One of numerous things that put West on edge, I think, continuing to piece together the complicated picture of who he is today. But even the fact that he’s aware of what sets him off, and the effect it has on him, is different from the nervous boy I remember from when we were younger. That boy never would’ve acknowledged these anxieties or their triggers out loud, either. These differences only make me more impressed by the ways he’s grown—and more regretful that I didn’t understand just how bad things were before. Didn’t always support him the ways a best friend should have, while absorbed in my own messy feelings.
I decide maybe I can provide more of that support andcomfort now, even if he seems to have a better handle on everything. He’s only out here, dealing with things that make him uneasy, because of me.
So as we come to the next stop on our tour around the island, these three huge rock formations jutting out of the water that Paolo calls the “faraglioni,” I stay seated beside West instead of getting up to take pictures. The boat slows and I notice him gulping in a big breath, then appearing to hold it. I watch in my periphery, waiting for him to exhale and growing a little nervous myself when he doesn’t.
“Breathe,” I whisper out of the corner of my mouth, and without really thinking about it, reach over to put a hand on his knee.
“I’m breathing just fine,” he whispers back a little severely. Then he sighs and adds more softly, “But thanks.”
His eyes stray down to my hand on his leg, like he’s only just noticed it. I feel his muscles tense beneath my palm before he says, barely more than a breath, “Cousins.”
I yank my hand back. Maybe I spoke too soon about us being the weirdest guests on this boat.
“We’re now passing through the Faraglione di Mezzo,” Paolo explains as he steers us under a natural arch in the middle rock formation. “Legend has it that when a couple shares a kiss under this archway, it ensures they will stay together forever.”
Our boat rocks back and forth as he cuts the engine and lets us float farther under the arch, turning to face the group with a cheeky wink. Through delighted laughter, Victor and McKinsley share a kiss, followed by Marge and Graham.
Then, as if they scripted it, all eyes turn to West and me like they’ve forgotten that we said we’re related, too.
“Well, next time you’ll have to bring back your sweethearts,” Graham offers in the awkward pause that follows, his grandfatherly way of defusing the tension—or covering up the fact that for a moment there, everyone was anticipating some kissing cousins action.
“Ha ha, yep,” West plays along, literally saying “ha ha” like they’re words, instead of laughing. This, in turn, makes me laugh for real.
When the engine starts up again, I lean close to him and ask, “Is my cousin a robot or an alien?”
“I don’t want to hear it from you, Knee Fondler,” he snarks back.
I gasp, trying to sound indignant despite my cheeks glowing red-hot. “I was notfondlingyour knee!”
He shrugs. “Tell it to the jury.”
“Oh my god, we should have just said we’re friends,” I mutter.
“Would that have been more accurate?” West asks. His voice is suddenly earnest. So is his expression, his dark eyes pinned on me with unreadable emotion in them.
“I mean,” I say with an awkward laugh, “we’re at least in the free-trial stage, right?”
His mouth tips up on one side. “The free trial?”
“Yeah, like, testing it out before we commit to the…lifetime membership.”Not bad for a metaphor I completely pulled out of my ass, I think with surprised satisfaction.
West looks dubious but plays along anyway. “How do you think the trial’s going so far?”
I study my hands where they fiddle with the frayed hem of my shorts, contemplating how to answer. “Well, what you’re doing right now, going on this outing with me even though you apparently hate boating on the ocean and that’s literally the whole plan for the day—it’s something only a pretty good friend would do, isn’t it?” My eyes flick hesitantly up to his face. “So I’d say it’s going well.”
The tension on his thoughtful face slowly melts until his eyes crinkle at the corners and a smile, small but genuine, tugs his lips upward. I feel an answering leap in my heart rate, then tell myself there’s no way the two are related.
“Glad to hear it, Cam,” he says softly.
But as our gazes stay locked, and the moment stretches on, it doesn’t feel particularly friendly. It feels like something stronger, and so much scarier.
I look away first, shifting so my back is to West and I’m peering out toward the sea. For all anyone knows, my entire focus is on the stunning scenery as we cruise around the island.
My eyes are taking it in, but my mind is floating farther away in both place and time. Salty mist sprays my face as we bounce across the waves, calling up a sense memory from three years ago that I usually try my best to suppress.
The mist that day hadn’t been a cool reprieve from the hot summer sun. It’d been part of the chilly drizzle under gray skies I’d grown used to, in the few months we’d lived in thatsleepy English coastal town. Mom and Dr. Danny had been working on some Roman ruins found on nearby farmland, while West and I had been living—at least in my mind—the cute, cozy, falling-for-my-best-friend love story that dreams are made of. We had daily teatime at one of our families’ quaint rental cottages and always had a jigsaw puzzle in the works on someone’s kitchen table. We became regulars at the coffee-and-bookshop down the lane, where we’d do our online classes together with long breaks to browse for new reads and get caught up in discussing our favorite stories. We’d walk and talk for miles up and down the rocky beach, dressed in layers to account for whatever the moody weather decided to do each hour.
And every day, my feelings for him had grown harder to hide. There’d been signs he’d felt something, too—his gaze that always fell on me when he thought I wasn’t looking, a gradual shift in the ways we touched, from accidental or casual to brimming with meaning and significance. Then finally, we’d sat on the beach late into the night, under the guise of waiting for the clouds to clear and reveal some stars. Cuddling for warmth had escalated bit by bit, until I’d tipped my face up to his in question, and his lips met mine in answer.
