Page 57 of The Beach Trap

“You can go play, if you want,” I say, giving him an out.

“I’ll have more fun with you,” Henry says. A lock of his hair falls into his face, and I ignore the urge to tuck it back behind his ear.

“We better get moving if we want a good spot on the beach for fireworks,” I say, awkwardly changing the subject before heading inside. Henry follows me, and even though I’m the one who lost, he offers to wash while I dry.

“Dinner was good,” he says, his hands deep in the soapy water.

“Thanks,” I say, even though it would have been just a bunch of sides without his cheeseburgers.

It’s quiet as we wash and dry, and my skin buzzes with energy being close to him. My body apparently can’t tell the difference between a guy who is dateable and one who should obviously remain a friend.

The sound of Sunny’s laughter floats in from outside, and I suddenly feel like laughing, too. “Sunny’s adorable,” I tell Henry. “Did you pick out her dress?”

Henry shakes his head, then looks out the window, where Blake and Sunny have their heads bent together. “She hasn’t let me pick out her clothes since she was three.”

“A girl after my own heart.”

Henry smiles and goes back to scrubbing a platter. “Thingsseem to be going well with you and Blake,” he says, handing me a clean dish.

I take it from him and start to dry. “Don’t get any ideas; I’m just being nice because it’s a holiday.”

“Ahh,” Henry says, as if he sees my logic. “That makes sense.”

“It does?” I ask, surprised he accepted my answer so easily.

“No,” Henry says. He hands me another dish and I try to ignore the spark I feel as our fingers brush in the exchange. We both stare at the dish in our hands for a moment until he clears his throat and continues. “But I learned a long time ago that sometimes, I just can’t understand women.”

This seems like the perfect opportunity to ask about his ex, but before I can get the words out, Sunny calls for him.

“Daddy, come look!”

He leans toward me, trying to get a better look out the window, and I inhale his sandalwood scent. It’s not my favorite, but it smells good on him.

“Be right back,” he says to me.

I figure the rest of the dishes can wait, so I follow him out to the deck. I don’t want to miss whatever Sunny wants to show Henry.

Outside, Sunny is sitting on the table, her face tilted up toward Blake, who is standing before her.

I feel a pang of nostalgia as I realize Blake is painting a red, white, and blue design on Sunny’s cheek. She’s using what looks like professional face paint, unlike the Sharpies we used back at camp when we gave each otherBEST FRIEND FOREVERtattoos.

We’d each drawn a butterfly on the other’s wrist in a Sharpie I’d stolen from the arts and crafts cabin. The one Blake drew on my wrist was beautiful—the details on the wings were so intricate. I stuck my arm out of the shower every day that week so it wouldn’t get wet. The one I drew on her wrist was decidedly less beautiful, but I’ve never been great with analog art.

“Do I look beautiful, Daddy?” Sunny asks, striking a pose.

“You’re always beautiful,” Henry says. “On the outsideandthe inside.”

Sunny gives an exaggerated sigh. “You have to say that because you’re my dad.”

Before Henry can convince her otherwise, a singsong voice drifts up from the beach below us. “Helloooo! Anyone there?”

I walk over to the railing and look down, and sure enough, it’s CoCo Rooney.

“Get your ass up here and give me a hug!” I shout.

My old friend squeals and runs up the stairs. She looks fabulous as always, in a white sundress that shows off her tan skin. Her brown hair is cut short with severe edges that make her cheekbones even more defined.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, throwing my arms around her. It feels good to hug someone who knows me, who knew my dad and how much he meant to me.

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