“I’m okay,” I answer honestly.
“Good,” he says, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. “Shall we finish our breakfast?”
We sit back down at our table, and something in me relaxes—enough that I tell him a little about Colton: how his family owns a kayak rental shop, about the cave and how scared I was to paddle into it, and the cliff where we had a picnic. It feels good to talk about him out loud. Not to keep him so secret and separate from this part of my life. I’m on a roll with little details about all these things when I realize my dad’s just smiling and listening.
“What?” I ask, all of a sudden self-conscious.
“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head. “He just sounds like someone who’s good to be around. Good for you to be around.”
I smile. “He is.”
I miss Colton right then, and I realize today is the first day in who knows how many that I haven’t seen him. I didn’t even get a chance to listen to his message.
When I get home, I close the door of my room and hit the voicemail button on my phone, waiting for Colton’s voice to come on, sounding the way it always does, like he’s smiling while he’s talking.
“Hey, good morning. You’re probably already up and running all over the hills with your sister. I know we were maybe gonna drive up the coast, but I, um, forgot I have to go up north for the day. Something for the shop, so we’ll have to save that for another time. Good news is I’ll be back tomorrow night, so you should definitely come down for the fireworks if you can—if you want to.” He pauses. “I want you to.” There’s another pause, and then he laughs a little. “Anyway. Gimme a call when you can, and have a good day, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow night. I hope.”
I replay the message and listen to his voice a second and then a third time, and when I think of seeing him again, I hope too—that whatever it is we have can be more. That we can be more.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“There is no instinct like that of the heart.”
—Lord Byron
IN ALL OUR days spent together, I haven’t yet been to Colton’s house, but he asked me to meet him here tonight. I don’t have to look at the address to guess which one is his, because I see his bus parked in the open garage as soon as I turn the corner. On the stretch of bluff road that’s lined with whitewashed, modern-styled houses, Colton’s stands out, and my first thought is Of course, this is his house. It sits farther back on the property than the others, the shingled face making it look warmer and more lived-in than the surrounding houses, with their sleek lines and cold exteriors. Bright tropical flowers line the edges of the lawn, and a row of towels and wet suits hangs over the railing of the second-story deck.
I slow and park at the curb across the street, and a little wave of nervousness passes through me when I see Colton come through the doorway into the garage and throw a couple of towels into the bus. He’s about to turn around and go back in when he sees me and starts in my direction. I take a deep breath before I get out, now even more anxious because it’s been a day since we’ve seen each other and I’ve never been to his house before. Or maybe it’s because Ryan insisted I wear her dress. Or because this is usually the time I’m heading home. It’s a different feeling, arriving for the evening.
“Wow,” Colton says, meeting me in the middle of his street, “you look . . . wow.”
“Thanks? I think?” I say, silently thanking Ryan.
“I’m sorry, yes. That was definitely a compliment.” He looks down, and I see a flash of self-consciousness in his eyes that makes me smile.
“You look wow too,” I say, gesturing at his now-familiar uniform of surf T-shirt and board shorts. He laughs at this, but it’s true. His shirt clings to his shoulders just enough, and the deep green of it sets off his tan and his eyes.
“Thanks,” he says. “I try.”
We stand there in the middle of his street, taking in the evening air and each other in the twilight, until a car comes around the corner, then slows, snapping us out of our little moment.
Colton makes a motion with his head toward his garage. “I just gotta load the kayak and then we can go.” He glances over at me as we walk up the driveway. “You brought a bathing suit, right?”
“Yeah, it’s in the car. Should I grab it?”
“Yeah. Actually, you may want to put it on here so you don’t have to in the parking lot.”
Though I’m plenty practiced at changing beneath a carefully held up towel by now, it’s nice not to have to, so I go back to my car and grab my suit. When I get back to the garage, Colton’s pushing the kayak onto the roof of the bus.
“Where should I . . .”
“You can use my bathroom,” he says over his shoulder as he shoves the kayak forward, onto the rack above his head. “It’s down the hall, last door on the left.”
“Okay,” I say absently, but I don’t go anywhere.
My eyes have found the thin strip of skin that’s exposed between the waist of Colton’s board shorts and his T-shirt as he reaches up to strap the kayak onto the rack. The skin is so much lighter than his face or his arms, and I know why. He doesn’t ever take off his shirt. I’ve never seen him with it off, have only guessed at his scars and what they look like now, always hidden beneath a wet suit or a rash guard or a shirt.
He catches me looking and smiles before his arms come down, hiding the parts of him he’s not ready for me to see. “You need me to show you?”
Yes, I think. “No,” I say. “I can find it.” I step through the door into the hallway. Exhale.