Page 41 of The Summer I First Saw You
I glance at Daisy and she’s already looking at me, eager to be out there. Hungry for it.
That surfer in Asilomar saw in an instant what I should have realized weeks ago: Daisy iseverythingI could ever want in a relationship—someone happy, someone who relishes life and is eager to be a part of it. A woman who will come to my bed with sand in her hair and smile the way Daisy is right now—as if life is an adventure, one she wants to share with me.
“Mon Dieu,” Oliver says under his breath when she goes to the bathroom to change into a bikini. “You weren’t lying before. She blows the mother away, does she not?”
“I meant it, Oliver,” I warn. “Don’t pursue her.”
There’s sympathy in his gaze when he glances over. “Yes, I know. You couldn’t be making it more clear.”
22
DAISY
It’s perfect here. The water is warmer than in Santa Cruz, the sun is bright, and there’s nothing to dodge aside from other surfers.
I’d worried that I’d feel like the interloper on this trip, that suddenly Harrison and I would revert to that old routine ofresponsible guy saddled with friend’s wayward niece, but the opposite is true.
“What do you think of the house, Daisy?” Oliver asks as we straddle our boards, waiting for the next set to come in. His accent is slight, more in where he places emphasis than in the words themselves.
“Absolutely amazing so far, though I haven’t made it past the main floor yet.”
I suppose Audrey would have been very sophisticated about the whole thing. She wouldn’t have insisted on surfing. She’d have fixed her makeup and opened a bottle of expensive champagne while expressing discontent with some small failing she’d found in the house—“I really don’t love this cabinetry,” or “Is there not a wine fridge?”
I don’t think Audrey was happy, and I don’t think Harrison was happy with her, but I’d still probably give up everything about myself if it just could make him want me the way he once wanted her.
“I’ll give you two the master bedroom on the top floor,” Oliver says. “It has its own hot tub, by the way.”
My eyes widen as I glance from him to Harrison, who is leveling his brother with the same kind of look Liam has often given me—the one that silently says, “You are such a pain in the ass.”
“We are not sharing a room, Oliver,” Harrison says. He almost manages to conceal the growl in his voice.
Oliver laughs and reaches for my hand, pressing a gentle kiss to my knuckles. “In that case, Daisy, how do you feel about sharing it with your old friend Oliver? I’m new to your country’s strange ways and scared to be alone.”
Harrison jerks my board away from Oliver’s without explanation. “You’re not new to this country,” he says, and this time he doesnotconceal his growl, “and she’s not staying in your fucking room.”
Oliver winks at me, as if this was exactly the outcome he’d hoped for.
The light is nearly gone by the time we get back to the house. There are three master bedrooms, but mine—isolated on the top floor—is the best.
They’re beside the kitchen counter chatting amiably in French when I arrive downstairs in a sundress thirty minutes later, my damp hair twisted into a topknot, a touch of red gloss on my mouth.
The conversation comes to a dead stop when they see me and for a moment their expressions are nearly identical. It’s as if I’m unexpected, and wondrous—a waterspout, a tidal wave, a sudden snowstorm in the middle of spring.
“You look lovely,” Oliver says, placing a hand at the small of my back and drawing me forward. “Doesn’t she look lovely, Harrison?”
Harrison’s jaw locks. “She’s nevernotlovely, Oliver,” he grunts, turning away to grab his keys. “Give it a rest.”
Oliver winks at me once again, as if we are in on something together, but it’s not entirely clear to me what we’re in on. Is he flirting with me? Is he trying to set me up with Harrison? I have no idea.
Whatever is unsettled between them relaxes once we reach the restaurant. We enjoy a lovely meal at an outdoor table that sits right on the sand. The first bottle of red is empty by the time our entrees arrive and a second is ordered, while Oliver regales me with tales of Harrison’s summer visits. I didn’t realize how much time he’d spent traveling with his brothers, for years and years, or that his mother and stepfather own so much property—a vineyard in some little town called St. Antoine, a beach house in Biarritz, a cottage in Provence.
“You must bring her to Provence next summer,” Oliver urges Harrison, turning to me. “Have you been?”
I’m sure Audrey has been to Provence a thousand times, so many times she can’t be bothered to stop when she’s passing through. “My family doesn’t havemultiple vacation homeskind of money. I’ve never even left the country.”
He grins. “Even more reason to come, then. And if you have sisters for me and Matthew, bring them as well. Youmustbring someone for Matthew, or he’ll steal you. He’s definitely the best-looking and most charming of us all.”
Harrison’s eyes are growing dark.
