Chapter Sixteen
I HAVEN’T SEEN NOAH SINCE HE LEFT MY HOUSE. DAYS AGO. We’ve texted a little, mostly jokes, quick check-ins, nothing that asks for anything. He’s been busy with studio stuff. I’ve been relieved for the time and space. But it also stings a little that he hasn’t tried to see me again.
Jack jogged past my front gate yesterday. Shirtless. He glanced over, and I’m not sure if he caught me gawking from behind my window or not.
Dawn, Allie, and I have been drinking since a very late lunch at Sip Sip—Sky Juices, lobster quesadilla, ceviche, and a very deep life talk that devolved into what we’d each bring to the table in the event of a zombie apocalypse.
Dawn volunteered to seduce the enemy, Allie took command of operations, and I, unhelpfully, would be in charge of vibes.
Now Dawn and Allie are downstairs in my living room rallying, which is how karaoke ended up on the table.
I should be going to bed. Instead, I’m putting on more mascara to go sing badly in public.
I pull on a short, light-pink cotton dress that requires minimal effort and slide pink tinted gloss over my lips. Before I can overthink it, I text Noah: You should come to karaoke.
Before we head to the bar, we make a quick detour to Allie’s so she can put Felix to bed. Allie fumbles with her phone, laughing. “I think I texted Drew that we were coming, but I’m pretty sure it came out as ‘girls incoming hot and hungry.’”
The door swings open before she reaches the handle.
Drew stands there, taking in the scene with a grim grin. “I thought you were exaggerating.”
“I never exaggerate,” Allie says sweetly, throwing her arms around his neck. “We need food.”
“You smell like irresponsibility,” he growls, stepping back to look at her with a gleam in his eyes.
“And yet you still married me,” she says, patting his cheek and turning to go check on Felix.
Jack and Allie’s mom, Janice, pops her head out of the kitchen with a cheerful, “There’s wine in the fridge, girls!”
I give her a quick hug. She smells like lemon hand soap, warm and familiar, reminding me of the summer days I used to spend here happy and certain about everything.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she says softly, giving my arm a gentle squeeze. “I’ve missed seeing you.”
“Me, too,” I say, and I mean it.
As she turns back toward the kitchen, something unsettles me. This night, this version of me, it doesn’t match the Lucy she knew. The Lucy who used to curl up on the couch with Jack eating popcorn and watching movies.
A clatter of a pan pulls me back to reality.
Jack’s at the stove in a faded T-shirt, beer in one hand, spatula in the other, dish towel slung over his shoulder.
I stand watching for a heartbeat, suspended in time, acutely aware of how much has shifted.
And how close we came days ago to crossing a line I swore I wouldn’t.
Our eyes meet briefly before Jack looks back at the stove with urgency, jaw tightening as he presses the spatula down.
“Hey,” he says, then nods toward the back porch. “We heard you’d be hungry. Grill’s on. I’m toasting buns.”
Dawn leans against the counter and grins. “Awww, you two are seriously making us dinner right now?”
“She said hot and hungry,” Drew calls from the porch. “It was either burgers or barricade the doors.”
Jack’s dad is on the back deck too, fiddling with the speaker while Jack’s mom uncorks a bottle of wine. It’s domestic and homey and so bittersweet.
Fifteen minutes later, the baby’s asleep, Allie is back in a fresh outfit, and the cheese is melted. The guys pass around plates stacked with burgers and chips, and we follow them out to the deck.
“I forgot how good these cheeseburgers are,” I murmur, licking mustard off my thumb.
“You know how Jack is about the importance of the bun.” Allie says. “He’ll convince himself he needs to switch up the bread, but he always comes back to Arthur’s Bakery buns.
Dawn eyes me over the rim of her glass. “Sounds about right.”
I don’t take the bait. I try not to dwell on the warmth curling in my stomach as I take another bite of burger that feels like a homecoming. Maybe I’m drunker than I thought. Jack’s mom’s voice cuts through the chatter at the table.
“Lucy,” Janice says, “tell us about your art show coming up in a couple weeks. Jack tells me it’s going to be at Graham Vale’s home?”
I feel the blush creep into my cheeks as my eyes meet Jack’s, and I clear my throat.
“Yes, Helen at the gallery invited me to be a part of it. No one can believe that Mr. Vale has offered to host it.”
“The whole island has been talking about it,” Dawn adds.
“We wouldn’t miss it for the world, Lucy,” Janice says.
Jack’s dad leans back in one of the cushioned wicker chairs, swirling the wine in his glass. The string lights overhead catch just enough of the silver in his hair to make him look faintly mythic.
“You know,” he says, gesturing lazily toward Jack. “I remember when this one used to sneak Lucy in late at night.”
Jack groans immediately. “Dad.”
“I’m just saying,” he continues, ignoring him.
“He didn’t realize I’d be sitting out back in this very chair reading my book.
I’d watch the whole thing happen in slow motion.
Lucy tiptoeing over,” Jack’s dad glances over at me with delight flashing in his eyes, “like you were in a heist movie. Jack holding the gate open like he wasn’t the worst lookout in the world. ”
The whole porch cracks up.
I can feel my heart start to race as I shake my head. “I don’t remember that.”
“Oh yeah? I doubt that,” he grins, lifting his glass in salute. “But you both did a great job pretending not to see me. I respected the effort.”
I glance across the porch and meet Jack’s gaze. I do remember sneaking over late, after we thought everyone was asleep. We apparently weren’t as sneaky as we thought we were. There’s warmth in Jack’s eyes now. I look away first. Take a sip of my drink.
Dawn stretches her legs across a chair and fans herself with a coaster. “Remind me again why we’re not just ending the night right here?”
“Because,” Allie says, bouncing slightly in her chair, part-built in rhythm from baby duty, part-excitement. “Karaoke needs us.”
Jack looks from Dawn to Allie to me. “You’re actually still going?”
“So it seems,” Dawn breathes out. “And don’t act like you’re not coming with us.”
Drew glances at Jack then shrugs. “Already cleared it with Mom and Dad. Free babysitters.”
Jack sighs dramatically. “Fine. But I’m not singing unless Lucy does.”
I sit up straighter at the unexpected attention. “What is this, a threat?” I ask, unable to hide my pleasure.
He smirks. “More of a promise.”
The soft thump of bass and amateur singing spills from upstairs as we pull up to Daddy D’s.
A red neon sign greets us, an invitation and a dare, as we climb the wooden staircase two by two, the steps worn from years of nights just like this.
At the top of the porch, the music hits full force, Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance With Somebody,” layered with laughter, cigarette smoke, and the unmistakable crackle of too many voices singing at once.
Inside, it’s packed. It’s not a huge space, but it’s pulsing with life.
Everyone’s on their feet, dancing and singing along.
We barely get three steps in before I spot Sloane and Dinah in the middle of it all. Sloane in something fluttery and unapologetically short, Dinah holding court in a tight tan crocheted mini being spun by a guy who looks a few years younger than us.
“Thank God,” Allie yells over the music. “Glad to see our social committee is already here. Is it just me or does this crowd keep getting younger?”
Sloane spots us and waves us over. Drew and Jack head to the bar for drinks. I glance around the crowd nervously but can’t help deflate a little as I notice who isn’t here. Noah still hasn’t texted back. Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he’s avoiding me. Maybe I’m relieved he’s not here.
The front door opens behind me and I turn, but it’s just a tourist in cargo shorts.
Dinah’s saying something about some boy band member from the nineties showing up at karaoke last week, but I can’t focus.
I’m nodding along in the right places, but part of me is tuned to every shift in the room, every new arrival.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the DJ drawls into the mic. “A very special welcome to a dear friend of the house.”
I glance around, curious, until the first unmistakable chords ring out. The crowd reacts a second before I do, cheers erupting, and someone whistles.
My eyes swivel over to Jack, still by the bar, and I can practically hear his groan, amused and resigned. Like someone just reminded him of a bet he made freshman year of college. His ears have already gone pink.
Before he can protest, a couple of regulars gently herd him forward, laughing and clapping him on the back affectionately. The DJ grins and hands over the mic with a flourish.
“It’s tradition,” someone behind me says. “He crushed this song years ago, and they refuse to let it die.”
He takes the mic, and everyone’s already singing the opening line of “Stubborn Love” by the Lumineers without him.
The entire bar swells with him, a chorus of off-key voices and glowing faces. A loose circle forms around him, people dancing and bumping shoulders and shouting harmonies. It feels less like a performance and more like a homecoming.
Our eyes meet and I find bashful amusement, maybe a hint of surprise, that this ritual hasn’t faded. When he reaches the last line, the crowd is deafening, and I can’t fight the smile spreading across my face.
He laughs, ducking his head as he hands the mic back, cheeks flushed. “Okay, okay. That’s enough.” His gaze sweeps the room until it lands on me. Like muscle memory. It hits me all at once. All those times he sang it like a private message.