Page 59 of One Happy Summer

She makes some sort of harrumph sound as she leaves, and Briggs shuts the door and locks it behind her.

“Well, she’s gone,” he says when he turns back toward me.

“Yes,” I say, weaving my hands behind my back and rocking on my heels. And thank goodness for that because I would very much like to get back to the kissing practice.

Briggs clears his throat. “So, should we run more lines?”

“Yes,” I say, a little too quickly. “I was kind of hoping to go over that last scene, just one more time.”

He gives me a knowing smile and walks toward me, my body beginning to hum just in anticipation of his nearness.

“Hello! I’m here,” Scout yells from the back entrance of the shop, and like we planned it, both Briggs’s and my shoulders drop at the same time.

Foiled again.

“We’re up front,” Briggs calls out. He gives me a disappointed-looking smile, probably mirroring the one on my face.

“Oh good,” Scout says as she comes in through the back of the store, her ponytail swishing behind her. “Mom wants to know if you two want to come play games with us tonight.”

Briggs sighs, and it’s long-suffering, like this is the hardest task he’s ever been asked to do.

“Sounds good,” I answer for the both of us.

Thank goodness we have so much more summer to go. There’s plenty of time for me to explore these feelings for Briggs and see if he feels them back. Plenty of time to take this summermance to a full-blown romance. I just hope Briggs feels the same way.

Briggs

“This is incredible,” Presleysays, holding binoculars up to her eyes as she looks up at the starry night sky.

We’re lying on sleeping bags, which are on top of a beach blanket, all of which I borrowed from my mom. The waves crashing against the shore have been the background soundtrack to what’s been a pretty perfect night.

Sleeping under the stars. That’s what we’re doing tonight. It was one of the things Presley told me she’d never gotten to do when we were first getting to know one another all those days ago. I wasn’t sure when we’d get to, since timing and the weather had to cooperate. But everything fell into place for tonight. We’re not on the private beach, but one further down the island.

It’s been three days since the practice kiss that really wasn’t a practice kiss. And what a kiss that was. I really hope Landon West doesn’t kiss Presley like that. Maybe I won’t watchCosmic Furywhen it comes out. I don’t think I’d be able to take it.

There’s been no other kissing between Presley and me since. Not practice ones or real ones pretending to be practice. I think we’ve gone back to our unspoken rule of not kissing because of . . . Actually, I don’t even know why. Wait, yes I do. She’s a famous actress, and I’m a nobody. She works in Hollywood, and I . . . need to find a job and figure out what I’m doing with my life and have a bank account that isn’t on the verge of zeroing out.

But somehow all of that seems less insurmountable lately. Like, who really cares about the details? I need to care about them, though, because I have a heart, and it’s on a precarious perch right now. One that, with just a small little nudge, could fall hopelessly and desperately for the woman lying next to me. And, if I’m being totally honest with myself, it may already have.

It feels like a bad move for my heart. Like if I were to write it out on paper, there’s just no way that I can carry the one and divide it by two to get to the result I’m hoping for. Which is . . . what? I don’t even know. Summer doesn’t last forever. Well, it kind of does on this island, but that’s not what I mean. This summer right now that I’m having with Presley has an ending. And I’d prefer it didn’t.

“I feel like I’m hogging the binoculars,” Presley says, pulling them away from her face and turning toward me. She’s lying on top of a red sleeping bag in a white T-shirt and black leggings.

“You are,” I say.

“Briggs Samwise Dalton,” she says, her voice mock appalled. “Why didn’t you say something?” She tries to hand them to me.

I push them back toward her. “I’m kidding. I can see this anytime.” Not that I ever do this kind of thing. It’s been over a decade since I slept on the beach.

“Oh my gosh,” she says, excitement in her voice, lifting her head up slightly. “Is it Samwise? Did I get it?”

I shake my head in tiny, probably imperceptible, movements since it’s pretty dark out here. But she must see it because her head drops back down on the pillow, defeated.

“Do you think I’d hate that one? I’d rock that middle name,” I say.

“It does sound pretty cool,” she says, turning her face toward the sky and bringing the binoculars up to her eyes again.

“It definitely beats Homer,” I say, referring to the name she tried earlier tonight.

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