I follow her eyes back to the Partridge house, where Cass has dutifully returned to mowing the lawn. Horizontally. Shirt off again, hair gleaming in the sun.
My God.
“What, Gwenners? Thinking of asking Cassidy to be a spare set of hands?” She tips her head at me, eyes twinkling.
“No! What? No! You know my policy. Hands off. Avoid at all cost.”
Vivien snorts. “You sure? Because you’re getting that glazed look that leads to bad judgment, impulsive decision-making, and a walk of shame.”
Even though it’s Vivie, no real criticism there, I can feel my face go red. I look down at the ground, kick aside a pebble.
“There were only two actual walks of shame.”
Vivien’s face sobers. She flings her leg over the bike and knocks back the kickstand, moves closer. “Cassidy Somers . . .
right here on the island. Just . . . watch your step, Gwenners.
Be careful with yourself.” Her fierce expression is so at odds with her sweet face and my childhood nickname that I want to laugh, but there’s a little twist in my stomach too.
We all can’t be Vivie and Nic.
My cousin and my best friend have been an item since we were all five, when I ceremonially performed their wedding service on Sandy Claw Beach. Since we were more familiar with boat launchings than weddings, I bashed them both on the knees with a bottle of apple juice.
How many people, honestly, get the guy they’ve loved all their lives treating them like they’re rare and precious and deserving of adoration? Hardly anyone, right?
Still, there’s a big gap between that and some unseemly scuffling in the sand.
Or a bunk bed.
Or a Bronco.
“Gwen!” Vivie snaps her fingers. “Stay with me, here.
Remember your promise. Want your dad to catch you rolling around on the beach again, like with”—she hesitates, lowers her voice—“Alex?”
I cringe, turn my back on the Partridges’ lawn. Then I hold up one hand, resting the other on an imaginary Bible. “I remember. From now on, I will not, no matter how tempted, get even close to a compromising position with someone unless I love them and they love me.”
“And?”
“And unless we’ve passed a lie detector test to prove this,” I finish obediently. “But I have to say, that’s going to be awkward.
Carrying around all the equipment, setting it up . . .”
“Just stay out of the sand dunes. And far away from those parties on the Hill,” Vivien says. “When it’s real love, no equipment necessary. You just look in their eyes and it’s all there.”
“Go apply for that job at Hallmark right this instant!” I swat her on the shoulder. She ducks away, kicking the bike back into gear, laughing.
I wouldn’t pass the lie detector test myself if I didn’t say that, oh, I want what Vivien and Nic found without even having to search. I give one last look over my shoulder at the back of Cass’ uptilted head, as Mrs. Partridge once again bellows at him from the porch.