“What was it like working with Austin Butler?” Scout asks around a mouthful of food, which our mom has reprimanded her for more than once already tonight. Scout gets like this when she’s excited, like nothing can get in her way when she’s got something on her mind. There have been many conversations with the bathroom door between us, her screaming a story at me while I’m trying to take a shower.
“You may not want to ask her about actors,” I say before Presley can answer Scout’s question.
“Briggs,” Presley says, pushing my arm lightly.
“I’m just saying, you might not want to know the truth about people.”
Presley rolls her eyes. “Austin Butler is probably one of the coolest people I’ve worked with.”
“Yes! I knew it,” Scout says, clapping her hands excitedly. “Was he a good kisser?”
“Scout Genevieve McMannus,” my mom says, an appalled look on her face.
“What?” Scout scrunches her button nose at our mom. “It’s a good question. He’s got really nice lips. Like, they’re so pillowy. He looks like he’d be good at it.” She puckers her lips and mimics kissing the air.
“Scout!” both my mom and I say at the same time.
Presley looks like she’s trying not to laugh, and having a hard time holding it in.
“Ignore her,” I tell Presley.
When Scout moves from air kisses to kissing her hand and making exaggerated smooching noises, Presley can no longer hold back and bursts into giggles. She leans in toward me, her head landing on my shoulder as she laughs. It feels like something you’d do with someone you’ve known for a long time. Even though I only officially met Presley four days ago, it doesn’t feel strange at all.
I look over at my mom, who should be putting a stop to Scout’s antics, and instead find her holding a half-eaten pulled pork sandwich in her hands, frozen as she watches Presley and me. I can actually see the calculations going on behind those green eyes. She’s picturing romance and weddings and grandbabies, and I will need to put a stop to it as soon as possible because there’s nothing romantic between Presley and me.
Sure, she kissed me, and I liked it . . . a lot. But that’s all that’s happened, and Presley apologized for it because it was a mistake. One that won’t happen again. My life is kind of a mess right now. I don’t have a job, nor any prospects, and my bank account is nearly empty—the last thing I need is to become romantically entangled with someone, especially Presley, who has her own stuff going on. Even if that weren’t the case and we were both in healthy places in life, that doesn’t mean anything would happen between us. We’re from two different worlds. She’s a famous actress, and I’m just a regular, small-town boy.
Even beyond all that, Presley would have to like me in that way, and I just don’t see it happening.
“Okay, if you won’t tell me about Austin Butler, then what about Zac Efron?” Scout says, her eyebrows wagging.
“He’s a great guy,” Presley offers.
“But is he a good—”
“No,” I say, shaking my head and cutting her off. “No more kissing questions.”
“Fine,” Scout replies to me, although her eyes are looking up toward the ceiling. “You’re so boring.”
Boring is a step up from annoying, I’d say.
“Well, Presley,” my mom says, her voice indicating that we are changing the subject. “What do you think of the island?”
I look to Presley, who’s smiling kindly. “It’s great, very beautiful,” she says. Oh, she’s got the acting thing down. I know she doesn’t think it’s great and feels more like she’s trapped here.
My mom dips her chin once. “It is, isn’t it? It’s been home for sixteen years now.”
“What brought you here?” Presley asks.
“My husband, Keith,” my mom says, a sorrow-filled smile spreading across her lips. “I’d given up on love and all that after I divorced Briggs’s dad. But then I met Keith, and he swept me off my feet. He’s from the island, and so he convinced me to move here.”
Presley must not notice the solemn look on my mom’s face, because she looks to me and then back at my mom. “Did he . . . have to work tonight?”
“Daddy passed away three years ago,” Scout says.
Both my mom and I look at Scout, who, up until this moment, hadn’t been able to say that to anyone without breaking into tears. But she looks fine right now, her lips pulled into a straight line, her eyes bright and dry, her expression calm and composed.
My mom clears her throat, unable to hold back her own feelings as her eyes shine under the pendant light hanging above the dining room table. “It was a heart attack,” she finally says.
Presley looks to me with big eyes, nonverbally asking me why I hadn’t told her this. It wasn’t that I was purposefully keeping it from her—it was just never part of the conversation. We didn’t talk all that much about me on Saturday night except for superficial things. Favorite books, favorite movies, that kind of thing. There was no diving into the nitty-gritty of my past because we just never went there. And also, I didn’t want to.
“I’m so sorry,” Presley says, her voice almost a whisper.
“Oh, it is what it is,” my mom says, dismissing the sentiment with a shake of her head. She’s trying to keep it in, but her words come out wobbly. I’ve never been married, but I’m assuming you don’t ever get over the loss of a spouse, especially one you loved very much.
And my mom did love Keith, even if he and I didn’t always see eye to eye. My relationship with him wasn’t bad—it just wasn’t all that good, either. Still, I miss him, especially for my mom and for Scout, who was only eleven when he died.
My mom takes a big breath. “Okay, let’s talk about something lighter, shall we?” Her head bobs up and down as she looks around the table.
“Well, I love the bookshop,” Presley says, and that’s the perfect topic change, as my mom’s sad eyes instantly turn to heart ones.
“Thank you. I’ve loved running it. It doesn’t make much money, but we’re staying afloat for now. It did help when there was a rumor Presley James had been in the store.”
“And we can spread the rumor again after she leaves,” Scout says.
“Perfect,” says Presley.
“Oh!” Scout says, her loud voice reverberating off the walls. “Maybe we can do a photoshoot of you in the bookshop that we can hang all around the room! Like different poses of you with the books and stuff.” Her eyes are wide, full of ideas.