21. Fisher
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
fisher
I smooth the olive green shirt down one more time. Part of me hopes Libby likes it. The other part of me itches to punch myself for being a dumbass. I don’t think I’ve ever in my life stood in front of the mirror and worried about how I look.
“The shirt isn’t magic,” I growl at my reflection, even as I tip my head to get a better look at my hair.
This is a normal Saturday night. I’ve been spending my Saturday nights at the brewery for the last three years, and not once have I put gel in my hair beforehand.
Why tonight?
Probably because Libby is used to fancy Hollywood faces and places.
The kind of thrill that makes a person excited about tomorrow.
Nothing on this damn island possesses that type of thrill.
Nothing but her. The thrill that hits me when I see her has yet to dull.
In fact, it’s only become more intense. And not because she’s Elizabeth Sweet.
It’s Libby, the shy, unsure, slow to smile woman, who makes me smile.
Not that the Libby I can’t stop thinking about would want to date me either. It’s ridiculous. I’m almost ten years older than her, and I have none of the light she possesses. I’m the opposite of that light. I’m the shadow threatening to dull her brightness.
I stomp into the bathroom, huffing as I go. Water running, I wet my hands and wipe at my hair, attempting a less formal look.
Tonight isn’t a date. There is no need to dress up or worry about how she’ll think I look. I need to get that through my head.
My eyes drift back to my reflection, and I wince at my stupid hair.
Fuck. It looks ridiculous.
Out of desperation, I pull on my Boston Revs baseball cap.
There. Now I look casual. From the neck up. Sighing, I unbutton my shirt. I yank it off and toss it to the floor, leaving myself in a white T-shirt and jeans, which is exactly how I started a half hour ago. It doesn’t help. The knots in my stomach only tighten. This is exactly why I don’t date.
I shake my head.
We’re just friends. This is not a date. It’s no different from hanging out with Wilder.
Or Maggie. Though I don’t kiss Maggie. Or Wilder.
Not that I’m gonna kiss Libby either. But fucking hell, I’d like to.
And I’m starting to believe maybe she’d like me to as well.
Just that idea has my heart rate picking up like I’m a thirteen-year-old.
I scoff.
More like an eighteen-year-old.
Until I left this island, not a single girl had ever looked my way.
Here on Monhegan, I was the weird kid. The boy who could help with a satellite dish or a new computer or phone.
Not the kid people wanted to hang out with.
Especially the girls. Stepping onto the grounds of Harvard was like being transported to a different world entirely. There, girls suddenly noticed me.
Because in Cambridge and Boston, I’m one of many. Here, I stand out too much.
I stomp down the stairs.
My cameras haven’t notified me of Libby’s return home yet, so she clearly isn’t stressing about what she should wear or how she should style her hair.
I’ve got another twenty minutes to kill before I’m supposed to pick her up.
Fuck. This afternoon has been the longest of my life.
I stand in front of the window, watching her house, wishing I could speed up time.
It’s like watching paint dry. There isn’t a light on in the entire place.
I catch my reflection in the window and second-guess the hat.
Maybe she hates Boston baseball. The team has beaten the LA Dodgers more than a few times.
I toss my cap onto the counter and pull a water bottle from the fridge.
With a long sip and then three slow, calming breaths, I will myself to calm down. The effort is in vain.
Where is she? My stomach churns again at the idea of seeing her. Of making her smile. Of the possibility of eliciting one of those shivers that overtake her when I brush against her.
If I brushed my lips along her neck, would that shiver intensify? Would her breath catch? I can practically feel her pulse flutter with the same desire that pounds through me.
I blink.
Stop it. This is a friend thing. Imagining anything more will only lead to disappointment. And I’ve had enough disappointment to last a lifetime.
I set the water bottle on the counter and roll my shoulders. With another steady exhale, I run my hands through my hair.
Jesus, now it’s probably sticking up all over the place. I swipe the hat off the counter and toss it on my head again.
Before I have a chance to overthink the hat for a third time, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Whoever it is better not need anything. Tonight the only person getting my attention is Libby. Unless it’s Sutton. I pull the device out, making sure it’s not Mrs. K.
Wilder’s name flashes on the screen, and for one second, I think about ignoring his call.
Though a conversation with him might help pass the time.
Plus, someone needs to tell him that he’s got to man up and deal with the clingy tourist himself.
Because he’s not going to try to hang all over Libby like he did at the lobster bake. Fucker.
I hit the Accept button. “What?”
He chuckles. “Manners, Fisher. Manners.”
Annoyance instantly pulses in my veins. “Are you calling to waste my time?”
“No. I have a little situation here in my front yard.”
I sigh, shoulders deflating. Just what I need.
“There’s no reason to panic?—”
That’s an odd statement. When has he ever known me to panic?
“But Libby crashed into my tree.”
My heart stammers and then takes off to a gallop in my chest. “What?” I choke out. “Is she hurt?”
Without waiting for his answer, I shove my feet into my boots and race out the door, laces flapping. Bing keeps pace. Even he knows something is wrong. Normally he leaps and whimpers and barks his way through town. Instead, he passes me, running at full speed down the hill.
“She’s awake and Eddy’s here and?—”
“I’ll be right there.” I end the call and tuck the phone into my pocket. My hat flies off my head, dropping to the dirt path, but I don’t waste time collecting it.
Two turns later, the cotton candy pink golf cart comes into view, and my stomach drops. Its front bumper is butted up against a large pine tree. Dammit. Libby better be okay.
When I come even with the back tires, I finally see her on the ground with Eddy and Bing hovering over her.
“Are you okay?” My hands shake and my heart pounds, and even as I inspect her, noting that she’s awake and, though she looks a little disheveled, she seems mostly unharmed. “Get back,” I command Bing as I step in front of him and squat.
“Fisher?” Libby blinks at me. “What happened to your hair?”
I’m sure my hair looks like utter shit, but I couldn’t a give a flying fuck about it anymore. Still, if she’s giving me shit, that’s a good sign. Relief washes over me, relaxing my shoulders and almost causing a laugh to slip from my lips.
Eddy narrows her eyes at me, then turns the expression on her brother.
“Why did you call him?”
Wilder, who I only now realize is standing above us, rocks back on his heels and grins. “I want to file a damage report.”
The gravel crunches under me as I push to my feet and clench my hands into fists at my sides. “Libby could be hurt, and you’re worried about the fucking tree?” I snarl.
“Nah.” Wilder chuckles. “I called you because you have a crush on her and I knew you’d want to be here.”
Though the anger drains from me, it’s quickly replaced by the heat of embarrassment creeping up the back of my neck. “I’m not twelve. I don’t have crushes,” I mutter, crouching to focus on Libby.
The fact that she’s not freaking out about spiders has me worried. She’s been sitting on the ground since I got here and hasn’t once mentioned them.
“Is she okay?” Although my eyes don’t leave Libby’s, the question is meant for Eddy.
“She hit her head, but as I was explaining before you came barreling in here like a freight train, since she didn’t lose consciousness and she doesn’t seem confused, I don’t think she has a concussion. She’ll be okay. But she shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
“I won’t leave her side.” The words fly easily from my lips.
I drop to my ass and tie my boots tight so I can carry her home. Nothing in the world could pull me away from her.