Page 37 of A Not-So Holiday Paradise

“So,” Molly says from behind me, and I jump, steadying myself with one hand on the side of the boat.

“Yeah?” I say, turning around.

“About this morning,” she says. She’s not quite making eye contact; it’s more like her gaze is hovering somewhere around the middle of my nose, and I can’t help that but notice the blush staining her cheeks. “It won’t happen again.”

Finally her eyes come up to meet mine, and when they connect, she smiles impishly. It’s not the expression I expected to see, but somehow I’m not completely surprised. Nor am I surprised when she holds three fingers up and says, “Scout’s honor.”

I don’t know how to answer her, or what to do about the faint, sinking disappointment that accompanies her promise. I didn’t think she was going to bring this up again; she’s been acting like it never happened. So I just nod.

“It’s possible that it was just the adrenaline getting to me. You don’t necessarily need to read into it,” she goes on.

I raise an eyebrow at her, questioning.

“It’s a thing!” she says, her eyes wide and guileless as she explains. “It really is. People who are in high-intensity situations together frequently bond more quickly than they would otherwise. It’s a phenomenon. It probably has a name and everything.”

I nod slowly. “I have heard of that, actually. Maybe that’s why…” I let my words fade away as I begin reviewing the past twenty-four hours, seeing my feelings in a new light.

“That’s why…what?”

I step closer to her. “That’s probably it,” I say, the words spilling out of me in an effort to be validated. I ignore my embarrassment as I go on, “I’ve been feeling kind of—kind ofweirdabout you. That’s probably it, right?”

She tilts her head, looking curious. “Weird how?”

“I don’t know,” I mutter, trying to shove my hand through my hair and failing because of how grimy it is now. “Just…weird. Sort of overprotective.”

“Ah,” she says slowly, and I swear I can hear the gears turning in her mind. It’s an infuriating feeling to see her thinking so hard about something, but not being able to tell exactlywhatshe’s thinking.

“Molly?” I prompt. “That’s probably what’s happening, right?”

She hesitates for a split second, so brief I might even be imagining things, before giving me a decisive nod. “Very possible.”

“Yeah,” I say, slightly breathless as relief courses through me. “That’s it.”

“Either way,” she says with a shrug. “This morning won’t happen again.”

“Yeah,” I repeat. “Got it.”

“On one condition,” she adds, and I freeze. “I have one condition.”

I sigh. Ofcourseshe has one condition. “Fine. Let’s hear it.”

“We have to be friends,” she says. Her voice is completely matter-of-fact, like she’s been thinking about this for a long time.

“I thought we already decided to be friends,” I say.

She shakes her head. “I’m talking aboutactualfriends. You were just saying that before, because you felt bad. I’m not stupid, Beckett. But from now on, no being weird or standoffish. I’m going to try to be less of a people pleaser, and you can practice forming relationships by hanging out with me. Deal?” I watch as she swallows and something more vulnerable passes over her face. “I kind of really need someone to be close to right now. It doesn’t even have to last forever. Just until we find my family again?”

And I hate the way she’s already making concessions—like she’s trying to appease me by promising she won’t be too much of a pest. Because it makes it crystal clear that she thinks I genuinely dislike her. A twist of guilt tugs at my insides, as well as something warmer—the bizarre desire to give her more than she’s asking for, just to see how happy it makes her. It’s a tangle of emotions that don’t make sense.

But…friends.Realfriends. With Molly O’Malley, the woman who has me strangely off-kilter.

It’s…more appealing than it should be, a tempting prospect. And she’s talking about practicing forming relationships, but what worries me is that with Molly, it doesn’t feel like the kind of thing I wouldneedto force, or to practice. She’s one of the most natural, genuine people I’ve ever met. If I could get out of my head, a true friendship with her would be as easy as breathing.

I study her as she stands there in front of me. There’s a smudge of mud on her left cheek, just under her eye. Her hair is desperately trying to escape its confines, reduced to a mass of red that gives off the same feeling as a tornado in a straight jacket. Her eyes are sparkling up at me, her lips tilting at the corners as she waits patiently for me to say something.

“All right,” I say. I can’t say why, but it’s the smudge of mud that seals the deal for me. I’ll be friends with Molly,truefriends with her, so that I can make sure her face is always clean and her smile is always genuine. “Friends. For real this time.”

“Excellent!” she says, her smile spreading widely across her pale, mud-smudged face. She moves to stand next to me, so that we’re both looking at the side of the boat instead of at each other, and then—to my surprise—she swings one arm up around me.

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