and freckles!” I finished for him, way too pleased with myself. It was all coming back to me. “You alsowouldn’t take off your Red Sox jersey…” My brows knitted together. “Didn’t you tell my dad you root for New York teams?”
“I do.” I couldhearhis blush in the bunk below me. “But back then, I was strictly a fan of the front-runner.”
I laughed. “Why do you remember me? Because I look pretty much the same?”
Whenever Annie and I used to look at my old school photos, she pointed out that I looked seventeen in fifth grade. Taller than almost all the boys and more developed than every other girl. Puberty had hugged me earlier than expected.
“No,” Connor answered. “I recognized you because you’re beautiful.”
Something stirred in my chest, but I rolled my eyes.
Connor was smooth, and he knew it.
So much for remembering him as an innocent little pipsqueak, I thought.
Connor yawned. “Good night, fellow Homebody.”
“I grew out of that,” I told him. “It just took a series of slumber parties.”
“Same here,” he said as I closed my eyes. “Lacrosse camps.”
“Mmm.” I snuggled further under my blankets. “It’s good you play lacrosse.”
“Why?” Connor asked, but I felt my face literally melting into my pillow before I could answer.
* * *
The house was buzzing when Swede and I got back from our run, sweaty and panting. “Swede!” Bryce and Maisie cheered from the crowded kitchen table, but the golden didn’t acknowledge them or the other dogs wagging their tails; instead, he all but dunked his head in the communal canine water bowl.
“You want some French toast, Olivia?” Nick called from the stove.
I smiled but shook my head. “Maybe later!”
Without looking up from his phone, Luke offered me a banana from the island’s fruit basket. He must’ve been a fellow runner; we didn’t eat much right after runs.
“Thanks,” I said, but when his response was an exasperated sigh followed by some furious texting, Charlie stepped in.
“He technically took two weeks off, but a case of his is suddenly heating up.”
My eyebrows knitted together. “A case?”
“Agent Morrissey is with the FBI,” Charlie said, smiling proudly. “White-collar crime.”
Holy crap, I thought, impressed.Does everyone here have a cool job?
“Yes, I packed the sunscreen,” someone said, and Charlie and I turned to see Connor pulling two lunch boxes out of the fridge. He handed the red one to a wickedly sunburned little boy in glasses and the blue one to a slightly older boy wearing a backward baseball cap. Teddy and Finn.
“The spray kind?” the bespectacled kid asked.
