“You have your phone?” I ask.
“Duh.”
“Okay. Just don’t wander too far.”
She rolls her eyes. “Relax. We’re literally just going to the end of the pier.”
She scampers off with her friends, shouldering through the horde of people. I watch her bobbing ponytail vanish in the crowd and sigh.
I don’t remember being this bratty when I was thirteen years old. I hope it’s just a phase.
A knot twists in my gut as strangers shove past me, their elbows catching my sides, their sweat clinging to the air. I hate crowds. I didn’t even want to come here in the first place, and I definitely don’t want to be wedged between a bunch of sticky bodies, packed like sardines.
Instead, I separate from the herd of people and climb up one of the dunes bordering the beach. When I reach the top, I exhale a tired huff and fold my arms across my chest. Below me, a trail of boats drift across the lake surface. The rich assholes aboard them laugh too loudly, popping champagne bottles and waving like they’re royalty. The sight curdles my stomach.
“You’re stepping on an endangered plant,” a soft voice says behind me.
I spin around, startled. It’s dark enough that I have to squint to make out the guy’s face. He looks about my age—and definitely not a local. I know everyone in Claremont Shores, which means tourists stick out like sore thumbs.
He has smooth, olive-toned skin and short black hair, with two longer pieces of fringe framing his face. Angular hooded eyes hide behind circular wire-framed glasses. His gangly frame is buried in oversized vintage clothes. A cable-knit sweater with a hideous geometric pattern swallows his torso, the sleeves falling past his fingertips.
Despite the scowl he’s giving me, he’s... pretty. That’s the only word that comes to mind.
“Excuse me?” I manage.
“You’re stepping on an endangered plant,” he repeats, slower this time.
I look down. Sure enough, a spiky green thistle plant is crushed beneath my sneaker.
“Okay… and?”
“It’s Pitcher’s Thistle. A protected species.” His tone sharpens, smug in a way that crawls under my skin.
All I wanted was a few minutes of peace, alone and unbothered, while I wait for my sister and her friends. But no—this guy has to swoop in and ruin it.
I step off the plant. Its stem is snapped, one leaf bent at an ugly angle. “There. Happy?”
The man gave a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Wow, aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?”
I ignore him, turning my attention back to the boats in the harbor, hoping he’ll take the hint that I want to be left alone.
He doesn’t.
“It’s actually illegal to kill a Pitcher’s Thistle,” the man adds flatly.
A groan escapes me. “What, are you going to call the plant police? What’s your problem, dude?”
His jaw tightens. “Just trying to look out for my community’s plant life.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Yourcommunity?”
“I moved here last week.”
“Oh, perfect.” I let out a sharp laugh. “Just what this town needs—another asshole who can’t mind his own damn business.”
The edge in my voice startles me. I don’t know where that came from. I squeeze my eyes shut and drag in a breath, trying to steady myself.
Why the hell am I so grumpy today? Maybe it’s because I’m stressed about how I’m going to pay rent. Maybe it’s Maddie being a brat. Maybe it’s the pounding headache from the blaring parade music and endless cheering.
