Page 19 of One Happy Summer

I look around me, making sure I didn’t accidentally miss someone still in the shop, and quickly unlock the door. I open it, and she slips inside. I grab her lightly by the arm and guide her over between the shelves of books, just in case someone walking by might see us through the windows.

I let go, and she removes her hood. Her hair springs out with static cling, while some of it stays plastered to her face.

“Hey,” she says, her tone bright, a smile on her face.

“Hey,” I say, confused. “What are you doing here?”

She lets out a breath. “I’m bored.”

“You’re . . . bored?”

“I know,” she says, running her fingers through her hair, calming the static and fluffing the rest up. “I’m so bad at this.”

My hands are being weird appendages again, and I fold them in front of me. “I’m not sure this is the best place to escape to,” I say. “I spent the entire day telling people you aren’t really here.”

Her head falls to the side. “Did you?” She reaches up and grabs some of my T-shirt in her fist, pulling herself closer to me. It’s flirtatious and I don’t appreciate it.

“You’re the best,” she says.

I shake my head. “No one believed me, and word has spread. We’ve had people in and out all day hoping you might come back.”

“Crap,” she mutters, letting go of my shirt. Then she lets out an exhale that’s a whole upper body effort, shoulders and head drooping. “Thanks for trying.”

“No problem,” I say. “But you probably shouldn’t be seen around the island if you don’t want to feed that rumor.”

She nods. “You’re right. But . . . I just needed to get out of there, you know? I needed some air. I was stuck in my room yesterday because of a wedding at the resort, and then I couldn’t even sit on my veranda today because there were a bunch of teenagers that kept sneaking onto the private beach. They were persistent. Every time I called the front desk, I’d see them asking them to leave, but they’d find a way to sneak back in.”

I guess I’ll be needing to have a conversation with Scout about breaking and entering in the near future. Like tomorrow.

“I borrowed a bicycle from the resort and came straight here.” She looks down at the floor, and swallows. “I needed to get out, and also, I wanted to say sorry . . . uh . . . about the whole kissing thing the other night. It was likeNotting Hill, you know? And I got caught up, and . . . I’m . . . just . . . sorry.” She looks up at me, her expression soft, her eyes searching.

I give her a single nod. Is she sorry because she was cheating on Declan Stone? Or sorry that it was me she kissed? I don’t want to know the answer because either one sucks.

“No worries,” I say, even though I do have some concerns. But why bother bringing it up? What will it even change?

“What are you doing now?” she asks, with a very obvious upbeat change to her tone.

I look around the store. “Closing up here, and then I was going to go home.”

“To the princess apartment?”

“That’s where I live.” I give her a nod.

“Well, I’m already here. Do you . . . want some company?”

I tap the side of my glasses with a finger. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say.

“Oh,” she says, her eyebrows moving quickly up her face. “Right. Of course. Sorry.” She grabs hold of the drawstrings on her hoodie and pulls on them.

“It’s been a long day.”

“Is that all that’s wrong?” she asks, her brows lowered.

“I mean, yeah,” I say.

She lets out a long, sad-sounding sigh. “You saw the video, didn’t you?”

I pinch my brows together. “I did, but that’s—”

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