Chapter 10
Ten
As advertised, Connor returned to the porch, in sweats and barefoot with Swede in tow. He’d thrown a wool blanket over his shoulder and held up a pack of Oreos. “Want one?”
“I’m good,” I said as he joined me on the couch. Our shoulders brushed, and I caught a hint of his shampoo. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact scent—watermelon?—but it smelled delicious. “This is all getting a little too Parent Trap for me.”
I mean, us isolated together in “summer camp,” his reddish hair, and now the Oreos…
What was next? A jar of Jif?
“What do you mean?” Connor smirked. “I’m allergic to tree nuts, which are commonly mixed up with peanuts, we’re not related, and most importantly, Sean and Miranda McCallister are happily married.”
I made a ballpark guess. “Twenty years?”
“Twenty-two.”
“I was close.”
“You were,” he agreed then bit into a cookie.
Crunch.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
Crunch!
Dude is a loud chewer, I thought while making Swede sit for the Milk-Bone I’d stashed in my pocket. He deserved a sweet treat too.
“So,” Connor said, “how’ve the last eight years treated you?”
I raised an eyebrow. “The last eight years?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I’m down for the scenic route or the supercut.”
But what if I’m not? I wondered, feeling a pang in my chest.
I’d never considered myself an especially private person, but something about Connor made me want to put on my winter coat and zip it all the way up. It wasn’t that he made me uncomfortable, it was something else. Something I couldn’t pinpoint.
“Where do you go to college?” Connor coaxed.
“Northwestern,” I told him. “But I haven’t started yet.
I took kind of a gap year…” I trailed off, the night breeze suddenly sweeping through the porch.
Connor wordlessly offered me some blanket when I tried rubbing goose bumps off my arms. “Thank you,” I said, but felt the pinpricks multiply once his trapped heat hit me. Too abrupt a temperature change, maybe.
“No worries.” Connor took a breath. Luckily, my phone chimed before he could exhale and prompt me to pick up on my life story.
I assumed the notification was a text from my dad, letting me know that he and Erica were back at the house. Or even Erica, asking me to peek in on Maisie and Bryce to make sure they were asleep.
I didn’t know when my phone had slipped in between the couch cushions, but it took a few beats to dig it out of the crevice. QUINCY, my screen read.
“Who’s Quincy?” Connor casually asked. I must’ve read her name aloud. “Boyfriend?”
“One of my best friends,” I said as I scanned Quincy’s message: Hey, girl! Just checking in… “And last year’s Haddonfield High School homecoming queen.”
(It was times like this when Quincy rolled her eyes at her parents’ choice to give her a most-of-the-time boy’s name.)
Connor and I looked at each other once I’d locked my phone, and from the way his eyes held mine, I knew what he was going to say before his lips formed the first word.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
My heart rate heightened, suddenly aware of the hazy tension in the air. What was it Nick and Sage’s friends had said on the beach? That Connor had a really big heart?
Likely translation: Connor was a huge flirt.
Well, I thought, letting both his blanket and body heat wrap around me. Why not, pipsqueak? Let’s see what you’ve got.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” I countered.
“No.” The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Not right now.”
Not right now.
Why add that? Why not leave it at no?
To gauge how curious I am, I realized as soon as I said, “But there was someone?”
Okay, he was good.
He nodded. “There’s pretty much always been someone.”
“Ah.” Catching his drift, I casually reached for an Oreo. “Well, you are a lacrosse player…”
“Wow, I’m not offended at all.” He rolled his eyes, but I caught their twinkle. “I don’t play the field. Mads calls me a ‘serial monogamist.’”
I tilted my head. Interesting. “So, what? You’ve had two or three girlfriends?”
Connor counted to five on his fingers, then raised another to make six. “Only three have been serious, though.”
I snorted. “What was the deal with your last relationship?”
“Leah and I dated for six months but called it after prom. I was coming up here for the summer and our colleges are nowhere near each other.” He shrugged. “I don’t think either of us was that into it.” He raised an eyebrow. “What about you?”
“What about me?” I asked.
“How long was your last relationship?”
Okay, wait, I thought. This is getting very personal, very fast.
What happened to us just hanging out?
I didn’t respond at first. Back in high school, I’d hang out with guys for a few weeks or couple months before we stopped texting each other so we could devote time to texting other people.
Things with my prom date had been a little different, since Trevor and I ended up hanging out through the summer…
But everything grew complicated when he left for college. Once I began dodging his FaceTime calls and dreading his visits, my friends suggested that the relationship had run its course. When Trevor didn’t fight to stay together, I was relieved.
“A little over three months,” I told Connor. “But I don’t know if I’d categorize it as a committed relationship.”
Connor looked incredulous. “He cheated?”
I shook my head. “It’s more like we didn’t want to commit to the relationship itself.”
“Hmm.” A pause. “Does that bother you?”
“No,” I said truthfully, but I knew I sounded irritated. And I didn’t really know why. I also didn’t know why I was suddenly telling Connor all this. “I mean, some of us aren’t serial monogamists.”
“Oh, so you play the field?”
I shifted in my seat. Man, was he quick. “I prefer hanging out.”
Connor was quiet, as if weighing whether he wanted to poke that. “What are you doing tomorrow?” he eventually asked.
“Not sure,” I said. “Maybe the beach again? I think Erica’s playing tennis, and then she and my dad are taking the twins kayaking.”
“Not your scene?”
“It’s not not my scene. It’s just…”
No matter where I go with my family, I feel like a spare tire.
Under the blanket, Connor’s knee nudged mine. “Come with me when I drop off Teddy and Finn,” he said. “Wear a swimsuit.”
“Why? What are we doing?”
He smiled, and leaned close to whisper in my ear. “Something fun.”
I rolled my eyes to ignore the two words rippling up my spine.
* * *
When I got back from my run the next morning, Nick was at the stove again. “Here you go, Bryce!” he said as I snagged a spot at the island. “Your nine-cheese omelet. Sorry it looks more like scrambled eggs…”
“You still get an A for effort,” Sage remarked, in between bites of something that resembled a deconstructed take on a veggie omelet. She blew him a kiss.
Nick lightly slapped it on his cheek with a dimpled grin. “I worked at Dock Street during the summers in college,” he told me. “I mastered everything but flipping an omelet.”
“Then how’d you get this gig?” I joked.
“I know, right?” He chuckled and cracked an egg in a bowl. “Our omelet guy sadly skipped town at sunrise.”
“Luke?” I guessed. Life as an FBI agent must not have been as glamorous as it was on TV.
Sage nodded. “But he’ll be back before the Foxes’ Fourth party tomorrow night.”
“The Foxes?”
“Our friends across the pond,” Nick said. “You met Meredith on the beach.”
“Oh, yeah—she was hiding that huge Super Soaker. Are the Foxes the family that plays that game? Assassin?”
“Yes.” Nick sighed, then asked for my breakfast order while Sage laughed. I noticed Nick gaze adoringly at her before cracking an egg. When was the wedding?
“We’re going fishing off Cow Bay later,” Sage said once I’d eaten half of my dilapidated but delicious caprese omelet. “Do you want to come?”
“Oh, thank you,” I said, “but—”
“The actual fishing is optional,” Nick added. “My mom’s coming with firm plans to nap on the bow.”
I laughed. “That’s tempting, but I already have plans.”
Nick and Sage looked at me, intrigued.
“I don’t know the particulars,” I said after pointing to Connor, who was currently lecturing a strawberry-averse Teddy on the long-term effects of scurvy. “But he’s advertised it as something fun.”
* * *
From what I gathered, Connor’s topless Jeep usually had a DJ, but instead of blasting whatever it was nine- and seven-year-old boys were into, Finn and Teddy asked me a bunch of questions.
“I don’t have a favorite fudge flavor,” I said, gripping the passenger seat’s safety strap while Connor drove.
He was a steady driver, but Oyster Watcha Road was no less bumpy than it’d been the other day.
Off-roading, indeed. “I’ve only had fudge twice.
The first time it was as hard as a rock, and it totally crumbled the second time. ”
“Then it wasn’t good fudge,” Teddy declared from the backseat then said to Connor, “Don’t take her to Murdick’s without us!”
Murdick’s? I felt the urge to take out my phone.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Connor shake his head. “I wouldn’t dare, Ted. It’s obvious she needs your guidance.”
“Hey!” I said, mostly to make Teddy laugh.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” Finn asked once we were cruising along the beautifully paved West Tisbury Road, toward town.
“What about Claire Dupré?” I lightly deflected.
“She says she wants to focus on sailing and surfing this summer,” Teddy answered when his brother only blushed. “I did some recon.”
“Yeah,” Finn stewed, “but I didn’t want you to—”
“Welcome to Edgartown, Olivia!” Connor exclaimed. “Isn’t she something?”