“Protecting me,” I finish. “I’m safe, J. Relax and have fun.”
“I’m trying.”
As we approach the lighthouse, I grab Jett’s hand, pulling him along behind me.
“C’mon.”
He grumbles something unintelligible as I lead him up the winding staircase. When we reach the top, I twirl around, getting an aerial view of my town and Lake Drummond. Boats glide across the wide-open water, leaving waves in their wake. Jet skis race around, their rooster tails hanging feet in the air.
The traffic on Main Street hasn’t slowed since we got here a few hours ago. Now, more cars are coming into town, ready to celebrate the festivities as they prepare for the fireworks show later tonight.
“I love our town.”
Jett scuffles closer to the railing. “I like it better on the ground.”
“You big baby.”
He slides his hands in the pockets of his jeans, shrugging.
“Take a picture with me.”
Shifting closer to him, I dig through my purse for my phone.
“Use mine.” He slides it out of his pocket with ease. I take it as he slips his arm around me, positioning the phone in the air so the lake is in the background. As I start to hit the button, Jett turns his head, pressing his lips to my temple. My cheeks warm as I smile. We have way too many pictures in this exact pose from high school.
I hand him his phone, and he leads us down the stairs.
The closer we get to Sunset Shores, the louder it becomes.
Music pours out first—the unmistakable thrum drifting across the road. The upstairs of the grill is packed, people leaning against the railing with drinks in hand, watching the water ski show. Down below, the restaurant windows are wide open, letting in the aquatic breeze.
The party yard is already a sight as clusters of people sit at the picnic tables and high tops spread over the concrete. Bartenders rush around, popping caps off bottles, mixing drinks, and refilling ice machines.
“It’s packed.”
Jett huffs a laugh. “Every weekend. It's a madhouse.”
We pass the Grill, weaving through the edge of the party yard. Someone brushes my shoulder, muttering a quick sorry as Jett shoots him a death glare. I roll my eyes at Macho Man. He needs a drink…or ten.
As we move toward the marketplace, the vibe shifts slightly—less bar, more backyard cookout with your friends. Strings of lights crisscross above the open space, unlit but waiting to glow at nightfall.
The sand volleyball court is occupied. A sign on the fence advertises a weekend tournament.
“Mine! Mine! Mine!” a familiar voice shouts from the sand as a volleyball soars toward her.
“I didn’t know your sister was playing.”
“I didn’t either.”
Saylor bumps the ball toward her teammate, who spikes it over the net. Her shoulders are sun-kissed, vibrant pink hair piled in a messy bun on top of her head, wearing a yellow crop top and biker shorts.
“Is that my brother?” Her voice carries over the court, causing heads to turn our way. She jogs over to the fence separating the sand court from the boardwalk. “Don’t you two look cute.”
“We would’ve come sooner if we knew you were playing,” I tell her, but she waves me off.
“You’re here now. Go grab a beer and watch us destroy the all-men team.” She points over her shoulder, rolling her eyes. “Their ego is inflated to the point they think women in sports are beneath them.”
I scoff. “The fucking audacity.”
