Page 97 of In Your Wake

My cheeks blush and I immediately look away again. “Even if that were true, it doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m leaving. Eventually. Whether it’s Germany, or somewhere else. And if we’re already on shaky ground, imagine starting something with her and then ditching her. How stable would that be?”

Spencer goes quiet at that. For a few seconds, there’s only the sound of water and wind keeping us company.

“Here’s a thought,” he begins, his voice soft. “What if there’s a way you two could finally settle this issue between you?”

I grip the railing tighter and stare straight ahead. “Yeah? What’s that?”

20

Ship-Wrecked

Max

Burning into me like the afternoon sun, Mitch’s gaze keeps finding me no matter where I go on the boat. Not even intentionally, maybe. But every time I glance his way, his eyes are already there. Which is unfortunate because I’ve caught myself doing the exact same thing.

The trip makes me notice things I never got a chance to before, like the dark hair scattered across his chest, and the way his forearms flex when he pushes his sunglasses up his nose. It’s deeply irritating how attractive Mitchell Adams grew up to be.

I step out of the water and wrap a towel around myself, squeezing the sea from my hair. Across the deck, Mitch lounges near his parents with one arm stretched along the back of the couch. He’s so relaxed, at ease, enjoying this beautiful day with his parents, side by side with his dad. And you’d think that’s all he’d focus on.

This time when our eyes meet, he quickly looks away, acting as if he hadn’t been staring at all. A smile tugs at my mouth before I can stop it.

“Whatcha smiling about?” Celia asks, popping up in front of me and offering me a glass of crisp champagne.

The whole point of this sailing day was to give Bill a terrific time, so everyone’s mood is light and positive, though somewhat forced. I’m trying hard to pretend that it’s a perfect day, and except for the intense glares Mitch keeps shooting my way, it has been.

“Nothing. Why?” I sip the champagne, the bubbles tickling my nose.

“You sure? Something tells me it has to do with whatever weirdness is going on between you and Mitch,” she answers, nodding over her shoulder.

“We’ve always been weird,” I reply.

“I wouldn’t know. But you’ve been different lately.”

Hunter and Spencer are arguing over music near the speakers while Bethany helps Robyn rearrange blankets around Bill’s legs. The smiles seem real enough, but I can’t shake this feeling of something fragile underneath it all.

“It’s been a rough week,” I say. “That’s probably all it is.”

Celia studies me for a second. “Did you two ever actually talk after camping?”

A laugh escapes me. “Define talk.”

“So, no.”

“We talked a little.” I stare out at the water. “Nothing earth-shattering, but enough to tell me that things are still way too complicated between us.”

That feels safer than admitting the truth that sometimes when Mitch brushes past me at the inn, my entire body short-circuits like I’m sixteen again and want to make terrible life choices.

She bumps my shoulder. “For two people who supposedly hate each other, there’s been a lot of eye contact.”

She seems far too curious.

“I think we’re just… figuring things out.”

“And by figuring things out, you mean avoiding having a meaningful conversation?”