We’ve been best friends our entire lives, a relationship practically engineered by our parents. Allie grew up in Los Angeles, so we were more like pen pals in our youth and only saw each other a few times a year. By the time we reached our teens, we realized we didn’t like any of our other friends quite as much as we liked each other, so during the summers we began begging our parents to let us stay together—either me with her in Pacific Palisades, or her here with me in Pacific Shores.
We convinced our parents to agree to a trade-off that first summer when we were fifteen. Two weeks with Allie’s parents, and two weeks down here with mine. Then we repeated it for another month before we had to go back to school. The next summer we did the same thing, except our parents’ new stipulation had been we had to work too. Shifts at the boardwalk when we were staying here, and shifts at the art gallery Allie’s mom helps run for her best friend up north.
Allie liked being here in Pacific Shores more, not just because she got to work at the bakery, but because of my cousins too. The twins, Archer and Zander, are only a few months younger than us, and Allie’s exceptionally close with Archer. She never liked being away from him for long.
I preferred working at the gallery, though. It never felt like work for me. I’d loved art for as long as I could remember, and Allie’s aunt, Penelope—another good friend of my parents—is a professor of ancient art and the gallery’s owner. Working around her quickly morphed my hobby-like interest into a full-blown obsession, and an artist is all I’ve wanted to be ever since. I interned with Penelope every summer before I was acceptedto Berkeley, and luckily for Allie, she found the same kind of passion in the kitchen at The Wicked Wildflower.
She’s attending Golden State University’s prestigious culinary program. She tells everyone she wants to be a pastry chef, but I know secretly, her dream is to take over my aunt’s bakery someday. She’s afraid to voice the desire, assuming the business will go to one of Dahlia’s three kids, but honestly, I don’t think any of us could imagine my cousins running it better than Allie would.
“No problem.” I smile as my best friend freezes at the sound of my voice. “I’ve got all day.”
She immediately drops the portafilter she’s holding and whips around. The dark curls framing her face bounce as she spins, and I can’t help but laugh when her chocolate eyes go animatedly wide, jaw dropping before a piercing shriek leaves her lips.
She’s a flash of movement, running around the counter and into my arms like we’re two long-lost lovers that have been searching a lifetime for the other. It feels like that sometimes with her. I’ve never quite fit with any other person the way I do Allie Evans.
She jumps into me, and I stumble back at the force of it, wrapping my arms around her back as she locks her legs at my waist and forces me to hold her.
“I missed you,” I murmur.
“I can’t believe you’re here all summer,” she says into my shoulder before dropping her legs and stepping out of the embrace. She grabs my face, studying me like she’s not sure I’m real. Her entire body vibrates with an aura of excitement that is wholly her before she squeals. “I’m so excited!”
She jumps up and down a few times before pulling me into another hug, and I can’t help but laugh, squeezing her extra tight. I’m hoping I can absorb her energy, let some of her zestrub off on me. I need it right now. Everything in life has felt upside down lately. I’ve been exhausted and drained and sad. Confused and lost.
Allie hasn’t been far, not physically. It only takes about a half hour to get to Golden State from Pacific Shores, but in the midst of her finals, I didn’t want to add my issues to her already full plate, so I down played the situation with Parker after he reached out to her. Plus, she has a new boyfriend, and I didn’t want to take her away from him on top of everything else.
But now she’s back here for the summer and has a break from her classes, and I’ve missed her desperately. “Please tell me you don’t have plans today and you’re off soon.”
She smiles. “I just moved my crap into the studio upstairs last night, so my only plan was to unpack. If you can come help me, I’m all yours, baby.”
“I’m all yours too.” I squeeze her hand, realizing just how much we look, act, and sound like we truly are long-lost lovers. We’re both straight, though, which certainly feels unfortunate at times.
“Do you want something to eat in the meantime? I’ve got about twenty minutes left.”
I shake my head. “I’m not hungry.”
I’ve been feeling nauseous lately. I think it’s a side effect of all the stress and gnawing anxiety.
Allie’s lips cluster at the corner of her mouth, eyes etched in concern, but she only nods.
I find a table at the back of the cafe and pull out my e-reader, returning to the deliciously angsty small town romance I’ve been reading while I wait for Allie to finish her shift.
Allie and Iexit the bakery out the back before slipping through a second door that takes us up a narrow stairwell, and to the locked door at the top. Allie presses her code into the pad, and I already know what it is without having to look. One-one-two-three. My cousin’s birthday. Just the same way his passcodes—and his ATM PIN—have always been hers: zero-seven-zero-six.
After punching in the code, the door clicks, and she pushes it open. All the boardwalk suites have studios above them, but our family has renovated them over the years. There are offices above the surf shop and storage spaces above the flower shop and bookstore. This studio and the one above the tattoo parlor were made into apartments. They’re only ever rented out to trusted friends or family.
Directly to my left is a tiny kitchen along the wall, with enough counter space for a sink, stove, coffee maker, and microwave. At the end is a fridge, with cupboard space above and dishwasher beside it. To my right is a small round dining table that only fits two chairs, stacked high with unopened boxes. Past the kitchen is an open room with a queen-size bed beneath a large window spanning the far wall. A pale pink couch sits in front of it, and a TV is mounted on the opposite wall. Beside it is an alcove that houses a clothing rack and a dresser, with a door leading to the bathroom.
“God, it’s somehow smaller than I remember,” I say.
“I know.” She sighs. “It’ll work for the summer though. Plus, I don’t have to pay rent.”
She tosses her keys onto the table, slipping off her shoes by the door before padding to the couch and throwing herself onto it. I do the same, sitting down beside her.
“It’s cute, though.” Her curtains match the couch, and the embroidery on her comforter is the same color. Boxes line the floor, overflowing with trinkets and decor. I see cream with pops of blue. Inviting and bursting with color, which is the embodiment of Allie. “How did you get the furniture up here?”
“Oh my God.” She laughs, hugging a throw pillow to her chest. “My dad and Everett had to do it, and I swear it almost gave them both an aneurysm.”
I force a giggle from my lips before crossing my legs beneath me, head swiveling around the room. “Well... what should we start unpack?—”
