It was a game we played every year: trying to guess what shapes the fireworks were meant to trace in the sky. Of course, rarely were the fireworks imbued with magic. Typically, we just got the run-of-the-mill comets and crackles. Occasionally, though, Mom and Rosie would sneakily nudge a few fireworks this way and that, until they formed something that, to those of us in the know, looked like vaguely magical items. They’d done a spider a few years back, and acat. Last year, Rosie, who’d had entirely too much punch, had tried to sculpt the fireworks into a wand, and the result had been … well, something worthy of the ‘accidentally penis’ hall of fame.
‘Lara doesn’t waste any time,’ said Finn approvingly, with a nod at Lara and Jack. ‘But onesies pose some serious logistical issues, don’t they?’
‘She can tear it off him if she has to,’ I replied with a grin.
‘With nails like those,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘And yours,’ he added, taking one of my hands and regarding it thoughtfully. ‘Your mom is an artist.’
I could feel myself flushing.
Was he going to kiss my hand? And if he did, how would I respond?
As I smiled, my face paint pulled at my skin, and I was suddenly conflicted again.
Noah. Finn. How was I supposed to choose?WasI supposed to choose?
At that moment, the first of the fireworks burst from the beach, whistling, fizzing, then exploding into a crackle of pretty, if non-magical light.
‘Maybe I should do the magic,’ said Finn, who wouldn’t let a little thing like a fireworks permit stand between him and some public exhibitionism. Finn was one of those guys who could just … get away with things. He’d grin, let that cheek dimple show, and all would be forgiven. ‘Looks like Mom and Amelia have fallen asleep on the job.’
He pointed to where our moms were reclined on the picnic blanket, side by side, giggling at some joke that it was probably better that we didn’t hear. I wondered whether it was just alcohol they’d been imbibing, or whether Rosie had busted out her special brownies. Yep – she was passing them around to the older couples on either side of them.
Overhead, the fireworks whirred and popped, invitingoohs and whoops from the crowd. Squiggles of white and stipplesof pink flashed, bursting into constellations shaped like willows and chrysanthemums.
Nothing magical yet.
Although, beside me, Finn was doing his best to pick out shapes in the sky.
‘That’s a guinea pig, right?’
I gave him a playful shove. ‘Absolutely not.’
Then the orange lights resolved into something resembling a wonky …
‘Broom!’ Finn and I shouted at the same time, jumping up and down in delight, arms wrapped around each other.
‘Noah, they did a broom!’ he called, waving madly over my shoulder.
Suddenly awkward, I extricated myself from Finn, turning my attention to the fireworks. Was Noah buying my attempt to pretend I was so invested in the fireworks that I hadn’t even registered Finn’s presence?
‘I just came by to make sure you had a blanket,’ he said, his tone inscrutable. But then Noah was often inscrutable. This was fine. Everything was fine. And not weird at all.
‘I’m going to start making my way back to the Pink House. Headache,’ Noah explained, rubbing the bridge of his nose to emphasize his point. ‘You two carry on.’
‘If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s carrying on,’ shouted Finn, grabbing me and spinning me in a circle as the fireworks scattered in the sky overhead.
But even though I burst into a surprised shriek of joy, I couldn’t help but watch Noah leave … and wonder what it might be like to leave with him.
Chapter 7
THE MAGIC WE FIND
The following morning I met Lara for coffee at Lorraine’s, which was our daily routine when on Summerween vacation. We’d jog down, reward ourselves with cardamom-spice lattes paired with giant pastries, spend a few solid hours on the beach gossiping about the town, then start planning the food and drinks menu for the rest of the day. It was a difficult job, but someone had to do it.
Of course, ordinarily Lara and I stayed at the Pink House together. This was the first time we’d stayed separately. Though I’d put her choice of accommodations partly down to her being uncomfortable around the Tuckers’ grief, after Jack’s appearance last night, I suspected that Lara was enjoying a Summerween fling of her own. Obviously, I didn’t begrudge her this. But it was strange. Lara had apparently invited a guy to Summerween in apremeditatedmanner. Not only that, but she hadn’t told me about it. We shared everything. So why not the fact she was seeing someone?
Not to mention that I desperately wanted to talk about the situation with the Tucker boys. Because although Finn and I had made our way back home sedately on the golf cart with nary a knee touching, there was definitely something going on.
‘Morning, Molly!’ Lorraine was her usual cheerful self, all huge hair and brightly patterned glasses. She had more pairs of glasses than Lara had shoes, which was saying something.
