‘Do you feel that, too?’ I asked. Because the ring was crackling away so powerfully that there was surely no way I was the only one who’d noticed.
Finn paused mid-nail. He glanced up, his eyes bright beneath their dark lashes. ‘Between … us?’
I ducked my gaze away. Just how was I supposed to respond to that?
Chapter 21
A LINE IN THE SAND
‘Nice toenails,’ said Lara as I kicked off my flip-flops and sat down next to her on one of the giant striped towels. They’d been set out for the Sandy Balls soccer match that was happening today – an event I covered every year forEasterly Sports. ‘Do they have anything to do with this hangover I’m sensing?’
She pointed at my enormous sunglasses, which I’d borrowed from Rosie under the guise of fashion. In reality, I’d chosen them because they managed to cover half of my face.
I groaned. My toenail-painting session with Finn had turned into a night of cider snuck from the drinks fridge and what we called ‘Wrong Karaoke’, where you made up deliberately terrible lyrics to whatever was playing. I couldn’t for the life of me remember anything I’d sung, but I did have a sneaking suspicion that I owed Kate Bush an apology.
‘Finn and I had a big night,’ I explained, my voice hoarse. Yep, I was definitely in debt to poor Kate. And I probably needed to restock Rosie’s lavender painkiller bundles, which Mom was always getting into.Herheadaches were from stress and late work nights, which might actually be worse than hangover-induced ones. I’d check with Soraya. She’d been a doctor before her career change into running an ice-cream parlour, and knew as much about healing through medicine as she did healing through chocolate syrup.
I groaned. The sangria and cider had seemed like a good idea last night, when I’d been flipping through Charlie’s record collection and – oh, that’s right – making up rude lyrics to ‘We Didn’t Start the Fire’. Besides, as Finn had noted, the Sandy Balls match was a problem for future Molly.
Unfortunately, future Molly was now present Molly, and my head was pounding.
Lara raised a perfect eyebrow, her attention on a couple of visiting college kids as they set up the soccer goals on the sand, an endeavour that involved more trial and error than I’d expected.
‘Finn, hmm? So we’re leaning towards Finn in the game of Pick the Perfect Tucker Boy?’
I fiddled with a shell I’d found next to my towel. The college kids fumbled the PVC pieces of the goal they were working on and had to start over. ‘Maybe? I don’t know. He’s so easy to be around, and Rosie gave me a whole speech about why that’s important.’
Lara held out a tub of chopped watermelon. When I shook my head – ouch, bad idea – she took a piece for herself. ‘Hismomgave you a speech about why her son being easy to be around is important?’
Even Rosie wasn’t that generous. ‘It was more of a general advice thing couched in stories about Charlie.’
‘That makes a bit more sense. I think. But?’ Lara took a bite from her watermelon as she cast an appraising eye over a guy jogging shirtless in the shallows. ‘I’m sensing there’s a but.’
‘Should there be something more than it being easy?’ The late-summer sun was biting at my shoulders, and I draped one of Alberta’s shawls around them to avoid burning.
Lara guffawed. ‘I hope not. What more could you possibly want?’
‘I don’t know … like Tiff and Damien. That’s clearly not easy. And yet they have something worth working for.’
‘Sure,’ said Lara. ‘And meanwhile she’s got a crush on the bookshop guy.’
She had a point.
‘So, how are things with Jack?’ I asked, as Lara waggled her fingers at the shirtless guy. ‘He seems like a catch.’
Lara balked as the shirtless guy pointed at the ring on his left hand.
‘Nope, not going there,’ she said, making abeat itgesture at the guy. Then she turned her attention back to our conversation. ‘I mean, sure. We’re having a good time.’
‘But it’s more than that, right?’ They’d been spending every spare minute together since the Summerween Festival. And they werestayingtogether.
Lara let out a hoot so loud it scared a nearby seagull that had been nibbling on a discarded tray of French fries. ‘It’s never more than that. You know I don’t do relationships. Ugh, the thought of beinganswerableto someone.’
‘Ouch, who hurt you as a child?’
‘A gruesome parental divorce, remember?’ Lara said it lightly, but I knew the truth. Her parents had separated when we were in middle school, and not amicably. Lara’s dad had gone on to remarry three times, and her mom had decided to sit romance out for good, choosing instead to helm every non-profit board within a five-mile radius. It was why she’d started spending Summerweens with us.
‘Yeah, but your parents are a unique case. They’re like Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling. There’s no one else out there like that.’
