Page 39 of Plotting Summer

He laughs, shaking his head.

Ready to change the subject, I appraise the bike and his position on it before stepping closer. “Remind me how I get on this thing? The last time I rode on handlebars, I think I was in middle school.” Technically, I watched a few videos of it being done when I was writing my fourth book, but that was also years ago. Though, to this day, that handlebar scene is still one of my favorites I’ve written. I’m not sure the specifics of the kiss were logistically possible, but again, that’s the beauty of fiction—the smudging of details to make things more idealistic. But now is definitely not the time to think about the logistics of kissing on a bike.

“Why don't you—” The sound of an approaching golf cart has us both glancing behind us, and Tristan groans when he sees the souped-up police cart with his brother at the helm.

“Hey!” Beau pulls up next to us. “This man isn’t bothering you, is he Capri?”

I smile at Tristan as though I’m tempted to say that he is, but instead I shake my head. “No. I got a flat tire.”

Beau leans sideways to see the bike behind me, and I get a brief glimpse of his dog. It’s the least intimidating dog I’ve ever seen—a Chow Chow with a lolling tongue hanging out the side of her mouth. But I guess if Sunset Harbor were to have a police dog, it’s a Chow Chow breed kind of island. Beau puts his cart in park and heads toward the bike, intentionally strutting in a way that makes Tristan roll his eyes. “If you’d like, I can load this up and drop it off for you at your sister’s.”

“That’d be super helpful. Thanks, Beau.”

Beau walks the bike to his cart and lifts it up onto a rack along the back. “That’s my job, miss.” He moseys back toward me. “To serve the people of Sunset Harbor how and where I’m able.” He then dips his chin and winks at me, as if he’s some sort of charming sheriff from the wild west.

“I’m much obliged,” I say, dipping my own head in return, intrinsically knowing it’s the correct response.

Beau offers his winning smile that looks a lot like his brother’s though it doesn’t do the same crazy thing to my insides. “I always liked you, Capri Sun.”

At hearing Beau use Tristan’s nickname for me, I glance at Tristan. His eyes are fixed on Beau, and his lips are in a straight line like he’s not amused by any part of our interaction, which doesn’t make sense to my brain. Tristan isn’t the jealous sort. At least not when it comes to me.

“Thanks for your help, Officer Palmer,” Tristan says. “Now, instead of flirting with the civilians, I’m sure there’s a possum that needs to be removed from an attic somewhere.”

Beau looks at me while pointing at his brother. “You sure you’re going to be okay if I leave you with this disgruntled man? You can always squeeze between me and Xena if you feel the need. I’d be more than happy to take you wherever you want to go.” I know Beau’s trying to get under his brother’s skin because they’ll make a competition out of anything. And apparently, right now, the competition somehow involves me.

“That’s really kind of you, but I think I can handle him.”

“If you say so.” Beau climbs back into his cart and gives Xena a sound pat on the head which is returned with an affectionate kiss to his face. “Down girl,” he says with a smile. “We’re on duty.”

“See you at home.” Tristan offers a wave that slightly resembles a triumphant gloat.

Beau starts his cart forward but suddenly brakes and locks eyes with his brother. “Nice bike, by the way. The bell suits you.”

Tristan smiles right back at him and rings it defiantly. “I think so too.”

“And if Toto escapes from your basket there in the back, make sure he’s leashed. I don’t want to have to write my own brother a ticket. Again.”

“Your Wizard of Oz references never get old.”

And with that, Beau laughs, flips on his lights, and drives off.

“I never pictured Beau becoming a police officer,” I say, drawing Tristan’s attention back to me.

“Because he was always getting in trouble?”

“Basically.” I glance at his golf cart in the distance. “But it suits him. And I know the ladies far prefer him to Officer Francis.” I throw out this last bit to test the waters on my jealousy hypothesis, and sure enough, Tristan’s brows lift and his eyes narrow just a touch. He’s jealous. Only a little. And maybe not that I think this about Beau, but that others think it as well.

“So, I’ve heard. Though considering Officer Francis is like eighty years old now, I’m not sure that's much of a recommendation.” His gaze settles on me. “But that reminds me of another question I have for you.”

“Yeah?”

“Did you ever have a crush on Beau?”

I nearly laugh out loud but resist, and instead, I take a step closer to the bike, feeling a boost in confidence at the mere possibility of Tristan being jealous about anything to do with me. “I’d really love to answer that, but you didn’t earn another question.”

Tristan’s unable to fight his smile though he looks like he’s putting in a significant effort.

“But I will say that I’m sorry if I’ve permanently damaged your brother’s image of you by making you ride a bike with a bell.”