Page 41 of It's a Love Story

“I’ll take you later if you want,” says Brian.

“Okay, stop it,” says Dan.

“Oh?” Brian is challenging him and I can picture the two of them as kids, fists up.

“Yes, stop it,” he says again. The wind dies down a bit and we slow. It’s as if someone’s turned the volume down on the TV. Dan turns to me and rests his forearms on his knees. His hair is wild, swirls of black around his head in every direction. He looks like an ad for soap. Rugged soap that removes a day’s worth of sweat and leaves you smelling exactly like you. His eyes are asking me a question. I don’t know what it is, but I want to say yes.

“Tack,” Brian says and pulls in the sail. Dan breaks eye contact and grabs my arm, leading me to the other side of the boat. It’s not elegant, crawling across the canvas in a bathing suit and a life jacket, but when we settle in on the other side and Brian is across from us, we are moving fast again. The din of the wake we’re leaving behind fills my ears, the ice-cold spray of the ocean mists my face, but all I can feel is the warmth of Dan’s hand just behind my hip.

CHAPTER 18

ICAN’T EVEN IMAGINE WHAT MY HAIR LOOKS LIKE. Ihaven’t blown it straight since I’ve been here—there’s really no point. The humidity, plus the wind on the open ocean, must have it completely out of control. I’m in the back seat of Brian’s car putting it into a braid, and I catch sight of myself in the window. It’s mostly just the outline of me, but I recognize this person. She’s younger; she’s still a believer in fairy tales and true love. For a reason I don’t understand, I smile at her.

Dan’s on the phone. “No, that’s a nightmare,” he’s saying. “She’ll hate it. Okay, fine, I’ll hate it. No. Fine.”

Brian drops us off in the Finnegans’ driveway. “Call me if you get bored later, Jane.” He gives me a teasing look through the open car window. He is equally as handsome as Dan—the chiseled features and full l ips—but I’m not attracted to Brian like I am to Dan. The pull is specific to him, the way he moves in the world.

“Fuck off, Brian,” Dan says without looking up from his phone. Brian laughs and drives away.

“What am I going to hate? Or am I not the she?” I ask.

He looks up at me and holds my gaze for a second. “You’re the she.” It’s not a proper sentence. It’s practically gibberish. But it hits me right in the center of my heart. He runs a hand through his hair, which is nearly as wild as mine. “I might need a hat,” he says.

“I might need a salon,” I say.

“You don’t,” he says.

I think this is a compliment, and I don’t know where to put it, so I look past him at the house. “So what am I going to hate?”

“A lobster boil. Tonight at the beach. With my high school friends. Aidan says it’s going to be low-key, and I usually trust him on stuff like this. But still, we’re going back in time, it will be a whole thing.”

“Sounds fun,” I say. “To see how you spent your time.”

“That wasn’t how I spent my time, unless Aidan or a girl forced me.” His phone buzzes. “Huh. Guess who’s at Chippy’s Diner. Let’s go.”

“Jack?” My voice does a weird thing and I clear my throat to cover it up.

“Yep, let’s go.” He starts walking to where the bikes are leaning against the garage, and I cannot for the life of me understand how this is all so easy for him. My feet are cemented in the ground. And my hair. I just can’t do this with this hair.

Dan wheels the bikes back to me. “Come on.”

“Like this?”

“Like what?”

I grab the bottom of my braid.

“You look good, Jane. And this script is good. It’s all good. Let’s go.”

He gets on his bike, so I do the same. As we ride, my mind races to tomorrow. Tomorrow Dan and I will call Nathan and tell him how well it went with Jack, that he’s currently reading the script and brainstorming ideas. Nathan will say how good I am at my job. Dan will tell his family at dinner how calmly I handled things. He’ll say I was a pro.

I do not engage with my reflection as we walk through the doors at Chippy’s. I’m doing guided self-t alk in my head:I’m a pro.The hostess tells us we can sit wherever we want as I scan the booths along the window.

Dan says to her, “Aidan said Jack Quinlan was here?”

“He was!” she says. “Left me a forty-dollar tip, which I guess he should have. Chippy let him leave out the back.”

“When?” I ask.

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