“You’re not really an open book, are you?” I say, reaching over and poking him on the arm.
“Sorry,” he says, with a lilt. “It takes a lot for me to open up.”
“You don’t say,” I tease.
He rolls over onto his side, facing me again. “What else do you want to know?”
I place an index finger on my chin as I contemplate. “Ever been married?”
“Oh, no. Not even close.”
I laugh. “Me either. Um . . . let’s see . . . last girlfriend.”
“Wow. You’re really grilling me now.”
“This is my subtle way of asking if you’re dating anyone.”
“The last boyfriend for you was Declan Stone, I’m guessing?”
“If you want to call it that,” I say. “And stop trying to bring it back to me. I’m asking the questions now.”
“No girlfriend,” he says. “And the last one was probably three years ago. I’ve mostly been focused on work.”
“And that is not running a bookshop?”
He makes a sort of uncomfortable-sounding laugh. “No, the bookshop was me coming back home after a business I started in Fort Lauderdale failed.”
“Oh yeah, that’s rough.”
“You ever own a business?” It’s so dark out here in this backyard, I can barely make out the ribbing eyebrow lift Briggs gives me.
“Nope, but I once played a cyborg who owned a trinket shop, and we were having a hard time getting supplies because of an intergalactic war that was going on. So, I’m basically an expert.”
He laughs, and I can barely see the white of his teeth. “It’s . . . a little different than that.”
“What kind of business?”
“Software,” he says. I think that’s all he’s going to tell me but then he takes a breath and continues. “AssistGen was the name. At its core it was a virtual assistant app we designed to anticipate the needs of the end user. It could do a bunch of things, like schedule appointments and manage tasks and even offer personalized recommendations based on preferences.”
“Oh wow, I didn’t take you for a nerd.”
He chortles. “A nerd who lost his company. So not a very good one.”
“I wonder how many times Steve Jobs had to start over.”
“Yeah, he didn’t, really.”
“Shoot, I was going for something inspiring,” I say.
“Thanks for trying. There are plenty of them out there to inspire me. But right now, inspiration isn’t enough, and I’m not sure what I want to do next.”
“I’m sure whatever you decide to do, it’ll be great,” I say.
He lets out another heavy breath. “I’m not so sure right now. Maybe you should ask me next year.”
“I will,” I tell him, and I mean it.
Slowly, we’ve been inching toward each other as we’ve been talking. Not on purpose, but I’m guessing because of the trampoline mat and probably something to do with physics, which I have zero understanding of, but it must be science that’s happening here. It’s science that’s drawing us toward each other. At least that’s what I’m telling myself. I don’t want to think it’s possible that we’ve been doing it on our own, like a magnetic sort of attraction that can’t be avoided.
Briggs is so close right now that if I leaned in, just a little, I could kiss him. If I wanted. Do I want to? I kind of do. But I also don’t because I already did that once and it was a total foolish jerk-girl move. It was a really great kiss, though . . .
Presley James, stop it right now.
There will be no kissing. I’m grateful to Briggs for wanting to help me get through this summer, and I need to keep things on the friendly side. It’s for the best. Plus, and this is a big plus, except for kissing me back the other night, he’s shown no signs of wanting anything other than friendship. This is a good thing. I’ll keep repeating that until I believe it. This. Is. A. Good. Thing.
Briggs and I can be friends, and that’s exactly what I need for the summer.
I turn away from him, lying on my back, looking at the twinkling stars above us. That was a good decision to put some distance between us. I’m proud of myself.
I, Presley James, solemnly swear to keep my lips and hands to myself this summer.
It’s how it must be.
“You don’t need to do this, you know,” I tell him as we walk back to the resort, the humid air and the lovely sea breeze surrounding us. We took a pathway along the coastline, and honestly, it’s kind of a perfect night.
Just like Saturday night, I escaped via bicycle, which Briggs, glasses restored to his handsome face, is currently walking back, his big hands on the handlebars as he guides it.
