So you’re acting?I wrote back.
I’m not. Tech crew. Everyone’s pretty cool, though.
There was a pause, and then two pictures popped up on the screen. One was of Ryan at a picnic table with a bunch of other campers, all of them making stupid faces for the camera. The next was of her standing over a lightboard, a girl with long black hair in an army cap beside her.
How’s the mystery grandmother?
I’d only texted with Ryan a few days earlier, and this had been what we’d talked about. But already, North Lake felt like something bigger than just Mimi and me seeing each other again, or even me coming to stay. But I wasn’t sure how to word it for myself yet, much less someone else.
Good,I wrote.Learning my way around.
Oh crap, we’re going back down the mountain. Pray for me. Talk soon???
I sent her a thumbs-up. When she replied with a heart, I rolled over, closing my eyes again. Ryan was doing shows. I was cleaning rooms. When Bridget had predicted a different summer, she’d been onto something. Even if I’d never expected anything like this.
“Hungover?”
I looked at Trinity, who had just come in from the porch, still in her pajamas. “No,” I said. “Why?”
“You and Bailey were out pretty late,” she replied, picking up the bread from the counter.
“Jack came and took the boat,” I explained. “We had to walk back.”
“In my shoes?”
“I took them off first.” I nodded at the steps, where I had left them neatly lined up. “My feet were filthy.”
“Ugh. I bet.” She loaded the toaster and pushed down the lever. Then she leaned against the counter, her belly poking out in front of her. “So how was it?”
I shrugged. “Fine. We just hung out until Jack showed up and wanted the boat. The guys were nice.”
She scoffed at this, blowing her hair out of her face. “Let me guess. They’re both rich and in college.”
“Don’t know about rich,” I replied, although I didn’t doubt it. “But yeah, they’re roommates at East U.”
Another snort, although this time she saved me the commentary. A moment later—BING!—the toast popped up. After she quickly moved the slices to a plate, cursing at the heat on them, she said, “You want to work this morning?”
“Sure,” I replied.
She went to the fridge, collecting the butter, then came to the table to grab a knife. “We’ll start at nine sharp. Meet you over there?”
“Sounds good.”
She shuffled off, toast and butter balanced on the plate. I pulled over the paper Oxford had left behind and flipped to the obits. Just as I was about to start reading about Hazel Walker, aged 85, who had passed away surrounded by her loved ones, my phone beeped again. Blake.
At the docks today. You should come by.
So he’d gotten my number. Which meant that despite my nerves, I’d clearly made a good impression. Plus, he wasn’t bad to look at, and the kiss (my first!) had been nice while it lasted. Maybe I just needed to give this a chance.
Have to work. Will try,I wrote back. A beat later, he sent me a smiley face. A redhead. Cute.
“Morning.”
I jumped, startled to find myself there in my seat at the table, the obit for Hazel Walker still unread in front of me and Jack crossing the kitchen to the toaster.
“Hey,” I said in return.
He loaded up some bread before coming over to sit. “Obituaries, huh?” he asked. “Kind of a morbid way to start the day, isn’t it?”
