“So have there been any more stalkers looking in your room?” I ask as our feet splash in the shallow water, a teasing smile on my face.
A couple of days ago while I was working at the bookshop, Presley called me, frantic because someone was outside her window and she was sure it was paparazzi or a crazed fan. I told her to call the police . . . Well, she called Beau, the one policeman we have on the island. He came over and checked and it happened to be one of the resort’s gardeners.
“Shut up,” she says, pushing me lightly on the arm. “I thought for sure I’d been found.”
“I’m still kind of amazed word hasn’t gotten out.” I think it’s made me realize that word travels fast on this island, but then it just sort of stays here.
“I know,” she says. “It’s been amazing. This has been the most perfect summer.” She does a little spinning thing, hands out toward the sky, water splashing around her ankles.
I want to grab her right now and kiss her perfect pink lips, but I don’t.
I tease her instead. “You know that it’s only June, right? Today is literally the first day of summer, officially.”
“Oh, that’s right. Happy first official day of summer to you,” she says.
“And to you,” I say, with a dip of my head.
She looks out toward the ocean. “Official or not, it’s been summer to me. Is it sad that I’ve been so deprived of the season that only three weeks in and I can already declare this one better than any other summer?”
“No,” I say. “I’ve had regular summers, and I can definitely say this already ranks in the top twenty-eight of them.”
She snorts out a laugh. “Well played.”
“I give it a six point one out of ten,” I say.
“Wow, you’re even tougher than I am.”
I think about all my past summers; most of them are blurry, or not very memorable. This summer could have possibly been listed under one of the worst ever, having had to return to the island with no plan for what to do with my life, and yet, it’s been kind of the best. If I had to base it on the part since meeting Presley, it’s a ten for sure. Or maybe a nine point five since I can no longer kiss her. Why am I so sensible, anyway? What a stupid way to be.
“We’ve packed a lot in already. I’ve never had a summer like this,” I tell her. “In fact, if we keep up this pace, we’ll run out of things to do.”
“We’ll just start the list over again,” she says.
“I like that plan,” I say, feeling something warm settling along my shoulders that’s not from the humid air. It’s just, simply, Presley.
I don’t want to think about the summer ending and us going our separate ways. I want to think about endless summers and infinite possibilities.
But I know that’s not how life works. So, I’ll just take what I can get and try not to fall harder than I already have for the woman smiling next to me as we walk along the beach.
Presley
“How dare you disrespect me, Falgon. I’m the leader of this team, and you will do as I say,” I recite the line to Briggs, who’s leaning against the counter, a screenplay in front of him, as I pace around the front part of the bookshop.
It’s the next Monday and Briggs had to work all day, so I came over an hour before closing to keep him company. It was a slow day, so he closed the store after I got here and now he’s running lines with me, something he offered to do yesterday when we took a bike ride up to the lighthouse on the opposite side of the island. The bike ride was fun and the lighthouse was . . . just a lighthouse. But I was with Briggs, so we could have been looking at a random palm tree or counting blades of grass and I’d have been happy. Okay, maybe not counting blades of grass. Or maybe even that? Briggs can find a way to make me laugh no matter what we’re doing.
“But what do you even know of the Syndarians, Callis? They will trample all over us with this plan.” Briggs says his line with a strange alien voice that sounds a little like he’s sucked on some helium.
“Stop,” I say through a laugh. “Falgon is this like massively huge battle warrior.”
“Who’s playing him?”
“Landon West,” I say, picturing the popular Australian actor, with his dark-blond hair and light-blue eyes. He’s mainly done superhero movies up until this point. Not that an intergalactic warrior is all that different.
“Oh, right,” he says, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Of course. He’ll make a great battle warrior.”
“And Callis’s love interest.”
“So, like an enemies-to-lovers sort of thing?”
I cock my head to the side. “Well done, knowing your tropes.”
“You can thank Marianne McMannus for that.”
“I suppose growing up with a mom who owns a bookstore, it would be a shame if you didn’t know at least some literary themes.”
“It would,” he agrees.
“Impressive, Briggs Cyrano Dalton,”
He snorts out a laugh. “Nope.”
“Drat,” I say, stomping a foot for added emphasis.
“Okay, let me try the line again,” he says, clearing his throat and saying it once more with a deeper baritone this time around.
“Better?” he asks after he’s read it.
