Page 102 of The Beach Trap

Dear Kat,

I don’t know what to say. We’re sisters. I guess you know that by now.

My dad always told me stories of his summers at Camp Chickawah—he said it was a magical place surrounded by trees and a glistening lake where he spent days swimming and sailing and nights roasting marshmallows and singing songs by the campfire.

I thought if I went to camp there, I would be able to find him in a way. To feel close to him in a place he loved. I never imagined I’d actually find him there. That I would find you. My sister.

I’ve always wanted a sister. Write me back, okay?

Love,

Blake

Cabin 10 Forever!

The words I once read as a confession take on new meaning now. In my memory, she’d gone to camp looking for her dad. Formy dad. I thought she sought me out and used me to get close to him.

Of course, now I know that’s nothing more than the ridiculous idea of a twelve-year-old girl with a big imagination, whose mind was reeling with shock and betrayal.

My friendship with Blake wasn’t part of some big manipulative plan, but maybe it was part of a bigger plan. Maybe we were drawn together because we recognized a piece of ourselves in each other. And the reason our friendship formed so fast and felt so deep wasn’t the magic of camp, but our innate connection. She felt like my sister even before I knew she was my sister.

A tear slides down my cheek and falls on the paper, making the blue ink blur. I carefully fold the letter back up and slide it into the envelope. I want to read the others, and I will eventually, but now I need to let Blake know how sorry I am.

My phone buzzes, and I hope it’s a text from Blake—that she somehow knew I was sitting here, thinking of her. But it’s not. It’s an email.

From Rachel Worthington.

Not Rachel Worthington’s assistant, buttheRachel Worthington herself.

With shaking hands, I tap to open the email thanking me for my thoughtful and honest application, offering me the six-figure year-long contract to represent her brand.

Tears fill my eyes all over again. I can keep the beach house. I can afford to buy Blake out. My heart soars for a beautiful moment, until I realize that’s not what I want. I want to keep the houseandkeep our relationship.

I’m not sure if there’s a way to have both, but if I have to choose, I won’t make the same mistake my dad made. I will choose my sister. I will always choose Blake.

CHAPTER THIRTY

BLAKE

Every once in a while, a rare moment of perfection happens. A magical instant when your heart feels perfectly at home. Waking up in my room at the beach house, sunlight streaming through the curtains, and Noah next to me in bed is that kind of moment.

I roll over and see him sprawled out on his stomach, bare from the waist up. He murmurs, “Morning, gorgeous,” and pulls me in for a sleepy kiss on the cheek. I stay there for a few minutes, curled up next to him, until his breathing slows, and I know he’s drifted back to sleep. Then I pull away carefully and climb out of bed.

The dog follows me, waiting at the top of the stairs, then trailing behind me. As I head into the sun-dappled living room, I’m filled with a sensation of déjà vu so strong it makes me dizzy; I had a dream last night that I was here on a morning just like this. But instead of being empty, the house was full.

There were people in every room, making breakfast and playing games, the air ringing with laughter and the sound ofchildren’s feet on the hardwood floor. The dream felt like abundance. Like an overwhelming sensation ofbelonging.

Now, as I walk through the empty house, I’m struck with a bittersweet feeling. The room is gorgeous, pristine and staged like Kat left it, but it feels vacant. There should be board games spread out on the dining room table, people reading and lounging on these plushy couches, sandals lined up by the door, beach towels hanging out on the deck to dry.

My dream felt so vivid it’s almost like I’m in the wrong dimension now, and I have to shake myself back into reality.

Heading out to the back deck, I grab a beach towel and make my way down the stairs and out onto the soft white sand. This has been my routine for the past week, soaking up every second because I know it’s ending soon. I spread out the towel and sit, the dog resting his head on my thigh, and I lean back on my hands and relax.

There’s a hint of a breeze and a few seabirds fly past, making a keening sound that echoes in my chest. I’m filled with a longing to stay, to put down roots here like the palm trees on either side of the house, and I remind myself that this place isn’t mine. Not permanently. And even though I know Kat wants to buy me out, it doesn’t sound like she’ll be able to.

As much as it hurts, my guess is that when the real estate agent comes later today, we’ll have to discuss putting the house on the market.

And with that, my mind is pulled back to the dream.

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