1. Allie
ALLIE
“I would’ve preferred to meet your parents over a nice dinner. Not a…backyard get-together.”
“You will meet them over dinner.” I smirk at Declan, studying him from the corner of my eye. “Hot dogs.”
“I don’t eat hot dogs,” he mutters, crossing his arms.
“Lots of food. Lots of people.” I wave him off. “You’ll be fine.”
He huffs, sulking as he peers out the passenger window.
“Hey.” I place my hand on his thigh, drawing his attention. He glances at me with searing hazel eyes, sandy blond hair falling across his forehead. “This is a family tradition. It means a lot to me. I want you to know the people I love.”
His features soften slightly. “I know.”
Declan takes my hand in his, raising it to his mouth and gliding his lips across my knuckles. I toss him a light smile, quickly pulling my hand from his grasp and placing it back on my steering wheel.
I met Declan during the winter semester in a small business management course. Dahlia had recommended I take a few business classes, and Declan’s entire college experience revolved around preparations to take over his family’s chain of Low Country restaurants in South Carolina.
Naturally, as a business major, he was at the top of the class.
I was not. But, I have great tits and long eyelashes, and after a little innocent flirting, I convinced him to be my study partner.
The flirting continued, becoming progressively less innocent, until he finally gathered the courage to ask me on a date at the end of the term.
We’ve been together three months now, and while we don’t have much in common, the conversation is stimulating enough, and he goes down on me often. I can’t complain.
Though, Declan is a little possessive and a lot antisocial. He rarely wants to accompany me to parties, sporting events, or even a casual night out, while at the same time maintaining that I can’t be on my own. It’s not you, it's other men I don’t trust, he always says.
It is infuriating.
I wasn’t going to take no for an answer tonight.
We’ve been together long enough. It’s time he met my parents and friends, and my twenty-first-birthday-slash-Fourth-of-July-annual bash is the perfect place to do it.
My mother is much nicer when she’s wine-drunk, and my dad is less intimidating when he’s preoccupied with taking care of Mom.
Plus, Willow is home for the summer, and I have no clue if or when she’ll return to the Bay Area, so I want to take advantage of the time I have with her now.
Declan has been sure to mope about meeting my family and friends the entirety of the twenty-minute drive from Golden State University to Pacific Shores.
We finish the remainder of the drive to the Graham house in silence.
I give him a pass—I’m sure he’s just nervous.
Our family is a bit eccentric, and it can be a lot to take in at once.
All the more reason to get everyone out of the way in one fell swoop, though.
The party must already be going because Oceanside Boulevard is entirely lined with cars.
In my head, it’s always existed with my birthday in mind—national holiday be damned.
I was about six when the tradition began.
My parents asked me what I wanted for my birthday, and I screamed, “Archer!” so they took a trip for the holiday weekend to Pacific Shores.
We stayed with the Grahams so I could spend time with Willow too. While Archer is my best friend, I think Willow is my soulmate. I always wanted Archer for my birthday—for Hanukkah and Christmas too—because it so often felt like I couldn’t have him. Not in the way I’ve always had Willow.
I never had to long for her, she was born a part of me.
Or better yet, I was born a part of her, since I came about six weeks after she did.
Our parents have been friends for years, and our mothers were elated to be pregnant at the same time.
Especially after Dahlia got pregnant too, and Archer and Zander, Willow’s cousins, were born a few months later.
For my sixth birthday we planned a beach day at Celestia Cove, the beach at the base of the cliffside Leo and Darby’s house is built upon, and that beach day became a barbecue and firework show.
The lot of us—my family, Carter and Penelope, the Ramoses and Hayeses—showed up year after year.
As we got older, we invited more friends, and over time it’s grown into somewhat of a free-for-all for the small town.
I pull into the spot in the driveway beside Willow’s Mercedes that’s reserved for me. Declan steps out as I reach into the back seat and grab the reusable grocery bag filled with two dozen homemade brownies, and my from-scratch caramel frosting I’ll put on top.
“Let’s go through the front door,” I say as we climb the porch steps. “There will be less people inside. I need to decorate the brownies, and then we’ll make our way out back and begin meeting everyone.”
I shuffle the bag into one hand, pulling my phone from my pocket to shoot a text to my parents that I’ll be in the kitchen. That way, they can meet Declan first and he’ll feel less overwhelmed when we step outside and get swallowed by a sea of people.
My eyes snag on a notification, a text.
Archer
Happy Birthday Party Day, Allie Cat. Miss you.
My heart leaps into a gallop at the message, the way it does every time his name floats across my screen.
I was devastated when Archer told me he wasn’t going to return home for the summer this year.
It’s the first time in my life I won’t be spending the summer with him—and by the time he comes back at Christmas, it’ll be almost an entire year since I last saw him.
I’m no stranger to missing Archer Ramos. I’ve spent my entire existence stuck in the gray area between longing for and loving him. Almost as if I were created for the latter but destined for the former—perpetually tangled in a cruel cosmic web.
He’s my best friend in the world, the person who knows me better than all others, the other half of my very being—and the one person always just a hair’s breadth from my reach.
Well, more than a hair’s breadth now that he’s pursuing his dreams from Texas, over a thousand miles away. He’s a contender for next year’s professional football draft, though, and while we all miss him, we know Texas is the best place for him right now.
“Allie Bee!” My mother chimes from the back door.
“Kitchen, Mama!” I call as I unload the brownies, frosting, and sprinkles. Red, white, blue, and pastel purple—because that’s my favorite color, and it’s my birthday party.
Declan’s swallow is audible, as is the nervous tapping of his fingers against the counter. I squeeze his elbow reassuringly before I pop the lid off my frosting, the smell of sweet cream and caramel suddenly infiltrating the air around us.
Mom’s squeal is piercing as she rounds the corner, her heeled sandals clicking against the hardwood floors.
I don’t have time to turn before she’s scooping me into her arms and pulling me against her chest. Her familiar cinnamon and vanilla scent invades me, and her unruly blond curls tickle my cheeks.
I wrap my arms around her lower back, and she murmurs how much she missed me against my temple before reluctantly pulling away.
Her hair is lighter than it was the last time I saw her two months ago—but Macie Evans would be damned if she ever let a gray shine through, so she’s religious about keeping her highlights fresh.
She doesn’t look a fraction of her age, often mistaken for my sister rather than my mother.
She’s just as religious about her skincare as she is her hair, so she doesn’t shy from the occasional Botox.
Plus, she was born with some kind of playful glow shimmering beneath her skin.
My dad says I have the same thing. That I sparkle too. That we’ll be young forever.
When I step out of my mom’s grasp, I’m immediately pulled into my dad’s. Two months isn’t that long to go without seeing their adult kid, but we’ve always been a little too attached, I think. I’m their only child, and they both have obsessive personalities.
I don’t mind it, though. I require a lot of attention to function.
“Hi, Daddy,” I whisper into his chest.
He squeezes me tightly. “Hi, my baby.”
I’m unreasonably close with both of my parents, but I’ve always considered myself a daddy’s girl.
He’s just like me—or maybe I’m the one just like him.
We have the same sense of humor and the same hobbies.
He taught me how to dance and what good music sounded like.
He instilled my love for baking after a childhood of making breakfast together for my mom every weekend.
He’s my favorite person in the world, honestly.
Maybe that’s why I’m so confident in myself.
I’m a carbon copy of the person I find coolest.
When his grip on me loosens and I walk back, grasping Declan’s hand, I take a minute to study my dad.
We have the same eyes—deep espresso, though his are more almond-shaped while mine are wide and saucer-like, like my mom’s.
My skin is a shade lighter than his, more of a golden tawny to his rich brown.
He says I have my mom’s nose and lips, but I know I hold his smile.
I have his dark hair, but my mom’s long curls.
He doesn’t shy away from the gray that peppers his strands now, but he wears it well.
His eyes crinkle when he smiles—lines formed from a lifetime spent laughing. He shows them off proudly.
I clear my throat, pulling Dec to my side. “This is Declan.”
He holds his hand out to my dad first. “Nice to meet you—”
“Mr. Evans.” Dad returns the gesture, smiling broadly.
I roll my eyes.
My parents have never been strict by any stretch of the imagination, but they are protective. They don’t think anyone is good enough for me, and their one exception to that logic is probably throwing a football around a turf field right about now.
Dec’s shaking as he nods, extending his hand toward my mom. “Mrs. Evans—”