When we reached the edge of the bonfire, I recognized most of the people congregated around it and immediately changed directions, steering Xander past the ring of Adirondack chairs and toward the ocean.
“Wait, where are we going?” he asked, twisting his head around to look back at the fire.
“Those are my orchestra friends. Your cover story won’t work on them.” I stopped at the fence separating Lizzie’s backyard from the shore. Next to it was an outdoor storage bin, similar to the one Violet kept on our deck at home, and when I lifted the cover, I found exactly what I was looking for—a collection of towels, sand toys, and noodles. I dug through the box until I found a towel that was big enough for both of us to sit on, then straightened up. “Let’s go sit by the water.”
With a nod, Xander lifted the latch on the gate and pushed it open. He gestured for me to go first. I tugged off my boots and socks, tucked them behind the storage bin, and stepped onto the beach. The sun had long since set, and without its heat, the sand felt cool as it squished between my toes. We made an unspoken decision to put distance between us and the party, walking down the coast until the music faded away before picking a spot on the edge of the surf and unrolling our towel.
I sank to the ground and stretched out, tucking my legs to one side. Once I was settled, Xander sat down beside me, and as he did, his knuckles lightly grazed my thigh. A trail of goose bumps rippled up my leg, and I felt my breath catch in my throat. Besidesthe rhythmic crashing of waves, the night was quiet. So quiet, in fact, I was positive Xander had heard me gasp.
I peeked over at him, but he wasn’t paying attention. He was too busy removing the more cumbersome elements of his costume. First came the cloak, which he unclasped from his neck, folded into a neat square, and set beside him on the towel. Then he tackled the bracers, loosening the cords binding them to his forearms before laying the leather armguards on top of the cloak. Finally, he ripped off his wig, tossed it away, and sighed in relief.
“That thing should be marketed as a torture device,” he complained, massaging the tips of his fingers into his scalp. His hair was flat and sweaty after being plastered against his head for hours. Still, just looking at him made my heart jump.
“Itchy?” I guessed as I willed my pulse to slow down.
He nodded. “It felt like I shampooed my hair with poison ivy.”
“Yikes.” When I was eight, my family went on a camping trip with the Williamses. Alec and I spent the entire weekend exploring the surrounding forest, and although our moms told us to stick to the hiking trails, neither of us listened. We both came home covered in a poison oak rash that itched for weeks, mine so severe it blistered. Just thinking about the experience made me flinch.
“Yikes is an understatement.” He was glaring at the hairpiece with such disdain, I was surprised he hadn’t chucked it into the ocean. “I don’t normally wear wigs, and after today, I plan on never wearing one again.”
“Understandable,” I said with a nod.
His brows drew together. “Are you okay? You seem…off.”
“Totally,” I replied, then instantly wanted to kick myself. If I didn’t quit it with these one-word answers, Xander might think I was pissed at him. The problem was my mind kept wandering back to the way his fingers felt against my skin. It was only a brief, accidental touch, but it had been enough to light up every one of my nerve endings.
For a minute, neither of us spoke, and I was starting to fear Ihadgiven him the wrong idea.
“Guess what?” he said at last.
“What?” I was so glad Xander wasn’t upset, I forgot all about making an effort to respond in more than a single word.
“Come on. That’s no fun,” he replied, nudging me in the side. “You’re supposed to guess.”
“Okay, fine.” Tapping a finger against my chin, I pretended to be deep in thought. “Oh, I got it! You really were in that Icy Quest commercial, weren’t you?”
“You’re a terrible guesser,” he grumbled.
“Are you going to tell me what I’m supposed to be guessing,” I asked, relaxing as we slipped into our regular repartee, “or do you plan on keeping me in suspense for the rest of the night?”
He rolled his eyes but was unable to keep the corner of his mouth from jutting up. “I spoke with Alec. He agreed to help me record a single.”
“Oh my God! Xander, that’s amazing,” I exclaimed. “Have you started writing anything yet?”
“I have a few ideas I want to play around with.” As he spoke, he lifted up a fistful of sand, then watched as gravity took hold and thousands of fine grains spilled from between the gaps in hisfingers. “Touring is exhausting, but I’ll find time to work on them during our days off.”
Like rain on fire, his response doused the excitement I’d felt mere seconds ago. Over the course of our maybe, sort of date, I’d forgotten the Heartbreakers’ tour started in November. I didn’t have any idea which part of the world Xander was jetting off to or whether we’d even be in the same time zone. All I knew was that I didn’t want him to leave.
“How long will you be gone for?” I asked quietly.
“That depends on what you’re talking about. Do you mean when will I be home next, or how long does our entire tour last?”
“Both, I guess.”
“Well, the first leg is short. It ends right before Thanksgiving, so we’ll be home for the holiday,” he explained. “But the whole tour? That won’t wrap until August of next year.”
My ribs grew tight at his answer. Ten whole months? That was nearly a full year. So much could change in that time. If things went as planned and I got into Juilliard, I would be getting ready to move to New York by the time he returned.
