Page 49 of It's a Love Story

“Sure. Probably why everyone in California is a little . . . you know?” He gives me a side glance. “They’re a little more than three hours behind, if you ask me. No offense, of course.”

I laugh. “Yeah, of course.”

The sliding doors open, and I hear Aidan say to Dan, “Obviously.”

“I saw the whole thing,” Paula says, carrying both Katie and a cup of coffee. And to me, “Good morning. Muffins?”

I shake my head. I’ve really let everyone down about the whole muffin thing. Without thinking, I reach out to Katie, and she strains her little body in my direction.

“Please,” Paula says and hands her to me. I don’t look at Dan because I don’t have a plan for what my face should look like when I do. I’m trying to remember what the right amount bored looks like. Katie smiles at me, and I think I’d like to know her long enough to give her a nonsensical nickname. Pickles, I think.

Dan takes the seat next to me. “Good morning,” he says to no one in particular.

Katie has a clump of my hair in her fist. She’s blowing bubbles with her tiny mouth, and she thinks it’s hilarious. I look up at Dan and he’s watching me over his coffee. His brow is heavy, and there’s so much in his eyes that I have to look back down. Last night’s kiss is still right there on his lips.

“You okay?” Dan asks me.

“Of course,” I say, embarrassed. I’m not sure where we stand now, and I’m not sure what he wants. I need to be sure because falling flat on my face in this particular situation, with this particular guy, feels uniquely dangerous.

Katie’s giving me a serious face, and I realize she’s just mimicking mine. Ruby comes over and counts her toes. They both laugh when she gets to ten, and I am caught in the crossfire of their giggles.

We all move into the kitchen when called, and I keep Katie on my lap. I like the weight of her there, and I like having something to hold on to. Dan sits across from me and I can feel his eyes on me.

Cormack gets up to leave for work. “I know I said I wasn’t working this week, but I’ve got to get to Montauk to give a bid on a new house.” He kisses Reenie on the head and squeezes her shoulder. Just like it’s nothing and also everything all at once. “What are you bums doing today?” He means Dan and me.

I feel Dan trying to catch my eye, but Reenie says, “Actually, Mrs. Barton at the library heard you were in town and called to see if you could come by today. She has that art camp going.”

Dan at an art camp with a bunch of little kids. Dan knowing exactly what’s inside of him and sharing it with them because his heart is so damn big. I am low-key annoyed with him right now for how much I like him. “You should go,” I say and meet his eye.

“Come with me and we can grab lunch after?”

“Um, no.” I say. And I don’t mean to come off as clipped as I do. Fear is prickling in my heart; it was not safe to get this close to a man this good. Obviously. And kissing me back with those butter lips was just reckless on his part. I notice my hands balling up and put them under the table. “I think, if it’s okay, I’m going to take a bike and scout out Whalebone Beach where Charlie said Jack was surfing. That’s bikeable, right?”

“It is,” Reenie says. “But if you wait, Dan can take you.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine. GPS in my phone and I’m good. Right, Katie?” She’s not buying it either.

I shower and put on my white cotton sundress that clings in the right places. It’s the revenge dress I packed to wear in front of Jack, but for some reason, it’s Dan who I want revenge against today. How dare he make me want something this much. I find Dan waiting by a bike in the driveway.

“Wow,” he says, taking me in. His eyes run up the length of my dress and fix on the tiny white spaghetti straps on my shoulders. Heat flushes my neck. “You sure you know where you’re going?” He’s in shorts and a gray T-shirt with his good camera strapped across his chest. It makes me think of the first time I ever saw him and had the thought that he looked armed. He’s dangerous all right.

“Yep.” I try to temper the clipped sound of my voice with a smile, but I can feel how it doesn’t reach my eyes.

“Jane.”

“We should get going. You have kids to inspire.” I give him what might be turning into my Brentwood post office murder smile, get on my bike, and go. He tries to ride next to me, and I slow down so that he’s ahead. We turn into town, and he stops at the library. I wave and keep going.

I try to refocus on my mission as I pedal up Main Street. I’m going to find Jack and make my lie true.Hey, it’s Jane Jackson. Remember “Jump-StartLove Song”?How hard could that possibly be to say?

I pull into the Whalebone Beach parking lot, and there’s a G-wagon parked in two spaces. My heart drops into my stomach. For a second, I consider turning around and biking back to the candy store next to Chippy’s, grabbing some malt balls, and calling it a day. There will be another movie—someone in Hollywood is probably writing a script at a Starbucks right now that’s just as good. I picture that person, with brows knitted in concentration, an hours-old latte next to them. Except they don’t understand love, the small acts of care that pile up to make it huge. They’re writing a scene with a marching band and an explosion, and, God, I hate their script.

I get off my bike and straighten my dress. Another car pulls in, and a bunch of teenagers get out and walk through the dunes to the beach. I should follow them. I need to gather my thoughts. I need to summon my showtime energy. That song is a legitimate connection. It was a good song. And everyone’s embarrassing at fourteen.

I say this out loud: “Everyone’s embarrassing at fourteen.” I repeat it under my breath as I start to cross the parking lot to the same narrow path in the dunes I walked through last night with Dan and his unironed white shirt. I rub my fingers together and remember what the fabric felt like, washed too many times.

At that moment, several twenty-something women emerge from the path, and in the middle of them is a head of hair I know from TMZ. My heart screamsFinally!andRun for your life!all at once. This is the fire I need to walk through, but I wish I were doing it with thicker skin. That stupid kiss has me feeling like my heart is dangling outside of my chest.

I’m a deer in the headlights, my survival instinct kicking into high gear. I watch Jack, who seems to be on the phone, one earbud in as he hoists a surfboard on top of the car with the help of one of the girls. He’s wiry verging on thin with the enviable air of a person who thinks they look better than they do. Jack laughs into the phone, and I’m just standing there at the edge of the parking lot on my cement feet. The sun feels too bright overhead, and there’s a metal garbage can next to me, steaming with a week’s worth of fast-food remains. I pull at my dress where I feel like it’s riding up, and suddenly it’s too tight. Everything is too tight actually, my chest, my skin.

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