Page 63 of The Summer We Lie

"She's welcome here anytime," I respond, meaning it more than I should. The thought of her leaving at summer's end creates an unexpected hollow feeling in my chest.

I look at the young boy partially visible in the frame, dark hair falling across his forehead. "That must be Justin?"

"Yeah. Justin, come say hi," Skye calls to him. He moves closer to the camera, dark eyes curious and assessing, studying me with the direct gaze of someone who doesn't bother with social pretenses.

"Hi," he says simply, no artifice in his greeting.

"It's nice to meet you. Skye talks about you guys all the time," I tell him, watching his expressions carefully. The people Skye loves matter to me, somehow, already.

He groans dramatically, rolling his eyes. "What did she tell you? All the embarrassing stuff probably."

"She raves about your art and says you want to be a paleontologist," I say, watching his expression brighten instantly, his entire demeanor shifting from cautious to engaged.

"Do you like art?" he asks, direct and curious, leaning closer to the camera.

"I do, but I only draw for work," I answer honestly, appreciating his straightforwardness. "Technical drawings mostly—buildings, layouts, structural details."

"What do you do?"

"I'm an architect."

His eyes widen with genuine interest. "That's really cool. Do you design big buildings? Skyscrapers?"

"Yeah sometimes and you would probably be good at it. Skye told me about your cityscapes," I add, remembering her proud description of her brother's talents.

"You want to see?" he asks eagerly, already reaching for something off-screen.

"Yeah," I nod and pull a chair up next to Skye to see the screen better, acutely aware of how close we are now. Our thighs almost touch, and the heat radiating from her body is maddening. She smells like sunshine and something sweet and summer days.

Justin shows me several drawings, each one impressive—meticulous attention to detail, excellent perspective for someone his age. The buildings have personality, character—not just structures but stories. I feel Skye's eyes on me the whole time, watching my reactions, gauging my response to this person she so clearly adores.

"Alright," his mom interrupts after the fifth or sixth drawing, "if you want to go eat, you need to go get ready. Grandma's waiting."

"Okay," Justin says, looking reluctant to end our impromptu art show. "It was nice to meet you. Maybe I can show you more later?"

"You too. Definitely—I'd like to see more of your work."

As he walks off-screen, he calls back, "I like him," causing both Skye and her mom to laugh. A strange warmth spreads through my chest at the simple approval.

I feel Skye's hand land softly on my thigh, just above my knee, and the relief that washes through me is immense. Maybe she isn't avoiding me after all. Her touch is light but deliberate, a silent message I desperately want to interpret correctly.

"Well, it was nice meeting you, Dom," Stephanie says with a knowing smile that makes me wonder just how much mothers can intuit through a video call.

"It was nice to meet the woman who raised such an amazing girl," I respond, the compliment sincere despite its potential to reveal too much.

"Shh, don't let her hear you say that. I don't need her getting a bigger head," Stephanie jokes, and I chuckle, though I privately think Skye could use more recognition of her worth.

"Well, I need to get ready for dinner, so I'll talk to you all later."

"I love you, Mom," Skye says, her voice softening with genuine affection.

"Love you too, Hun. Be good and safe. I'll talk to you in a day or two."

"Okay, bye," Skye ends the call, the screen going dark.

I place my hand over hers, still resting on my thigh, and we sit in silence for a moment. The connection between us feels electric, even in this small touch. Her fingers are delicate beneath mine, but I can feel the strength in them—artist's hands, capable and creative.

"About last night," I begin, finally ready to address the texts that have been haunting me since I sent them. Her eyes meet mine, unguarded for once, and I see a vulnerability there that makes me want to pull her into my arms.