Elizabeth of East Hampton (For the Love of Austen #2)

Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

Lizzy slipped behind Will’s house before dawn, dodging the low tree branches and tiptoeing across the sprawling backyard past the surf shed. The wooden stairs creaked loudly as she made her way down to the beach, and she cursed under her breath, sure the entire eastern tip of Long Island would hear her. But then again, why should she care? Will had invited her to park there, to use his beach access. It wasn’t a big deal. She repeated it in her mind even as her pulse stumbled in her veins.

The sea was quieter today, with a light breeze and gentler breaks, but it was still better than anywhere else nearby. As she dove in, the crisp waters felt like ice cubes down her body. She paddled out past the crashing waves to open water, determined not to pass up the swells that started small but had the potential to become spectacular.

Between rides, Lizzy floated on the undulating water, her board bobbing with the current. It really did feel like the end of the world out here. The ocean before her looked vast and never-ending, and she focused on it, determined not to think about the house on the bluff above her or the man inside who was probably still fast asleep. Nope. Not her.

Eventually, she stopped obsessively checking for a tall surfer in a black wetsuit on the beach. And that’s right when he showed up, crashing through the surf toward the break just as she kicked out of a wave.

She straddled her board and watched him deftly maneuver his board over the icy crests, his wetsuit slick over his muscular body. He jerked his head sideways in an attempt to keep his blond locks from falling in front of his eyes. The movement was so small, so subtle, but her heart skipped a beat anyway. He looked like a fucking cover model for one of her dad’s old surf magazines. There was no way he didn’t realize how hot he was. He must.

She made a mental note to delete the memory of that body pressed up against hers at the bakery.

“You showed up,” she said as he finally paddled over.

He nodded, angling his board to face her. His gaze flitted down her body. “How’s the patch working out?”

“Well, I’m no longer freezing in this five-inch vicinity anymore, so I’ll chalk that up to a win.” Her fingers glided over the new purple neoprene high up on her thigh.

His eyes rested where her hand was, then roamed up to her face, like he was checking to see what else might be amiss. When he seemed content that she was in one piece, he looked to the horizon. “Well, if you need anything more, the shed has supplies. You can help yourself.”

It was a kind offer. A month ago, she never could have imagined calling anything Will Darcy did kind. But since then he had moved from snob to decent human being, and she wasn’t sure how to react. It was easier when she thought she hated him. Now, it felt like they were almost friends.

Then he started paddling away.

“Hey! Where are you going?” she asked.

He turned to look at her from over his shoulder. “I can surf by the sandspit over there. Give you space.”

She blinked. The thought that he wouldn’t surf with her hadn’t even entered her mind. “Why don’t you just stay here?”

He hesitated. “Are you sure?”

She shrugged. “As long as you don’t steal my waves.”

A small, unpracticed smile tugged at his lips. “Technically, they’re my waves.”

“Technically, it’s a public beach.”

He chuckled. “All right. Then what do you suggest?”

She scrunched up her nose, considering. “Rock, Paper, Scissors.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You know, Rock—”

“I know the game. I just haven’t played it since grade school.”

“You clearly didn’t grow up with four sisters and only one car. This is how all my family’s problems are solved.”

Another chuckle. Deep and low, so she felt it in her belly.

“Okay, then.”

She smoothed back her wet hair, and lifted a hand. “Ready?”

“No cheating.”

“How exactly would I—”

“You just admitted you’ve had years of practice. Maybe even entered tournaments. I could be getting hustled.”

“You in or out?” she asked, trying to feign impatience, her board bobbing beneath her.

He frowned. “In.”

“Okay. Rock, paper, scissors,” she said as her fist hit her hand three times with each word. “Shoot!”

He looked confused for a moment but followed her lead.

“Paper beats rock,” she said triumphantly, flourishing her flat hand. “I win.”

She didn’t stick around to see if he would challenge it, just sprint-paddled to the break as a glistening wave approached. She positioned her board and stood, fighting for balance, riding low, and managing to steer to shallow waters. It was a perfect ride.

She caught her breath and swam back out to where Will was straddling his board.

“That wasn’t rock. I just had my hand in a fist,” he said, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

She sighed dramatically. “Such a sore loser.”

They spent the next hour falling into an easy rhythm. Lining up, yielding to whoever was closest to the peak, watching one take a ride while the other caught their breath. Lizzy’s muscles burned hot while the cool water kept her temperature balanced; her entire body felt flushed. She loved it.

By lunchtime, the surf began to settle. They sat on their boards, watching the steady rhythm of the tide, waiting to see if it had anything left. Seagulls circled overhead, and the only sound was their boards hitting each other, pushing them close like the current had a mind of its own.

“It’s odd,” he started, then seemed to think better of it.

“What?” she asked.

“I’m usually so laser-focused out here,” he said, staring out at the horizon. “It’s me versus the ocean. It feels like a battle I’ll never win but I need to keep fighting. Like I need it to remind myself where I fit in the world.”

“What’s weird about that?” she asked.

“I forgot how fun it can be.”

His eyes met hers then, as if waiting for her to tell him he was crazy.

But he wasn’t. Surfing was hard and scary, but it was also fun. When was the last time she had acknowledged that? Usually she wanted to work her muscles and body so hard that she could think of nothing else. She wanted to be alone instead of being pulled in a million directions. She wanted to escape. But sometimes, it was good to escape with another person.

That’s when the realization struck her. I needed this, too .

“Why?” he asked.

Oh God . Had she said that last part out loud?

“There’s just a lot going on,” she said. “Stuff I need to figure out with the bakery. My dad. My sisters. But none of it is my stuff. I don’t even have time for my stuff anymore. And the more I neglect it, the further away it gets.” She let her eyes dart to the beach to avoid his gaze. But he still waited for her to continue. “I was supposed to start at Columbia a few weeks ago. If I hadn’t deferred, I would probably be in class right now. It was all so close, but now it feels impossible. Like I was delusional for even thinking it could happen. And maybe that’s just growing up, but it’s still hard to let go. You know?”

He nodded, then said softly, “Yeah, I do.”

She smiled, then turned to stare out at the horizon.

It was a long time before she noticed that her thigh was touching his, brushing back and forth against his leg as the current forced them closer. She knew she should move, start swimming to shore and head back to the motel. But she didn’t want to. And for a second, she let herself be selfish.

“Hey,” he finally said.

She looked over at him. His face looked calm under his wet hair, but his blue eyes were studying hers with a question.

“Are you hungry?”

She could eat.

Will didn’t ask why Lizzy had a set of dry clothes already waiting in her car, and Lizzy was thankful as she disappeared into the guest room downstairs to change. It had felt presumptuous before she drove here, and even more so now. But not enough to stop her from shoving the clothes into the passenger seat that morning. When she emerged a few minutes later, Will was waiting in a pair of worn jeans hanging low on his hips and a faded sweater with the sleeves pushed up his forearms. She hadn’t thought there was anything special about her jeans or the oversized cardigan covering her Smiths T-shirt, but he still stopped when she stepped into the foyer, staring at her for a long moment before clearing his throat and nodding toward the door.

Will insisted on driving, and Lizzy didn’t argue, relaxing into the soft leather seats and letting the music fill the car as they drove up to Gosman’s Dock. They ate lunch at a small stand near the water, sharing a selection of fried pickles and lobster salad and narrowly avoiding the seagulls swooping down to steal their fries. Afterward, when they piled back into the car and Lizzy was complaining she was so full that Will would have to roll her back into his house, it occurred to her that she was assuming she would be invited inside. He had only offered the beach to her to surf. There was no guarantee of anything else. Maybe he would pull up and say goodbye and that would be that.

By the time they turned down his long drive, she was trying to dissect her panic. The process was so distracting, she barely noticed as he parked and killed the engine, then walked to her side to open the passenger door.

“Want some ice cream?” he asked.

She was pretty sure that if she had some ice cream right now, she would burst. But she didn’t care. She smiled at him and said, “Sure.”

Ice cream led to sharing embarrassing stories from their childhoods, which led to Will giving her a tour of the house, down every labyrinthine hallway until they found themselves back in the living room. She attempted to play the piano, he tried to teach her, until she finally claimed ownership of a new musical genre called “classical improv.” At that point Will stood up and got a beer.

Lizzy didn’t know what time it was when they found themselves on the porch, sprawled out on neighboring chaises. She took a sip of her beer and watched the branches of the red cedars sway in the darkness.

“I love these trees,” she said.

He turned his head to look at her. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “I feel like all the trees out here get cut down, especially when they block the view of the water. As if they’re not a part of the landscape, too.”

A moment, then he shifted to look at the swaying branches. “I was obsessed with them growing up.”

“Really?”

His throat bobbed, as if he were preparing what he was going to say. As if he was out of practice. “In high school, I found my dad’s old 35mm Canon at our house in the city. I brought it out east that summer and spent hours trying to capture Montauk, hundreds of photos of the seagulls and waves and the lighthouse. But I always came back to these trees. They were somehow both integral and invisible. These permanent things that most people don’t notice anymore.” He paused. “Birdie wants me to cut them down, though.”

“Why?”

“People want manicured lawns, neat property lines.”

His voice was suddenly disconnected, cold. And something in her chest hurt so much she couldn’t stop herself from whispering, “Why in the world are you selling this place?”

He didn’t move for a moment. “Because sometimes what I want has to take a back seat to what’s best.”

“Best for who, though?”

He took a deep sip of his beer. “Birdie deserves this. It would set her business apart, and when my dad died, she was expecting this place.”

“But he left it to you. Maybe he wanted you to keep it.”

Will nodded. “Maybe. But I barely have time to come out here anymore.”

“Really?” she said, rolling her eyes. “Because I distinctly remember you spending a lot of time at Charlie’s this summer.”

“Is that right?” He stared at her, his gaze so direct that she blushed and looked away.

“I’m just saying,” she said. “It’s your life. You’re allowed to make your own choices.”

He hummed. “So are you.”

She scrunched up her nose. “What?”

“You should tell your dad about Columbia.”

“That’s complicated,” she said. “It’s not just about school. It would mean discussing the future of the bakery, his health…” She shook her head. “He doesn’t even know I applied.”

“But he knows you wanted to go.”

“We talked about it, but that was months ago.” She hesitated. “It doesn’t matter now, anyway. The deadline to enroll next semester is October first.”

“That’s in a couple of weeks.”

She sighed. “Exactly.”

He was quiet for a beat. “What happens if you don’t get back to them?”

“I’m no longer accepted,” she said with a shrug. “Even if I send the letter in time, I’m not guaranteed a spot.”

“Then you can reapply.”

She threw him a wry look. “Are they really going to accept someone who already blew them off once?”

“Then you go somewhere else. The school doesn’t make you a journalist, Lizzy. You do that.”

She took another sip of beer.

“You should tell your dad,” Will continued. “It doesn’t matter if you end up going to Columbia. He would want to know.”

She looked back over at the trees. Leaving East Hampton, the bakery, and going back to school felt so huge, so complicated that she didn’t even know where to begin. But that one thing, that she could do. Maybe.

“It’s getting late,” she replied, setting her bottle down on the wood-planked porch. “I should head back to the motel soon.”

He watched as she sat up. “Same time tomorrow?”

She turned to him. “Don’t you have to get back for work or something?”

“I can take a few more days off. My name is on the building.” He cocked his head to the side. “What about you?”

She shrugged, ignoring how her heart stuttered in her chest. “I can take a few days off. My name is on the building, too.”

And then he laughed, the sound so deep that she felt it in her toes, and she couldn’t help but smile.