Chapter Thirteen JACKIE #5
Fury swirls beneath my skin. This time, he’s taking it too far.
“Don’t talk to your sister like that,” Adam cuts in sharply. “She doesn’t need me to stand up for her, but you’re out of line.”
The only sound in the silent room is the rustle of leaves through the open window.
Carter tilts his head, hands clasped. “Surprised to hear you disagreeing.”
Pulse thumping in my ears, I wait.
Adam’s gaze cuts to me, so distant, it’s almost icy. “My opinion of Jackie hasn’t changed.”
His words burn on the surface of my skin, making everything clear.
All the banter in the world won’t undo the past. Being stuck here is messing with my head. Thinking we could safely cross the old abyss of pain between us is foolish.
Maybe, at some point, we’ll be something close to friends. But never anything more.
Not again.
I focus on my plate, but I can still feel his gaze.
This time, I know better than to meet it. It only brings me pain.
I keep sneaking glances at Adam as he walks beside me through the festival grounds. To say I was surprised he wanted to join me today is an understatement. Especially since he knew I was meeting Will and Blanca.
They’re both back for another short visit, which means I’ve been coaxed out of the lake house and into town again.
Hours of strolling together, eating, pretending everything is normal.
At least until Blanca finds an excuse to vanish, leaving Will and me to dance around a question neither of us has yet asked out loud.
Could we make more of what we had in London?
We stop at one of the white tents lining the inner harbor, pitched on a stretch of grass.
This one smells faintly of wood shavings and salt.
In one corner, a local woodworker carves seabirds, curls of pale cedar gathering at his feet.
Across from him, a gaggle of kids paint shells with bright colors.
As we drift to the next stall, Adam steps in closer, his arm brushing mine, and inconspicuously turns his palm up to reveal a purple wrapped candy.
“A peace offering,” he whispers quietly. “To seal our truce.”
Blanca, who walks ahead of us with Will, glances over her shoulder, her lips pursing when she sees the exchange.
What Adam said last night still hurts. I have half a mind to tell him where to shove his little treat and tear the truce to pieces. But this fragile new friendship feels too tempting to ruin.
I take the candy and pop it in my mouth, mint chocolate blooming on my tongue. “To us,” I say. “And behaving like adults.” I breathe in the salty air, soaking up the sunlight. “Oh, wait. I don’t have anything to offer in return.”
He answers with a crooked smile. “You’ll figure something out.”
Then he nods toward a larger tent up ahead, a blue sign flapping gently in the breeze: The Marine Experience.
“You have to see this. I read they have a tank with live marine creatures.”
I reluctantly follow him and end up huddled with a bunch of kids, peering into a shallow white pool, filled with sand and seawater. Snails, crabs and a few anemones scuttle and cling to the rocks and pieces of wood peppered across the bottom.
“You can touch them,” Adam says, far too pleased, nodding at the display.
“Absolutely not.” Blanca stops on the other side, her face twisted in open disgust.
Will stops beside her, hands clasped behind his back, tilting his head, looking between Adam and me. “You can’t be serious,” he says mildly. “This is for children.”
Normally, I’d never entertain the idea. But something about how they both dismiss Adam sets my teeth on edge. They don’t need to be so casually rude.
I step forward before I can overthink it.
With a hard swallow, I search the tank for the least offensive-looking creature. Among the ghastly critters, I spot a dark orange starfish that doesn’t seem to move too much.
Deep breath. I bend until my finger breaches the surface of the water. A quiver runs down my back when my skin makes gentle contact with the rough, unexpected texture. Point proven, I straighten fast, only to find Adam watching me with a wide grin.
“I’m proud of you.”
It’s strange how those words, especially coming from him, burrow in my chest, warming it up.
“There appear to be people by the dock having far more fun than we are.” Will’s calm voice slices neatly through the moment. “Perhaps we should investigate.”
Down by the water, spectators lounge on the grass or in folding chairs, snacks and drinks in hand, laughing at the people slipping into the water.
The banner strung between two white posts reads Harbor Crate Dash.
“What are they even doing?” Blanca squints over her large sunglasses at the people lining up and then scampering, hilariously I might add, across a string of floating lobster crates.
“Look who’s here.”
Martha barrels toward us, short denim overalls over a floral shirt, straw hat in hand. I’ve come to like this lady and her blunt honesty. She always tells it like it is, there’s no bullshitting her.
“We were just trying to figure that out.” I point to the water.
“A tradition since the seventies,” she says, pushing her green-framed glasses up her nose.
“You have to get to the other side without dropping the lobster. I tried it once, back when the crates were empty. When I tell you, I went down like a boulder on step one.” She laughs.
“Now they pack’em with seaweed to float better. ”
“Sounds ridiculous,” Blanca mutters.
Carter was right about Martha’s death stare.
Her expression hardens into something that could strip paint. “I imagine it would,” she says coolly, “if you’ve got no sense of humor.”
“You could pull it off,” I say, turning to Adam, before Blanca can recover with a rude comeback.
He scrunches his nose. “Think if I win, I might get a summer job on a lobster boat?”
“Nothing sexier than a man smelling like fish and two weeks on a boat,” I tease.
He plays along easily. “And I’d live in a tiny house on a rock that gets cut off at high tide.”
Martha chimes in. “Because you hate people?”
“Because I’m protecting the town from my stench,” Adam replies, and it pulls a genuine giggle out of me.
Will jumps in, blue eyes sharp, mouth tipping into something like a smile. “Looks easy enough,” he drawls, staring Adam down with a challenging look. “Fancy a race?”