Page 87 of The Beach Trap

“You come from a completely different background from me,” I say. Tears overflow my eyes and spill down my cheeks. “A different world. And I know you’re angry at your family right now, but at some point, you’ll reconcile. You’ll return to that world, and that’s not what I want—”

“I don’t want it, either—”

I hold up a hand. “Don’t say that. You can’t turn your backon your family. No matter how imperfect they are, they’re irreplaceable.” I meet his eyes, needing him to understand this. “Noah, you have to stop hiding out here; go and talk with your father. You need to confront him, tell him how you feel. I wish I’d been brave enough to do that while my dad was still alive.”

“Brave enough?” His voice is gentle, but his eyes are fierce. “Don’t talk to me about being brave. You’re doing this because you’re scared. You’re leaving me before I can leave you, so you can be the one walking away instead of the one left behind.”

His words hang between us, caught in the night air like moths flitting around a porch light. I want to disagree with him. I want to tell him he’s wrong. But somehow, he’s learned more about me this summer than most people I’ve known for years. He’s seenme, and that’s damn scary.

“Maybe I am,” I whisper. “Maybe that is playing a role in my decision. But bottom line, I choose my sister.”

His eyes are red, and he rubs a hand over his face. “Okay,” he says. That one word sounds like a surrender. Like defeat. “I’ll stop trying to change your mind.”

He stands, looking down at me from his full height. “But I need you to know one more thing. If we’d had more time together, I could have loved you.”

I inhale as his words hit me. They’re too heavy, too significant. I can’t hold them right now.

“I could have loved you, Blake,” he says again. His voice is soft and so very sad. “Maybe forever, if you would’ve let me.”

Before I can respond, he turns and walks away, up the stairs to his room above the garage, and shuts the door behind him.

•••

After Noah leaves,I go into the casita and call Kat—figuring I should, at the very least, reach out—but she doesn’t answer.I’m not surprised, since it’s nearly midnight, but it only adds to my overwhelming sense of loss.

I change into pajamas, wash my face, brush my teeth, and get into bed, going through the motions like a sleepwalker. I haven’t slept in this bed for weeks—I’ve been with Noah every night since our first night together—and it feels somehow wrong. I did the right thing, I remind myself. Tomorrow I’ll find Kat and we’ll talk. I’ll tell her I ended things with Noah. That she’s too important to me to lose over some guy.

A sob catches in my throat, because that’s such a lie. Noah isn’t justsome guy. But Kat’s my sister. And like I told Noah: I choose her. I need her.

The casita is dark and quiet. Loneliness wraps around me like a vise, and I’m about to start crying again when I feel the bed jostle.

The dog. He’s jumped on the bed, and he’s coming toward me like he knows exactly what I need. I’ve gotten used to him sleeping at the foot of the bed between me and Noah, but I’ve never done this.

“Hey, buddy, come here,” I say, patting the spot next to me. “Good boy.”

He curls up with his back against my hip, like he’s been waiting for this moment. And maybe I have, too. I bury my fingers in his soft fur, listening to his steady breathing.

Now that he’s next to me, I can finally relax, all the way down to my toes, and sleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

KAT

Two days later, my bags are packed for the drive back to Atlanta. I’m exhausted but energized after submitting the Rachel Worthington application last night under the wire. It was due by midnight and I literally pressed submit at 11:58.

Other than one walk on the beach with Henry and Sunny, I’ve been working nonstop. And the walk turned out to be just what I needed. Henry snapped a perfect picture of me and Sunny on the beach. My hair is a mess, windblown and curly, and Sunny has on my Rachel Worthington straw hat. There’s sand on her swimsuit and my tan lines are showing—but our smiles are as bright as her namesake, the sun. I added that photo to the final section of the application, and it felt complete.

It turns out that my “why,” kind of like Henry, was hiding right under my nose the whole time. I took my brand tagline, “Life is a fashion show,” and modified it to be “Life isn’t just a fashion show.”

On paper, it’s a small difference, but in practice it’s revolutionary and hopefully right up Rachel Worthington’s alley.

So many women hold themselves up to an unattainable levelof beauty, thinking that once they achieve it, then they’ll be happy. But the point of life isn’t to look beautiful or even to be happy all the time—that’s impossible. The point of life is to bealivein the world, to feel every emotion, even the messy and painful ones. To challenge yourself, to take risks, to find beauty in the imperfections and be grateful for the opportunity to experience it all.

I’m feeling so good about everything—the only cloud hanging over my head is that I haven’t talked to Blake yet. She called twice, but I was rushing to finish the essay and was at a point where I couldn’t stop or I’d risk losing inspiration.

And deep down, I knew I couldn’t be distracted when we had this conversation. I need to focus on Blake when we talk, which wouldn’t have been possible until I hit send on the application. I’m hoping this whole mess will be something we laugh about in the not-too-distant future.

I grab a sheet of paper from my grandmother’s old desk, which Blake refinished, and write my sister a note—just in case she thinks my silence is because I’m still upset about Junior.

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