ON THE WAY HOME, I stopped at the wharf, straining my eyes to catch a glimpse of Handel pulling in his boat for the day. Plenty of fishermen were coming in, their clothes stained with guts and other remnants of life from the sea. Handel’s friend Mac was standing at the bow of his father’s boat, swinging his thick arms, like he wasn’t sure what to do. Two of Handel’s brothers, Colin and Finn, were nearby, caught up in conversation. But no Handel.
Not yet.
I had to wait awhile before I saw his long blond hair flying in the wind and that steely stare. He walked toward Colin and Finn. Ducked under a rope strung across the dock. Nodded at each one, then went to join Mac, both of them staring out over the water. My heart pumped with excitement and nervousness. I wanted him to see me, wanted to see his reaction, if he would smile a secret smile or pretend he didn’t notice I was standing there, waiting for him, too concerned his friend and his brothers would notice. When he did see me, I didn’t get a full secret smile, but I got half of one, the left side of Handel’s mouth raised up in a way I’d seen before.
I wiped a hand across my face, pretending it was the heat, when really I wished that somehow with a swipe of my palm I could erase my own smile, the one that wanted so badly to appear on my lips in reply. Then I went to wait in the place Handel and I had decided the other night was far enough away from our neighbors’ nosy glares and where his friends would never go—a coffee shop in the glitzy strip on the way out of town. Decided this when we were leaving the lighthouse in the protective cloak of the summer darkness. When I got to the café, I laughed a little to myself. I’d never once entered before, never even thought about it. It was so different from Slovenska’s, with its tall glass windows shining in the sunlight and its carefully decorated interior, new couches and coffee tables made to look used and worn and scattered about in a way that was supposed to seem casual but whose places had obviously been choreographed to the last detail. It was almost empty. A pretty blond girl was working the counter.
“I’ll have an iced coffee,” I said.
She smiled. “Coming right up.” The blond girl actually said this, like something out of a movie. At Slovenska’s they barely acknowledged you were there and orders were shouted loudly in coarse voices with strong accents. I had a feeling this girl would pronounce all her syllables with precision.
“Thanks,” I said when she handed me a tall frosty glass so unlike the plastic cups I was used to getting everywhere else.
“Are you visiting for the summer?” she asked.
The attempt at conversation was surprising. “Me?” I somehow needed confirmation from her, even though there was no one else nearby.
The girl laughed. Nodded.
“Um, no. I live here year-round.” I almost wished for a mirror to see what I looked like, so I could figure out exactly what was in me today that allowed me to pass for someone other than a townie.
“Lucky,” she said. “It’s beautiful here.”
“Yeah. It gets really cold during the winter, though.”
“But you’ve got the beach. Even when it’s cold, I bet it’s beautiful.”
“It is,” I said, but ended our conversation by heading off to one of the couches. I shouldn’t go making friends with the girl working if the point of coming here was to stay off people’s radar. Though, it’s not like I had a reason to think people would take special notice of me and Handel.
I sipped my coffee. Wishing he would hurry up.
Then the words “Hello, Jane” were spoken softly from behind me.
I turned to see Handel standing there, looking every inch the bad boy. I would have to take back what I’d thought before, about how Handel wouldn’t get noticed in a place like this. Maybe I could get away with passing as the blond girl’s friend, but how could people fail to notice someone like Handel?
“Hello, yourself,” I said, even though it was a little cheesy to talk like that. “I have something to confess,” I added, though I wasn’t sure why this was what came out next.
A strange look passed over Handel’s face. He didn’t sit. Not yet. “Confess?”
Guilt simmered in my middle. “Another boy asked me out today, and I kind of said yes.”
“Oh.” Handel seemed relieved, even though I’d just told him he might have competition. He walked around to the front of the sofa and joined me there, sliding in close. Our legs touched. “You’re going out with someone else?”
“Sort of,” I said. “My friend Bridget likes him, or at least his friends, and then I made it a group date. You know, more like me and the girls are going out with someone else and that someone else’s friends.”
“Do I know him?”
“Definitely not. He’s from out of town. He only summers around here.”
Handel’s eyebrows went up. “Interesting.”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I’m hoping he’ll fall for Bridget. Or anyone else. He’s nice, but not my type.”
“What’s your type?” Handel asked.
I walked right into that one. “I think you already know the answer.”
“I’m not sure I do.” He glanced around the coffee shop, taking in the two other people sitting across the room, a man wearing a business suit at one table and a woman at another, in a light dress that must have cost a fortune, high-heeled sandals on her delicate feet. Neither of them had any color from the sun. “You fit in easily in this place. I don’t.”
“Neither of us do and you know it.”
“I’m not sure that’s true.” He covered his face with his hands. Slid them down to his chin. “Let’s get out of here.”
“But we just—” I started but didn’t finish. Handel suddenly looked like he wanted to run away. “All right,” I agreed. I would have followed him anywhere. Done anything he’d asked. I downed the last of my iced coffee, and we headed outside. Handel went around the building to the back of the coffee shop, where there was a little deck built on stilts that hung out over the water. He stood at the edge, watching me all the while until I joined him there. The water lapped against the shore. Everything about this part of the beach was soft and gentle, unlike the beach in our part of town.
Handel inched closer. “You’re really going out with another guy?”
“I am. You never know.” I leaned into him a little. I liked hearing the slight tone of jealousy in his voice. “It might be fun.”
“I bet he’s a good guy. Rich.”
“Definitely rich,” I said, thinking Handel was just kidding around. “But I don’t care. I’d rather have a night for . . . for me and you.” I couldn’t quite bring myself to say “us” since we’d only gone out twice. But I wanted there to be an “us.” I mean, I hoped there would be soon.
“Maybe you should care.”
“Maybe, but I don’t. No way.” I stared at Handel, daring him to contradict me. I was sealing a pact between us by showing there wasn’t room for any boy other than him.
He ran a hand through his hair, something he did when he was nervous, I was learning. Like when he reached for his cigarettes, his other nervous tell. “If the time comes when you realize this was all a mistake, just remember I warned you about me.” He tried to laugh, like he was only joking, but there was something else underneath the sound. Pain. Or maybe regret. “Jane Calvetti,” he added.
“Handel Davies,” was all I responded, because I was too caught up in the fact that our faces had gotten close. Really close.
I could say that this was the moment I’d been dreaming of for so long, when Handel and I kissed for the first time, and how he looked into my eyes with his own, staring at me like I was the only girl in the world who could ever matter to him. I could describe in detail how his mouth felt on mine—soft but hungry, gentle but full of want—how his fingertips grazed the skin of my lower back, just underneath the hem of my shirt, giving me chills; how my knees turned to jelly as we stood there, kissing like we might never have another chance, and how Handel had to hold me up in his arms so I wouldn’t melt away. I could explain all of these things, but then I would also have to talk about the part when Handel slid a finger across the tender skin of my neck, just under my chin, traced it right along the tiny red seam there, and whispered softly in my ear, “You have a scar.”
If I talked about all of that, I would also have to explain how I’d nodded at Handel in response to those words, told him right then how I’d gotten it on that night in February. But I wasn’t yet ready to discuss this with him, not just yet, nor the part about how after this exchange I decided it was probably time to go home, which also meant going our separate ways, all the romance of our kissing gone so suddenly, and all the life drained out of me, too.