Page 63 of One Happy Summer

I nod my head and he takes me by the hand, and we run in the opposite direction of the cameraman. We run until we get to the resort and then take the stairs up to the second floor where my suite is located.

With shaking hands, I dig the key card out of the pocket of my yoga pants and open the door, Briggs following me into the room. I shut the door behind me and double lock it for no reason, since this is a private resort and they’re not about to let someone with a camera on the premises without permission.

“I’ve never seen a suite at this resort,” Briggs says, looking around the entryway. It occurs to me that I’ve never had him up here. I did invite him up that one night, but other than that, there really hasn’t been an opportunity.

I look at the space through his eyes, setting my key card on a whitewashed entry table and flicking on the lights before we walk through a small alcove and into the sitting area, the bedroom just beyond that. There are two sofas and a coffee tablein the center of the modest-size room. And a kitchenette in the corner with a small bar and a dining table. The space is decorated in a beachy-modern motif with light-colored wood and different shades of blues with some splashes of orange. Someone has been here—I can tell by the fluffed-up throw pillows, and the blanket I’ve been using while reading is now folded and placed thoughtfully on the couch.

I feel anxious, wondering if this little world I’ve been living in for nearly a month is about to collapse. I wrap my arms around myself.

“You okay?” Briggs asks.

“Yeah,” I say.

“Should we . . . look online for any news?”

I nod, little rapid movements of my head. “Yes, let’s do that.”

He pulls his phone out of his front pocket and takes a seat on one of the couches, and I sit next to him. My body feels achy from sleeping outside, and I could use a shower from all the sea air and humidity, but first things first. I say a little prayer that there’s nothing and it’s just someone here on the island looking at birds but also snapping pictures of two people sleeping on the beach. Which is still weird and violating, but I’ve been dealing with it for a long time now.

Briggs pulls up the internet on his phone and types my name into the search bar, and I look away, thinking maybe if I can’t see it, whatever pops up won’t be a reality.

But Briggs curses. The word sounds foreign coming from his mouth, and I realize I haven’t heard him swear before.

“What?” I ask him.

He twists his lips to the side before handing me the phone.

I see the headline first:Where Is Presley James?Cosmic FuryRole Up in the Air.

I scan the article, Briggs leaning in toward me doing the same. I’m reading the words as quickly as possible, trying to ignore the sinking feeling I have in my stomach. The good news is, there’s no word about where I am, no mention of the island. Which means I don’t have to worry about the photographer, whoever it was. At least not yet.

The bad news is, I have to call my agent. The bubble I’ve been living in hasn’t quite popped, but it definitely has a slow-leaking hole. My days hiding in Sunset Harbor are numbered.

I lean into Briggs for support, and he puts his arm around me, kissing me on top of the head, telling me without words that he’s here. It’s something that feels like a couple who’ve been together for a while might do: being able to say things without speaking. Briggs and I do that already, and I don’t even know what we are officially. Still, I’m overwhelmingly grateful he’s here with me right now.

“So, what’s the plan?” he asks, pointing at his phone, which I’m still holding in my hands.

“I need to make some calls,” I say, hating the words that are coming out of my mouth right now.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll just . . . I can wait downstairs, or you can call me when you’re done?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Can you . . . I was hoping you could stay.”

“Of course,” he says. “My mom and Scout have the bookshop taken care of today, so I’m here as long as you need me.”

“Thank you,” I say, leaning in and kissing him softly on the lips. The fact that he’s here, that he wants to stay, eases some of the ache I’m feeling in my heart.

I get up from the couch, go to my bedroom, and grab the phone off the charger on the nightstand. The phone I haven’t been carrying with me, because what was the point? No one knows the number, and it really is a piece of junk phone. It was a safety net, something to have just in case. I hate that I have to use it today. I hate what that might mean: This could be over.

I pick up the phone and call my agent.

“How soon do you have to leave?” Briggs asks, his arm around me as we sit on the couch, his thumb rubbing a short path up and down my arm.

It’s been an hour of phone calls and feeling very drained and tired as my old life has come crashing back.

“I don’t know,” I tell him. “My agent, Kara, is getting all the details sorted right now.”

It turns out the filming date forCosmic Furywas moved up to next month. Hence the sudden reason to find me, for people to really start worrying. Kara was told by the producers of the movie that she needed to locate me right away or they were going to recast and that I’d be in breach of contract. She thinks that info somehow was leaked to the gossip sites. I didn’t say out loud what I’d been thinking—that it was probably leaked by her, or even more likely, by my mom.

---