Page 5 of Plotting Summer

“You thought about what I said?” Tristan asks, and I can’t help but think a change of subject is the right move. Even if I have zero desire to see where this goes.

She purses her lips, her sandaled foot tapping on the dock like she’s not sure if she’ll let him off so easy. But when her appraising gaze flicks to me again, I know she will. She realizes I’m not a threat. “The last few days have been unbearable,” she finally says. Bridget climbs into the boat and steps in front of Tristan, her arms snaking around his waist. “I don't know exactly what it’ll look like, but I want to make this work. I want to make us work.”

And that’s my signal. I carefully step over the side of the boat with one foot so my exit doesn’t draw attention.

“You headed home?” Tristan’s voice stops me mid-escape. And I mean that very literally. With a foot on the dock and a foot still on the boat, I’m one solid thigh slap away from squatting-sumo-wrestler status.

I physically lift my boat leg over the side and onto the dock before facing him. “Yeah. I figured you’d want to talk. Alone.”

“We do,” Bridget says, snuggling into Tristan’s chest. “Thanks, Cali.”

I stiffen. I’d typically be impressed she managed to get that close to my name, but Tristan had just said it. Not that I’ll say anything. “Of course. Night.” I give some sort of wax-on wax-off kind of wave.

There’s a flash of indecision in Tristan’s expression, and I know he’s feeling bad about how this all went down because that’s who he is. “Night, Capri.” Tristan accentuates my name, but all I notice is the way his arms loosely settle around Bridget’s back. Those arms that were just wrapped around me. Yes, it was to keep me from falling, but for a brief moment, I had a glimpse of what it was like being held by Tristan.

And you know what? That’s more than I ever expected.

Would I change any of the last hour if I could go back for a do-over? Absolutely! A heart-resounding yes! Please! But if it meant I’d have to give up the memory of Tristan’s skin against mine, the gentle way his fingers searched for the lump on my head, and the way his voice sounded—deep and breathy—when he called me beautiful, I wouldn’t change a thing.

Sure, recalling The Incident (formally hoped to be referred to as The Kiss until everything went entirely wrong) will forever make me cringe, but I can’t imagine it will affect anything with Tristan. He appears every bit as eager as I am to pretend it didn’t happen. Besides, he’s leaving for college soon.

So I’ll take what I can from tonight—the inspiration gold that Tristan gave me.

In the real world, girls like me don’t get kissed by the most sought-after guy in school. And girls like Bridget Hall always win. But in the world of fiction, I create the story. With ideas already flowing through me of how differently this sunset boat-ride could have gone, I smile and head toward the little fishing boat to retrieve my notebook.

This story-writing book-nerd is about to get her man!

Right after I go inside to take some ibuprofen and find an ice pack for my head. And possibly have a good cry.

Present Day

I’m entirely convinced there’s no sweeter sound in this world than the rapid clacking of keys on a keyboard. Specifically, my keyboard. More specifically, my keyboard when I’m nearing the end of an epic love story I plotted months ago.

Yes, my fingers are begging for reprieve from the onslaught of catching each detail of the unfolding scene in my mind. And yes, my back is in near spasms from sitting for hours in this supposedly-ergonomic luxury chair I fully regret purchasing. But I can’t stop. I intend to take advantage of every glorious moment the words are flowing. Not just because I’m on a deadline. But mainly because I’m on a deadline. And it’s a tight one.

Brant’s eyes are warm and alluring, making the choice to step closer effortless. “I always knew it was you.” His voice comes out rough as gravel, but the sensation of it against my skin is …

I tap my index finger mindlessly on the H key, conjuring up the right word. Welcome? Pleasant? No, I need something with more intensity. Exhilarating? Maybe a bit too intense for what I’m going for.

My finger tapping grows more pronounced.

Oh! How about intoxicating? I consider the word a moment. I do like it, but I’d have to change the rough as gravel to a more applicable metaphor.

Mid deliberation, I sense my state of flow coming to an abrupt halt.

Intoxicating it is.

Until edits.

… intoxicating.

My legs grow heavy and my head spins. “Always?” There’s a waver in my voice with the rise of emotions⁠—

My phone buzzes on the desk next to me. Without even a glance, I silence it. Where was I? Oh yeah. Rise of emotions.

… swelling inside me. He couldn’t know what his admission meant. He couldn’t know how deeply my very being longed to⁠—

Buzz. Buzz.