The ocean was calling.
“I can’t remember the last timeIwas outside this long,”Whitneysaid. “Imean,Milesforces me to go on walks every day, butImake them as short as possible.MaybeI’dbe outside more if we had a beach house.You’dnever get me to go inside.”
“I think this is the most timeI’vespent in the sand sinceIgot here,”Iadmitted.
Willow sat up and looked at me as ifIhad just sprouted another head. “It’slike . . . twenty feet from your house.”
I shrugged and licked the salt rim of my glass. “I’vebeen working on the house almost every waking moment.”
Whitney glanced towardJack’shouse. “Youmean when you’re not canoodling with your beach romance cliché?"
“I do not have a beach romance cliché!”Ishrieked. “Whitneyis the only one with a cliché.”
“It’s true,Wander,”Willowagreed. “Youtotally have a cliché.”
“And look how well it turned out for me,”Whitneysaid, flashing her engagement and wedding rings. “Don’tfight the clichés.Ifthere’s just one bed, snuggle up and make it count.”
I glanced at the house. “Isthere a cliché for ‘too many bed frames and not enough beds?’”
Whitney laughed. “Thatone’s called, ‘Stopbeing stubborn and make out with the hot firefighter when he has you on his couch.’”
I immediately regretted telling them all the dirty details of the afternoon.
“I’m not looking to take home any souvenirs.Ijust want to get the house done and sold, soI’mnot broke andIcan move on with my life.”
“Back toColorado?”Willowasked.
I shrugged. “Coloradoor . . .”Myvoice trailed off asIstared at the paint palette sky. “Anywhere.Ijust want to start over.”
Whitney wiggled closer and laid her head on my shoulder. “Whynot here?”
I didn’t have a good answer for that.Truthbe told,Iliked being away fromColorado.Ihad an inkling thatI’dhave a better relationship with my mom if there was some space between us.Like. . . a whole country’s worth of space.
“I mean, you can work anywhere,”Willowsaid between sips of her margarita.
I scoffed. “I’munemployed andIdoubt there are many job openings out here.There’sa grocery store, a ferry terminal, a gas station, and a diner that quadruples as a fish market, pizza place, and coffee shop.Notexactly many prospects.Besides—housing prices are insane.That’sgreat for me trying to sell this place, but not great ifI’mlooking for somewhere to live.”
“Live withJack,”Willowsaid, as if it were the obvious answer.
I took another long drink of my margarita to keep chasing those happy tequila clouds instead of lingering on the swirling hurricane of thoughts about my next door neighbor.
I didn’t want to focus on how muchIthought about him.HowmuchIcraved him.HowmuchIbloomed under the heat of his gaze.HowIbreathed and let go of my stresses at his every word.Howhe wasn’t put off by my rancor; he’d simply shake his head and do what he knewIwas too prideful and stubborn to ask for help with.
I needed to stop thinking aboutJack.Itwas clear that the two of us were incompatible, regardless of the sparks between us.Hewanted forever, andIwanted an orgasm that didn’t come from my housewarming vibrator.
Willow shrieked, snapping me out of the haze. “Youknow what we should do?”
Whitney looked at her mostly empty glass. “Makeanother round?”
“No!Weshould have a symbolic burning!”Willowwaved her hands wildly as her margarita sloshed out of her glass. “Builda bonfire and burn all your old plot notes!Isaw your notebook in the house.Wecan throw in something from the house too.Youknow—a sacrifice to the goddesses of writing and home renovation.”
Whitney peered intoWillow’sglass. “Howmany shots of tequila did you put in yours,Wills?”
“Come on,Wander,”Willowurged. “Wouldn’tit feel so good?”Shesmirked. “Unlessyou plan on putting those plot notes to use and writing another book.”
I knew she was testing me.Ihad been holding on to my plotting notebook.Itwas a sacred text, full of scribblings from books past.Itwas an artifact.SomethingthatItreasured.Itwas a log, organizing the moments whereIbled out ideas, notions, and epiphanies from the depths of my heart for each bookIhad crafted.
The last set of handwritten outlines in the notebook belonged to the book that had both made and broken me.
