Page 33 of The Dangers of Daydreaming

“Oh, jeez, it’s just that he’s…” My phone dinged twice in quick succession. I was distracted when I saw my mom’s name across the screen.

“Do you need to answer that? Is it the cousins? Let me plead my case for a new nickname.” He reached across the console without looking, grabbing for my phone.

I sat straighter in the chair, holding my phone out of reach. “No, dummy, it’s my mom. She’s—” I opened the text and froze.

“Everything okay?”

My eyes scanned the flood of images she’d sent. White dresses. Wedding dresses. I swiped through each picture of my mom in various dresses like an accident I couldn’t look away from. But then, in a fit of self-preservation, I closed the text app, staring instead at the home screen.

I had a picture of a quote as my background—very 2010 of me, I know—a flowery script with the wordsTomorrow is always fresh with no mistakes in it. I hadn’t changed it in over a year, so most of the time I didn’t even see it. But now I read it just to distract my brain. If only a tomorrow could fix the mistake of my mother’s upcoming nuptials.

“Everything okay?” Finn asked again.

I didn’t look up, tracing the words with my eyes one last time. “Yeah, of course.”

“Could have fooled me.”

I met his eyes, innocently lifting my brows. “Totally good.”

He nodded slowly. “That would explain why you’ve been so fixated on your phone that you didn’t even realize we’re back.”

I blinked, looking around. Sure enough, we were in the gravel circle at the front of the bed-and-breakfast, the big red barn set far behind it, tucked between rows of trees. My cheeks grew hot, and probably the color of said barn.

Curse my red-headed heritage.

“It’s okay, I see how it is. You drag information and—” he faked a shudder, “feelings from me, but get a hall pass on sharing. Fair enough.”

I opened my mouth, but I didn’t know what to say.My mom’s getting married, and I think she’s making the worst mistake of her life but have no real reason for feeling that way?

Yeah, that made a lot of sense.

“Hey.” His voice was quieter. “It’s fine, really.”

I gave him a tight smile.

“Come with me,” he said, pushing open his door.

I followed him from the car to the B&B. But instead of climbing the steps to the porch, he walked around the building, following the path through the orchard down to the beach.

I’d had an unproductive day. I’d sent maybe three pressing emails and none of the won’t-cause-a-fire-but-should-really-be-answered emails. I hadn’t seen any Anne sites. I hadn’t planned anything for the tour or the presentation.

But I followed him anyway. What was a little more procrastination at this point? I’d be productive tonight.

Finn didn’t walk down the beach to the water; instead, he moved along the back of the ring of sand to a spot where a bench sat just below a towering tree. He sat and looked expectantly at me. I plopped onto the seat next to him, brows raised.

But instead of saying anything, he just switched his gaze to the water.

I followed his gaze, but my thoughts were still churning. Mom in a wedding dress. Did this mean we were past the point of no return? Was there no hope she’d back out of this engagement like the last two? I bit my lip at the thought. What kind of daughter wants her mom’s engagement to fail? The kind that knows best for her, that’s who. At least, I thought so.

I hated not being sure who was right: my mom, in wanting to get married, or myself, in thinking she’d gone too fast. But over a decade of watching my mom try and fail to be happy in relationships was a pretty clear indication that there wasn’t a happy ending to be had here.

The waves were calming—the exact opposite of my feelings—lapping onto the shore, then pulling back into the ocean, swirling water and sand together before another wave came up. The sun was almost to the horizon, its color spreading across the sky with several clouds gathering and reflecting its light. I took a deep breath, leaning back.

Finn looked over at me. “There you go.”

“What?”

“It’s like you’ve had a stick up your—”

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