Chapter 7 No-Wake Zone Lila
No-Wake Zone
Lila
Iwas working only eight hours a week at the coffee shop, and between catering to Elizabeth’s every whim, trying to get a few words of my own manuscript in each day, and you know, sleeping, even that was a stretch.
But I couldn’t let that job go. Ghostwriting was a quick blip, and I had no idea what would happen when it was over.
But it was becoming clearer that if anything was going to happen, I needed an agent.
So I was crossing my fingers Grady might want to represent me.
I had sent him my sample pages earlier, which he said he would read before we met. So, my usual I-have-a-crush-on-Grady butterflies were even more intense because now they were combined with is-he-going-to-be-my-agent butterflies.
I was tired, sure. But I was happy, too, as I walked down the boardwalk back to Elizabeth’s house. Writing with Elizabeth could be exhausting, but I had also learned more from her than any MFA ever could have taught me. Not to mention that being with her meant proximity to her son.
I caught a glimpse of Grady, standing on the edge of Elizabeth’s dock, looking out over the sound, and my heart clenched.
He was so, so handsome. We had hung out at least five or six times in the past weeks, but he had yet to make a move, and I was unsure whether I had been permanently friend zoned.
But he’d asked me to meet him here on my one fleeting day off a week from his mother, so I was hoping it meant maybe we could be something more.
I walked down the dock to see Grady dropping a paddleboard into the water.
“Hi!” he said, turning, holding his wet hands up to me.
I wanted to say I’d take a wet hug from you any day! But, of course, I didn’t. Instead, I said, “So, uh, that took a turn yesterday, huh?”
Grady grimaced. “Yeah. I don’t think Mom wants to be pushed on her writing.” He shrugged. “But I don’t want to talk about work! Let’s paddle to the town docks to get some ice cream.”
I looked down at myself. “I’d love to paddleboard, but I don’t have on a bathing suit.”
“Well, then, you’d better not fall in.” He grinned at me.
I looked out over the marsh grass in this narrow stretch of waterway that ran in front of downtown.
I had once fantasized about living in a place like this.
Now I just wanted to get another book deal—and an agent.
I wanted to ask Grady if he’d read my sample pages, but he had said he didn’t want to talk about work, so I refrained.
Grady expertly got on his paddleboard and held mine steady with his paddle as he reached for my hand. I sat down on the edge of the dock. The tide was about midway between high and low, so the perfect height for me to place my feet on the board and, with Grady’s help, stand easily.
He handed me the paddle tucked under his arm, and side by side, we sliced through the calm water.
“So, you’ve done this before,” Grady said.
I smiled, happy that I seemed at least competent. “I have. I borrow a neighbor’s board sometimes and drop it in at the public dock. I was actually going to use my first royalty check from my next book to finally get my own board, but now . . .” Well, he knew the rest.
I gasped and pointed to a wild mother horse and her foal on the island across from us, almost losing my balance.
Grady laughed. “No bathing suit. Remember?”
“That was a close one,” I said.
We were quiet for a moment, held in a refreshing silence as the cicadas sang around us. I broke it, saying, “Did you always know you would be an agent? Was that always the dream?”
“Nah. When I was a little kid, I used to have this fake laptop where I’d pretend to write, just like my mom.”
“Aw. That’s adorable.”
“But, as it turns out, I can’t write.”
We both laughed. “I bet that’s not true!”
He shook his head. “No, it’s true. I’m, like, really bad. But that’s okay. Because I get to read for a living, which is way better, if you ask me.”
“Huh,” I said. I contemplated that. Maybe I could be an agent. A professional reader. But thinking of that electric jolt I got when my fingers touched the keyboard, I knew that would never make me fully happy.
“When you have true talent like you and my mom, it’s something pretty special. You have been given a gift.”
My pulse raced. Did that mean he had read my pages? Or my first book, even? I was too afraid to ask.
Grady jumped up onto the town dock and pulled his board out of the water.
Then he took my hands, helped me up, and pulled my board up too.
I looked up at the charming weathered cedar-shake building—in a line of similar buildings that looked like they’d been here forever—that held Sea Oat Sweets.
This was the first time I’d seen the award-winning creamery without a line.
I walked in first, the chill inside jolting against the warm air outside. I inhaled the sweet scent. “I’ll have a waffle cone of chocolate peanut butter.”
“Good choice,” Grady said. “You can’t smell that waffle cone and then not eat it.”
I nodded. Exactly right.
I tried to pay at the old-timey brass cash register with the big black buttons, but Grady stopped me. “It’s the least I can do,” he said. “My mother has put you through it.”
“So true,” I said seriously.
The first big bite was so nostalgic. It was amazing how one bite of ice cream could put me right back into our family beach weeks and make me miss those long, lazy days with my cousins on this very beach more than I could put into words.
“Oh my gosh!” I said, looking down at the ice cream. “Writing is your mom’s ice cream!”
Grady stopped walking and scrunched his nose. “I’m sorry. What now?”
“It brings back all those memories she doesn’t want to face. Of your dad.”
He nodded. “You think?”
“Of course! You can’t write love stories—even about fake people from a different time period—and not think about your own.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I guess that makes sense.”
“I wish I could help her more.”
“You know,” he said, “I think you showing up every day, helping her get back to the page, has helped more than she could ever say.”
I smiled. Elizabeth wasn’t easy, but I could see beyond her exterior now, to that soft part she tried to hide. “I feel so honored that I get to be a part of her life and—”
Before I could finish, Grady leaned over and snagged a big chunk of my ice cream, looking so adorable I couldn’t help but laugh as I said, “Hey!”
He paused for a moment and said, “Yeah. Your chocolate peanut butter is way better than my cookie dough.”
“Really?” I asked. I leaned over and bit off a huge chunk of dough on the edge of his cone.
He shook his head. “Lila, Lila, Lila. You will come to regret that. You won’t know when. You won’t know how . . .”
We both laughed. Well, he laughed. I did something that could only be described as giggling. My face felt flushed, and my feet barely touched the ground as we continued walking.
“Do you ever think of living anywhere else?” I asked.
He nodded. “If it weren’t for my mom, I’d probably be in New York. I go back and forth once a month or so, since that’s where most of the publishing is.” He shrugged. “But now that so many people work remotely, I don’t know. I might be able to stay right here.”
“I can’t imagine a more beautiful place to live,” I said. “We came here for a family trip when I was ten, and I swore right then and there that I would live here one day. Which was kind of funny, because all I knew was farm life. But there’s something so elemental, this pull to the water.”
“Yeah, I feel that too,” Grady said. “I’m, like, off kilter when I’m away from it for too long. Which makes me wonder if I could ever actually leave.”
He looked at me for a long moment. For a beat, as we made our way back to the T-dock that held our paddleboards, I thought maybe, finally, this could be our moment.
Then he said something that confused me.
“The best retribution is unexpected.” With that, Grady picked me up and tossed me gently into the water.
I absolutely could not believe it. As I came back up to the surface for air, I flailed a little and said, panting, “I can’t swim!”
“Oh my god!” Grady jumped in, too, fully clothed, in loafers that I’m sure cost more than my rent, and scooped me into his arms. “Are you okay?” he asked breathlessly, treading water. “I’m so sorry! I had no idea!”
I started laughing and splashed him. “Yeah . . . Retribution is tough!”
He laughed and splashed me back. “What you’re doing here looks quite a bit like swimming.”
“Swim team captain, all-state team, 2012 and 2013.”
He still hadn’t let me go. I didn’t want him to. His skin felt so good on mine.
As we both treaded water, our faces extremely close, Grady looked into my eyes. Hadn’t the last few weeks been leading up to this one inevitable moment? I had to wonder if all this publishing drama had been orchestrated so that Grady and I could meet, so that we could find each other.
My heart pounded. I could lean forward just a few inches and . . .
Before I could decide, a boat came by, going way too fast in what was supposed to be a no-wake zone, creating a huge wave that smacked us both in the face. “Hey!” Grady yelled, as if that was going to do any good.
We hoisted ourselves out of the water, laughing, but something had shifted. A door had been cracked that I wanted to walk through. But did he?
Standing on the dock, dripping wet, Grady looked at me seriously. “Hey, I have to tell you something.”
I nodded, feeling my breath quicken. This was it. This was the moment.
“I can’t be your agent.”
And, just like that, the fantasy of Grady and me washed away with the tide.
I had wanted to be a writer. I had wanted to explore these feelings with Grady. It seemed like I was coming up short everywhere these days. Maybe it was time to give up on these dreams. Which was easier said than done for a girl who was raised on wide-open spaces and fairy tales.