“Slow today,” I said.
Cliff nodded. “Slow.”
My phone rang.
Callie’s name lit up the screen and I answered it, tucking the phone between my ear and my shoulder while I straightened a bucket of sunflowers.
“Did you pack?” she said, before I could say hello.
“Good afternoon to you too.”
“August. Did you pack?”
“I’m at the market, Callie.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I don’t have much to pack.” I moved a sunflower to the left. “You know I keep practically everything in the van.”
She made the sound she always made when she was about to say something she’d already said many times before. A short exhale, like she was gathering patience from somewhere just above her head. “I have told you a million times. Move in with me. I’ll handle the rent.”
“And I have told you a thousand times,” I said, “that I will move in with you the second my manifestations come true and I can afford to pay my half. I will own a flower shop. It will happen. And then I will be a contributing member of your household and not a charity case.”
“You would never be a—”
“I’m manifesting, Callie.”
She laughed. “Fine. Manifest faster.” I heard her moving around on her end, the sound of a drawer opening and closing. “So I was talking to Fletcher about the trip.”
I kept my eyes on the sunflowers. “Okay.”
“He asked if you were coming this year.”
My hands stopped moving. “He asked about me?”
“He did.”
“He specifically asked? About me?”
“Yes, but—”
“What did he say? What exactly did he say?”
“August—”
“Word for word, Callie.”
She sighed. “He asked if you were coming to the beach house this year. As if he doesn’t know you come every year. But there’s a reason he asked, and I need you to not get your hopes up before I tell you the reason—”
“I don’t have hopes.” I had so many hopes. They were everywhere. They were embarrassing. “What’s the reason?”
“He’s bringing someone.”
The sunflower in my hand went very still.
“Someone,” I said.
“Yes.”
