Page 103 of The Beach Trap

All my life, I longed to be part of a big extended family like the ones the other kids had. A whole passel of cousins, a bunch of aunts and uncles, two sets of grandparents. As an only child of an only child, raised by my mom’s parents, I knew it wasn’t possible to have that. It’s not that I didn’t feel loved—I did,unconditionally—but I was always aware that I didn’t have layers of family. I knew how fragile my foundation was.

I take a deep breath of salty air, trying to replace the lonely feeling that has settled around me with gratitude for the bond I’ve forged with Kat this summer. I hope we can find a way to stay connected even without the beach house.

Maybe whoever buys this house will fill it with all the love and laughter I imagined in my dream. If nothing else, I can be proud that our renovation—my structural work, Kat’s eye for design—created something beautiful, a place where memories can be made for a new family.

A noise behind me makes me turn; Noah is walking down the stairs to join me. My heart warms at the sight of his tall, angular body, clad in only a pair of low-slung sweatpants, his hair rumpled from sleep. He’s holding a mug of coffee in each hand, carefully making his way across the sand so he doesn’t spill a drop.

The dog races over to him and Noah says in his dopey voice, “Sorry, little Mike ’n’ Ike, can’t pet ya right now. Hands are a wee bit full.”

I have no idea how the dog’s name morphed into that one, but it makes me laugh. At the sound, Noah looks up at me, his smile as warm as sunshine.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says when he reaches me. “Care for some company?”

He hands me one of the mugs, then sits behind me, his legs on either side of mine. Then he wraps his free arm around my waist and pulls me flush against him.

“Random but very important question,” he says in my ear. “You ready?”

“Born ready.”

“Who is the villain: Tom or Jerry?”

“You mean the cartoon cat and mouse?” I ask. When he nods, I chuckle and lean against his chest. “Well, Tom is trying toeatJerry, so I think that makes him by definition the villain.”

“See, that’s exactly what Jerry wants you to think. Big evil cat, cute little mouse. But you gotta realize that Jerry was trespassing in Tom’s house.” Noah’s voice is dead serious. “And Tom’s owner is constantly threatening to throw him out unless he gets rid of the mouse. What’s he supposed to do?”

I nod. “I hear you—Tom is acting under duress. And little Jerry is kind of sadistic.”

“Kind of?He injures and degrades Tom on a daily basis, subjecting him to all sorts of humiliation and abuse, and he does it with a smile. Poor Tom is just defending his home.”

“I’ll help you start a campaign,” I say, lifting my mug. “Justice for Tom!”

Noah pulls me tighter and presses a kiss to my neck. “You know I’m obsessed with you, right?”

I smile. “I might be a little obsessed with you, too.”

For the past week, he’s been saying stuff like this:You’re stunning,you’re my favorite,I can’t get enough of you. All the adoration made me a little uncomfortable at first, but now I realize this is justNoah, the real him. He’s dropped the sarcastic armor he had at the beginning of the summer when we first met. I want to crawl into his chest and live there, like a happy little hermit in a cave. The thought of it ending—this summer, these moments between us—breaks my heart.

“I made my decision about the job,” Noah says, and my body goes still. He’s been going back and forth on this all week, trying to decide between returning to work for his family in Boston and taking the job with his friend’s tech start-up in Chicago.

I’ve been giving him space to work out what’s best for him, but I’m rooting for Chicago. Boston feels so much farther away—and not just because it’s a three-hour flight to Minneapolis versus just over an hour from Chicago, but because Boston is where his family is, with all their wealth and expectations. I can’t help worrying that if he goes back there, it’ll be the end of us. I won’t fit in with that life, long term.

“Oh yeah?” I say, as casually as possible.

“I’m taking the job working for William.”

I take a sip of coffee, trying hard not to whoop in happiness. “You’re sure?”

“I just sent him an email accepting it. And”—he kisses my neck again, his free hand running up my torso to my rib cage—“I let him know that I’ll be leaving work every Friday at three to catch a flight to spend the weekend with my girlfriend in Minneapolis.”

My heart warms. He hasn’t called me that before. “Is that what I am? Your long-distance girlfriend?”

“I hope so,” he says, “although I want to put a time limit on it.”

I spin around, not liking the sound of that. “What do you mean, a time limit?”

“Not on thegirlfriendpart,” he says, smirking at the look on my face. “On the long-distance part. In six months, we reevaluate. If you still like me by then, I’ll start looking at jobs in the Twin Cities area or convince Will to let me work remotely.”

I’m speechless for a second. “You’d move just like that?”

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