Page 51 of Shut Up and Drive

“Me too,” he replies, almost in a whisper.

“You’re too hard to dunk now, though.”

“You’re not!” He laughs and pushes me under again.

When I pop back up I yell, “Flag on the play! Unnecessary roughness!”

Thane doesn’t laugh.

I turn to see where his eyes are fixed, and there stands Bradley, holding a suitcase.

“Bradley. Wh-what are you doing here?” I stammer.

“The better question here is, what areyoudoing, Serafina? And who isthis?”

I’m in shock at the sight of my ex on thedock above me. My tongue feels too big for my mouth, and I suddenly forget how to tread water.

“Bradley, this is Thane Donnelly. He is…” I’m not sure how to finish that sentence, so I settle on “…an old family friend. Our two families do this vacation every year, remember?”

“No, I don’t remember. And need I remind you that we had a flight to Bimini to catch yesterday, that you totally missed? I waited for you at the airport forhours!”

“How did you know I was here?” I demand.

“My laptop still showed your location. So I booked the first flight I could. You can apologize later for ghosting me at the airport, but right now, you need to quit acting like a child and get out of the water.”

I hang my head. I never realized how much he spoke down to me until after I dumped him. I’m not sure what to do. He’s not my boyfriend anymore, but I don’t want to make a scene, so I shamefully swim to the dock. Thane waits in the water right behind me, and squeezes my hand in solidarity just before I climb onto the ladder. I need it more than I realize and a lump grows in my throat.

I toss Thane a towel from our communal towel bin. “I’m going to jump in the shower. Leave your wet clothes in the laundry room and I’ll wash them with mine later,” I say to him, avoiding eye contact.

Bradley puts a towel around my shoulders and leads me toward the lake house. Before I duck through the door, I look back at Thane. His stiff shoulders and clenched fists are indicative of exactly how he feels about Bradley. When Thane meets my eyes, his expression shifts into despondence and asad smile replaces the joy we had minutes earlier. Although we are almost a hundred feet apart, I feel his hurt in my chest. His eyes say a million things that never pass his lips, yet I hear them. They sink deep in my soul and my eyes begin to sting.

I have to get upstairs and away from prying eyes so I can pull myself together.

“Hey, can you make me a cup of coffee?” I ask Bradley as I rush through the kitchen. “Everything is set to go, you just have to push the button. Creamer is in the fridge and sugar is on the table. We’ll talk after I’m done showering, okay?”

“Fine,” he says curtly, and I high-tail it up the stairs.

The moment the water hits my skin, I start to bawl. Yes, the humiliation from the way Bradley acted weighs heavy on my shoulders. But I’m used to his outbursts and immature ways. The look on Thane’s face is what burned like fire, though. He exposed so much of what I’ve faked a smile through by witnessing firsthand how I allowed Bradley to treat me. Being treated poorly is one thing, but knowing in my heart that I disappointed Thane, I don’t know how to process it all.

When the hot water starts to run out, I shut off the faucet, get dressed, and pull my wet hair into a messy bun. We never know when the urge to jump into the lake will strike, and there’s no sense in spending a lot of time on my hair and makeup. That’s one of the things I love about our time here: low-maintenance primping. I barely slap on a coat of mascara before heading downstairs.

Thane and Bradley stand in silence on opposite sides of the kitchen, staring at each other like a duel is about toensue. I feel more like a side character in the movieTombstonethan I do a pastry chef on vacation.

“Hi,” I say, trying to cut the tension.

“I made you some coffee,” Bradley says stiffly, handing me a cup. “Black. Perfect for staying in ketosis.”

I take it from him and inhale a deep breath of courage. “Thank you. But I’m not staying in ketosis while on vacation.” When his stare levels me to a pile of rubble, I finish it off with, “Is that okay?” I’m not sure why I even asked; I never needed his permission to eat or drink anything I wanted—though he shared his opinion on the subject plenty. Thane’s eyebrows shoot up at my request, and shame washes over me. “Never mind. I’m just going to get some sug—“ Thane interrupts my thought by handing me the sugar bowl and a spoon, “and a bit of—“ then he hands me the creamer from the fridge. The final blow comes when he grabs the vanilla syrup from the pantry and puts a pump in my cup.

I stare at the transformation of bitter black coffee into a caramel-colored delight.

My eyes ask him,You remember?

And his whisper in return:I’d never forget.

He pats my arm and says, “The hammock is set up outside for you, and your book is on the stump. Enjoy your morning, Fina.” He passes behind me and heads upstairs to shower.

I clutch my coffee mug and fight to swallow the lump rising up in my throat.