Page 4 of Where the Blacktop Ends

I sit up quickly, my hat—once shielding my face from the sun—flopping onto my lap. As I take in my surroundings, the shift in atmosphere is impossible to miss.

The crowd has thickened, and the sun has begun its slow descent. The families and kids from earlier are gone, replaced by clusters of older guests gathered around tables draped in lavender tulle, murmuring in hushed voices as they sip what looks like hundred-dollar bourbon and champagne.

Beyond them, the rest of the crowd is a mix—some younger, some middle-aged, some completely gray. Different backgrounds, different faces. But one thing ties them all together—their tax bracket.

Sure, I can’t tell their net worth just by looking at them, but after working in politics and living in the Hamptons for so long, you start to pick up on the subtle signs—those who carry quiet wealth and those who flaunt it with a little too much pride.

The filthy rich.

The gentle laughter of the crowd filters towards where James and I are still laying by the pool, and I’m reminded that I’mextremelyunderdressed.

People are mingling, chatting casually, snacking on hors d’oeuvres and the pool lights are flickering romantically. But there’s nothing about the scene that screams “over forties party.” It all feels far too refined for what James had hinted at:“Crazy sex. The fifty-year-olds are the wildest. Heard they are into threesomes!”

“So, what’s our plan?” I ask, sitting all the way upright now and rubbing my hands together like a fly preparing for its first meal. I may be severely out of my depth here, but when it comes to James, I’ve never cared about feeling out of place simply because he’s never made me feel that way.

“We have no plan,” he responds, before swinging his legs over the edge of the chair and standing up, extending his hand to me.

He’s still wearing only a pair of swim trunks with no shirt, and it doesn’t look like he has any plans on changing which is good news for me since all I brought is what I have on. “Let’s go grab some drinks and mingle. Act natural. It’ll all happenorganically.”

“But what if someone wants to... I don’t know...?”

James winks. “If you’re not interested, I’ll gladly step in and rescue you. You’ve always said you’ve never been with an older man. What happened to all those age gap romances you love reading?”

I burst out laughing—he’s not wrong. But in books, a twenty-year age gap feels a lot more romantic than the reality staring me down in the heads of salt and peppered hair in front of me. Still, I’m never one to back down from whatever trouble James has in mind, so I decide to jump right in, but first – “Oh my gosh, is that Beverly Dupres?” I hiss, trying not to point at the heiress to the DupresOne Champagne Dynasty that’s based out of New York City. James eyes dart in the direction of where I’m looking, a grin crossing his face.

“It sure is. Quick, let’s go grab champagne and act like we know everything about it to impress her.” He tugs me in the direction of a server, and we take two flutes before bursting into laughter.Between James and I, we make up our careers and a believable story around our sibling relationship, though we look nothing alike, keeping straight faces the entire time as we chat with Ms. Dupres.

I can smell the wealth rolling off the people we mingle with, caught up in the fumes of their perfume and cologne, and though I’m sure some of them are judging me in my skimpy bikini and see through cover-up, I’m having a blast. It’s all fun until James catches the eye of a beautiful older woman with soft skin and kind eyes who seems extremely interested in him, and I decide to leave him to it.

I head toward the water’s edge, peeling off the sheer cover up I tugged on and then slip into the pool. The water is still warm, calming my nerves and the strong scent of chlorine grounds me. Summer is just starting, but with nightfall settling in, there’s the faintest hint of a crisp in the air, a subtle bite that promises a storm coming ahead.

I can’t wait.

Summer storms were always my favorite. I used to put on my swimsuit and run out into the rain, dancing and singing in the storm with my parents on Cameron ranch. These types of moments make me ache for my family—but only for a second until I remember I’m no longer a kid and eventually, Peter needs to return from Neverland. With the Smiths leaving for Florida in less than four months, my day may be arriving earlier than I hoped.

I lean against the pool’s edge, watching James work the room with effortless charm.

He’s so tall and handsome, it’s no surprise everyone wants to talk to him. With his dark blonde hair and warm brown eyes, he looks like someone who could’ve been on Harvard’s rowing team—broad-shouldered, probably wearing a Harvard sweatshirt, casually sipping a beer with his frat brothers. In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what he did during his time in college.

James and I have known each other for five years now. We met by chance during my first year nannying for the Smiths while I was playing with the kids by the coastline. Evie was just a baby, napping peacefully under the shade of an umbrella, while Ember and I were busy building a sandcastle. And that’s when James jogged by, shirtless, and casually asked if we needed any help. At the time, I had no idea he was a well-known architect for the city and who his family was - extremely wealthy, and politically connected New York socialites.

A few hours spent digging and chatting, and we’d constructed what the Hamptons may have seen as their first true work of art in the form of sand – a gigantic sculpture of the statue of liberty. I’d ended up in a fit of giggles because the whole thing looked a lot like Ms. Liberty was throwing up the middle finger rather than holding up a torch. Thankfully, the kids didn’t know any difference.

Later that night, James showed up at the cottage the Smiths rented for me every summer. After a few rounds of tequila and trading horror stories about the wild, reckless things we used to get up to, one thing led to another, and we ended up hooking up—a moment fueled by a shared bond and way too much liquor. It was the first and last time it would ever happen as we realized our newly forged friendship was too precious and we were too much alike for anything more.

And so began our wonderfully reckless friendship, spanning the next five years.

Whenever I’d come back into town, we’d meet up for spontaneous adventures on my days off. On the days I had thekids, James would tag along as I dragged them to museums, the beach, the country club pool, and wherever else I decided to take them.

He’d always claim he wasn’t a fan of kids, teasing that Evie and Ember drove him crazy, but somehow, he found himself right in the middle of it—whether it was being tackled by them or swinging them around like a fun uncle, tossing them into the ocean.

Having James around always feels a little like having an older brother—one who’s charming, endlessly mischievous, and occasionally a terrible influence. The Smiths like him, too. Probably because of his last name and the kind of political alliances his family can bring to Mr. Smith’s career.

It wasn’t until last summer that I fully grasped justhowpowerful his family really is. Old money. Manhattan elite. Their massive waterfront estate could rival even the Smiths’, a sprawling testament to generations of influence. And yet, despite all that luxury, James always prefers my tiny, rented cottage when he’s in town, acting like my worn-out secondhand couch is somehow more appealing than the marble halls he spent the summer in as a child.

And while we never crossed the line again, our bond has only deepened. What we have isn’t built on fleeting attraction—it’s something stronger. A friendship grounded in loyalty, trust, and an unspoken promise to always have each other’s backs.

My parents, of course, have other ideas. They’d love nothing more than for things to turn romantic, convinced James is the perfect candidate to “finally settle me down” and give them a grandchild to take overCameron Ranch.But James and I have never seen each other that way. Our lives are too different, our futures mapped out in opposite directions. And yet, none of thatever matters when we’re together. We understand each other in ways that don’t require explanation. We protect each other’s hearts. And though we’ve never said it out loud, we both know—whoever we end up with will have to accept that. Because neither of us are going anywhere.

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