Page 57 of The Breakup Artists

She stops her cup halfway to her mouth. “Not at all?”

“Not at—” I say, halting as I consider my imaginary drawings.

“What?”

“No. Nothing.” I shift in my chair, not willing to admit those even to myself.

She watches me for a long moment, then nods to herself like she sees more than I’m saying. And maybe she does because she says, “I hated astrology for a whole year after my grandmother died. Couldn’t even look at it without bawling.”

I look up at her. “I get that.”

“I know you do. I think you get a lot of things about me,” she says, and we hold eye contact for a long second, so long that I feel my heartbeat in my temples.

She takes a sip of lemonade.

I’m still recalibrating when she asks, “So then that painting offer wasn’t real?”

“Honestly...” I pause to consider it. “I meant it when I said it, but that was before you knew what it meant to me. I feel... I don’t know. A little...”

“Vulnerable?” she offers.

“I was gonna say embarrassed, but yeah,” I admit with an audible exhale.

She eyes me, like she’s trying to decide something. “Well, you know what? I had no intention of taking you up on that offer. But I just changed my mind.”

I hesitate, caught squarely between a definitive no as August and an obligatory yes as Holden. Shit.

“Tomorrow. My house.” She takes a bite of her crêpe like everything is settled.

And for the first time since we started Summer Love, I’m nervous. I was supposed to be providing Ella with a friendly ear, someone to hash things out with and challenge her norm to see what shakes out. How is it that she’s challenging my norm? I don’t know how to feel about it, and I certainly don’t want to go through with it. But what choice do I have? Tell Tiny I’m sorry, but I’m giving up the much-needed tuition money this job is providing and sabotaging this case? And even if I were okay with ruining our dream-school plans, which I’m not, I’d never abandon Ella knowing what I know. Even if this case goes wrong, even if she winds up hating me, I want her to see Justin for who he really is and make a choice for herself. We all need someone to lean on once in a while, someone who’ll be honest and tell us when we’ve behaved poorly or overreacted or in Ella’s case when she’s making decisions for her future based on other people’s needs and not her own. I get paid to do this job, but I don’t do it for the money. I do it because Des would have, and because I wish someone did it for her.

29

valentine

The sun is low in the sky as I walk toward the beach, and big fluffy clouds float in the distance, promising a gorgeous romantic sunset during my date with Bentley. Damn it, August, you couldn’t have made plans with Ella one hour earlier?

I kick off my sandals at the edge of the beach and retie my white hoodie around the waist of my long maxi dress. I head for the sandy path and follow it past the dunes, onto a mostly empty expanse of beach. There are a few dog owners playing catch with their pets, a few families packing up their gear, and Bentley. He’s down by the break, jeans rolled up under his knees and his ankles in the water.

Bentley turns as I approach, and the glowy light illuminates his sun-bleached hair.

“Hey,” he says, all nerves.

“Hey yourself,” I reply, not exempt from nerves, either.

He steps out of the water and joins me on the warm sand. “You came.”

I laugh, dropping my sandals. “You thought I wouldn’t?”

“Maybe?”

“And risk you throwing pebbles at my window in the middle of the night again? Nope.”

“No regrets.” He holds eye contact and gives me a small hopeful smile. “It got you here.”

No wonder girls fall over themselves to get his attention. That look is nice. Really nice.

“Should we walk?” I ask, changing my mind about the sunset being a problem.