Chapter Twenty-Four
twenty-four
adrian
I hated how I had to rush off to the library the moment we got back to shore, and planned to find Hope afterward to apologize. Once again, her unexpected arrival disrupted my plans, but this time seeing her made my heart lift. She’s here, when I didn’t expect a second chance.
The moment we pass through the outer doors, weighty heat blankets my pores. Although the air is sodden with vapor molecules, the hazy aura of the sun is visible through the clouds. The rain must’ve moved off while I was inside.
The scuff-slide of Hope’s sandals on the sidewalk comes from a few steps behind, and I slow my pace to match hers.
She smiles up at me. “Still haven’t made the switch to ebooks?” She used to tease me for the ever-shifting stacks of books piled on the couch, my bed, and even the edge of the bathtub.
“I’m on screens enough for work, especially lately.” I shift the stack of books in my arms as she falls into step next to me. “Reading physical books gives me a break from blue light to wind down before bed.” The word bed rings loudly in the deserted parking lot. Especially since I can remember all too well Hope’s head on my bare shoulder as we leaned against the headboard, sharing snippets of what we were each reading. Her dozing off with the lights on, and me tucking her laptop away before settling in next to her.
Does she remember? Or has she tried to forget?
“Figured maybe these days you hit the gym at night, though I guess lugging those around is workout enough.” She lifts her chin to the books.
Amused, I say, “Some nights. Though my workouts aren’t as intense as before. At first—” I stop myself, because I was about to say, my workouts were most intense at the beginning, when she went to Michigan, and the weeks stretched into a month, and then a season, and I realized she wasn’t coming back. Not for me, at least.
“At first...” she prompts.
“Easier to maintain muscle than gain it.” My first instinct is to leave it there, but I realize I want to share this. Want to let her in. “I couldn’t sleep much, once I realized—” My throat goes tight and scratchy, but no going back now.
I swallow, eyes on the shiny foil cover of the top novel. “Once I realized we were over, I needed something to take my mind off things. A colleague had been pestering me to join him in the gym. Said he needed a workout buddy to stay accountable. I figured it would last a few weeks, tops. But I got hooked on the science of it. Trial and error, seeing the changes in my routine yield measurable results.” I approached strength training like I do most things in life: research before action. Analyze, gather information, then put it into practice.
To anyone else, this might sound impossibly nerdy, but Hope is nodding along.
“Not to mention, there’s something satisfying about ending the day with an activity I know will go to plan.” Self-consciousness overtakes me at sharing all this. “Who would’ve thought?” I say, acknowledging my penchant for predictability and routine.
But Hope doesn’t laugh. “I’m glad you had that. And it sounds like it was good for you, beyond the obvious.” Her sunglasses are tucked in her hair, eyes unshielded, so I notice the quick sweep of her eyes down my body and feel a rush of pleasure.
“So you like the new look?” Dangerous territory, but I’ve been dying to know what she thinks. Her comment in the library about being into my body back before I started lifting weights has me curious.
“Was that in doubt?” A rosy flush darkens her cheekbones, but she doesn’t dodge my gaze.
The open admiration makes me itch to pull away my collar from my neck, and I resume walking toward the car. “Well, I didn’t used to be so...” I search for a word that doesn’t sound like a humble-brag and come up short. “I look different.”
“I like different.” She gently bumps me with her shoulder. “You look good, Adrian. You’ve always looked good, nothing you could do to change that.”
“Not even a face tattoo? Because your parents might beg to differ.”
“Oh my gosh, you remember that?” She laughs.
“How could I forget the Face Tattoo Saga?” I remember everything about her family, everything about our time together. “Your cousin’s botched face tattoo was pretty much all your parents talked about when you brought me home that first time. Made me grateful I’ve got a mild fear of needles. How are they, by the way?”
The rhythm of Hope’s steps falters, and I look over to see her biting her lip.
Stopping, I readjust the books, feeling foolish. “Sorry, is family out of bounds? I’m still figuring this out.”
“I’m figuring it out too.” Hope lifts the top two books off the stack, lightening my load, and the herbal scent of her shampoo has me closing my eyes for the briefest second, steadying myself.
“Pretty sure acting like we don’t have a history isn’t working so well, all things considered.” Tucking the novels against her chest, she searches my face, though with a shyness I’m not used to seeing in her. “Are you open to trying something new?”
Against my better judgment, I ask, “What do you have in mind?”
Her copper eyes connect with mine. “Friendship.”
I honestly didn’t know what to expect, and I turn the concept over in my mind. “Why?”
Her nose wrinkles in thought and I tighten my grip on the book to dampen the urge to press a kiss to it. “Because I like you. I’ve always liked you, even when I tried to stop,” she says. “And I’m tired of trying.”
Her words echo my feelings. “So tired,” I agree.
She deflates, not like a sad balloon, but like when she used to melt into me on the couch after a long day. I could always tell when she let go of whatever problem she’d been working through and settled in. Her shoulders relax, and the small crease between her dark brows disappears.
“So what does friendship look like?” The plastic dust jackets of the books are sticking to my arms in the heat, but I’m in no hurry to get to my SUV.
“Openness. Honesty.” She purses her lips, like she’s making sure she covered everything. “Not skirting around the past three years or what came before them.”
“Like whether your parents hate me for not doing right by their only child?” I’ve thought a lot about her parents over the years, how awful it felt to begin to think of them as family, and then never hear from them again. Did Hope mourn the loss of my own mom and dad?
“Nah. You know they raised me to be independent, and our family has good boundaries. They wouldn’t try to fight my battles for me. Not that it was a battle,” she says. “The breakup, I mean.”
“Was it a breakup?” Another question that’s been simmering at the corners of my mind. “It felt more like... Losing sight of one another.” Like kayaking side by side and turning to find her on another branch of the river, carried away by the current.
“We both let go.” Hope slides her fingertip along the book’s pages, and I feel an answering stir on my skin. “Neither of us reached out. I guess you couldn’t call it a breakup. But it hurt like one. And I made the requisite breakup bad decisions.”
“Like what?”
She shoots me an odd look. “Staying out of shark research, for one.”
That comes as a surprise. “You stayed to help Zuri, and finish what you started at work.”
“I did, and I didn’t.” She sighs. “It’s complicated. But looking back, I think I was trying to prove I was right in hesitating to take the leap in the next stage of our relationship. To prove I needed the freedom to move at a moment’s notice.”
To prove she was better off not tied down to me. Three years of unasked questions begin to weigh on me, thick as the humid air, and I long to go back to the lightness of a moment ago. “Well, I’ve made a few post-breakup mistakes of my own.”
“We’ve already established the workout routine was a good decision. You’re not telling me you regret starting your channel?”
I shake my head. “No, and that came later, anyway.”
“Then what bad decisions, Mr. Honesty?” She puts her free hand up. “Wait, don’t tell me. There are some things I think better left in the dark.”
“What I’m about to tell you is definitely one of them,” I admit, watching her. Does she think I’m talking about dating mistakes? Despite our honesty pledge, that’s a question I dare not ask her, no matter how much I’m dying to know. “It was after I broke up with the girl I dated before you, in undergrad.” Feels weird to acknowledge our relationship aloud, but maybe it will get easier. It can’t get harder, that’s for sure.
“Maggie Aimsley?” she asks. “With the bangs?”
Her comment pulls me back to the time we helped my parents clean out the garage and discovered the yearbook my mom insisted I buy to commemorate senior year. “Her, yeah. After she dumped me, I taught myself to play acoustic guitar.”
We’ve reached my SUV, and she turns to me. “How is that a mistake?”
“The mistake was deciding to showcase my newfound skill at a campus open mic night, where I introduced myself using a stage name.”
“Dare I ask?”
I hang my head and mumble, “Leopold Dogfish.”
“Adrian.”
“I know.”
“Adrian!” She’s bent double laughing, and that almost makes the shame worth it. Almost. “Also, since we’re confessing, you should know you didn’t have to mutiny today. I’m happy to let you drive the boat anytime you want.”
“You’re just now telling me this?” She readjusts the books in her hands, glaring at me over the stack, eyes sparkling penny-bright in the hazy afternoon sun. “Gabe told me weeks ago, but I was curious if you’d confess to winding me up.”
“I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I didn’t know how to without mentioning, y’know...”
“The compromising circumstances?”
Heat rises up my neck, reaching my ears, but it’s nothing compared to the flame of desire. “Yeah, that.” Now all I can think of is her parted lips and breathy moans, my blood stirring at the thought. Clearing my throat, I ask, “So all this time you knew I was messing with you about captain privileges?”
“Yup.” Her lips curve in a sly smile and she pokes my chest, right above my heart. “You’re lucky I like you, Hollis-Parker.”
Lucky, indeed.
Day Nine of the “Friendship Experiment” is going much better than previous trials of Strangers and Strictly Business. Things are easier now that we aren’t tiptoeing around each other. The pent-up urge to be with her hasn’t gone away, but it is tempered by being near her.
The storms that came through last week gave way to clear weather, and with possible tropical storms predicted for next week, we’ve gone out to tag every day, filming different stages of the process, and I’m happy with the amount and variety of sharks we’ve caught. Happy too that the change in weather aligns with a shift between Hope and I, a familiar pull that we’ve stopped resisting.
It’s been over a week, and somehow we’re moving closer without crossing any lines, like a clock edging toward noon, the hands coming full circle to meet at the center. Instead of avoiding me onboard, she’s been seeking me out—offering me first pick of scones when she brought in a box of treats from a local café, or staying late with me to stow supplies. Now she’s joined me on the bench where I’m organizing data while we motor up the ICW to film with a researcher who’s using drones to study sharks.
Elbows on her splayed knees, her fingers work to undo a tangle of line, the white rope a contrast to her brown skin, deepened to bronze from hours on the water. She lifts her chin, looking out across the bow, and tendrils of dark curls flutter along her cheeks, the baby hairs at her nape curling charmingly upward.
She catches me looking and instead of a glare, bumps her bare knee into mine and gives me a grin that’s an invitation, not an admonition. Tipping closer, she looks at my laptop screen. “How’re those notes coming along, Leopold?”
She’s taken to calling me Leopold ever since I told her about my embarrassment of a stage name. I try not to have flashbacks to our first few months of dating, when she used my last name as a pet name, but it’s hard not to draw comparisons. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
She shakes her head, and I catch the coconut scent of her sunscreen. There’s a small daub of cream along her temple that I resist the urge to rub in. “Never.”
“I performed exactly once, in the college’s union building. Must you keep the memory alive?”
With the utmost dignity, she presses a hand to her heart, and my eyes drop to the dip of her collarbones, glowing under a fine sheen of sweat. “It is my solemn duty.” She drops the pose and grins. “Also, I may have mentioned it to Marissa.”
“How dare you?” I groan but can’t keep the smile off my face. “I thought we were friends.”
“Marissa and I are friends too,” she says. “No secrets among friends.”
I have plenty of secrets, like how I agreed to friends because I’ll take whatever she’s willing to give me. Like how at night, I lay in bed in the waterfront house I never dreamed I could afford, and it feels empty without her.
“Fair’s fair, though,” she says, returning her attention to the knot. “It’s not a secret, but something you didn’t know about me is that I finally learned how to ride a bike last year.”
“How is that embarrassing? It’s an accomplishment.” She never wanted me to teach her because she said she didn’t have time or money for hospital visits.
She grunts out a laugh. “What’s embarrassing is that Zuri’s seven-year-old son saw me struggling and recruited his friends to help me. Then a bunch of other neighborhood kids came out and all chimed in with advice. One of the moms saw it and uploaded a video to their moms’ group. Word is it made the rounds of social media and won some heartwarming moment of the week award for a webzine.”
My mouth falls open. “Wait, you’re telling me you’re also internet-famous?”
She shakes her head. “I’m ‘endearingly uplifting for a select audience’ famous.”
“You’ve been holding out on me, Hope Evans. You come in here all wide-eyed and starstruck—”
“Oh, is that how it was?”
I shift in my seat to face her, swept up in flirting with her. “Uh, yeah,” I tease. “Yet all along you’re a star in your own right. Two internet celebrities? Total soulmate vibes.” I freeze. This is what happens when I let my guard down. “Not that... I didn’t mean...”
“No, no, you’re right,” she says, copper eyes sparkling. “Internet notoriety is totally a solid basis for true love.”
Relieved, I laugh. “Can’t have a soulmate that doesn’t know what it’s like to go viral. They should add that to dating apps.” I sit back on my heels. “Anyway, learning from a bunch of neighborhood kids is cool. Iris is the one who taught me. I actually picked it up pretty quick. She’s a great teacher.”
“Why are you surprised? She’s been at it for like twenty years.”
“Yeah, but she’s Iris.”
She smiles at me. As an only child, she’s always seemed amused by my sibling rivalry with Iris. “Would you ever guess that I learned how to lay tile?”
“Lay tile?” I’m momentarily thrown by the change in topic. “What for?”
“Zuri wanted to give the bathroom at the store an upgrade.”
I can picture Hope being great at that. Skilled with her hands, attention to detail. “I signed up for a cupcake-making class at the library.” Somehow this has become a catch-up session and I don’t mind at all.
“You can bake now?” She’s abandoned the knot to focus all her attention on me. “Next time I’ll skip the bakery and you can bring breakfast.”
I raise my hand in a quelling gesture. “Never said I could bake. I said I signed up for a class. After I burnt the second tray of cupcakes I was kindly asked to leave.”
She snorts. “Stop.”
“Why do you think I volunteer my time there now? Guilt.” Joking around is so easy with her, and I’d forgotten how much I missed these lighthearted moments.
She shakes her head, but her smile is wide. “I participated in a 5k.”
“You took up running?” She once claimed running was a gait designed for emergencies only.
“Handed out water,” she says, and I chuckle.
Bending to pick up the tangled line, I say, “I entered a wood chopping contest.”
“What now?”
I look up to find her eyeing me above the rims of her sunglasses. “For charity,” I explain.
“Did you win?”
Chuckling, I say, “Nowhere close.”
“Is there footage?” Her pupils darken, intense.
“There is.” And this time, I wouldn’t mind if she googles it.
She nudges her sunglasses up onto the bridge of her nose. I catch sight of my smiling reflection, and for the first time since she came back, don’t feel the need to hide how I’m feeling.
“I see your knot skills haven’t improved much.” She takes the tangled line from me, fingertips warm and soft against my calloused knuckles. “Look at this mess.”
“What would I do without you?”
She answers absently, intent on her task. “You’d manage.”
I would, yeah. But I don’t want to just manage, or get by. Now that I remember how good it is to be with her, even as only a friend, how will I ever go back to life without her?