Then again, any advantage I think I've gained—hey look, I'm a grownup! I have my own successful business! so stop calling me cute!—is ripped away on the brisk night breeze only minutes later. I text a reply to Hannah and she meets us on the beach, clutching a baggie of ice for Bram's—er, Vernon's—nose. Her arrival should give me the perfect excuse to take my leave of these possible lovebirds (urk), but Hannah's natural sweetness charms Sasha, and pretty soon they're deep in an animated chat. Every once in a while Hannah glances over at me guiltily, aware that Sasha is supposed to be the enemy, but then Sasha draws her back in with another question about Hannah's life, and they continue their bonding session.
Which leaves me with Conn. He and I make small talk: what Sasha gave him for his birthday (a book), where he and Jack went for dinner (a Summerville bar they frequented when they attended Harvard, for nostalgia, chicken wings, and beer), even a little bit about how my dad's campaign is going. Nothing of substance. A good thing too, because I'm terribly distracted, wondering what Sasha's presence means. Is she visiting for his birthday? She hasn't come to Abbott's Bay once since their divorce. Have they gotten over their differences—or rather, has Conn gotten over his bitterness toward her? Most important, does he see Sasha's blatant attempt to cozy up to him again, both figuratively and (shudder) literally? Because it's crystal clear from where I'm standing.
"Conn, sweetie?" Sasha calls from a few feet away, where she and Hannah have drifted. "I'm chilly."
"Pick a bonfire," I suggest. "It's what they're there for."
"Let's go back to the house instead," she says to Conn, crossing her arms and hunching delicately. "We still have to talk—don't forget."
"Sure," Conn concedes without hesitation, and we all start trudging back down the beach.
Talk? About what? I'm dying to ask. I can't ask. It can't be anything good. My stomach churns as I get more and more riled up at this whole situation. It took years for Conn to get over his ex. I should know—I witnessed it. Hell, I helped him through it. And now that he's back on an even keel, here comes Sasha to knock him askew again.
Sasha and Hannah walk ahead of Conn and me. From the snatches of conversation that come back to me on the wind, I can tell Hannah is in the middle of relating the saga of her and Marty. Sasha is hanging on every word, which makes Hannah glow.
As I'm trying to decide whether to jump in to try to diffuse the glamour fogging Hannah's brain, Conn says, "Thanks for the birthday text. Where'd you find an emoji of a unicorn jumping out of a cake?"
"I never reveal my sources."
"I don't suppose I get a cupcake this year, huh?" He stops walking and gives me an endearing grin, but I'm feeling a little too salty to succumb to his charms.
"Looks like you've already got all the cupcake you can handle, mister."
"What?" he drawls, smiling wider and stuffing his hands into his pockets.
Connacht Garvey does many things very well, but pulling off "disingenuous" isn't one of them. It's unnerving—he's always such a straight shooter that when he decides to skirt an issue, especially one involving a skirt, he's about as smooth as Vernon.
"Don't even try it," I hiss. "What do you take me for?"
"You're going to have to be more specific, Abbott. Use your words, now."
"Stop it. You know what I'm talking about. What's with all the kissy-face with Sasha? It wasn't too long ago you described her as…what was it…a 'frozen-hearted harpy'? And now you're besties?"
"Oh, come on. There was no 'kissy-face.' And may I point out using that term is trivializing your argument."
"I know what I just saw."
"You're exaggerating."
"And you're playing dumb. A romantic stroll on the beach? Your fifth wheel nowhere to be found?"
"You're right here."
That stings. "Jack!"
"Oh, right. We left him several tequila shots deep in a political argument with some of the gang at DBC. What's the big deal?"
"Cut the crap, Conn. What's her agenda? What's she doing here? Are you sleeping with her again or not?"
Conn's jaw drops, and I fall silent. Over the shush of the waves, quieter now that we're farther away from the water line, comes the sound of Sasha's uncharacteristically strident voice shouting from Conn's deck.
"Hurry up, you two! We're going to light the chiminea. Conn, do you have any marshmallows?"
Like Sasha eats marshmallows.
His eyes stay locked on mine as he calls back brusquely, "We'll be there in a minute."
I wait. After a moment or two he looks off and up, at the sparks spitting from the bonfire in the distance, at the dim stars in the dark sky, anywhere as long as it isn't at me.
"Conn…" I begin uncertainly, while at the same time he mutters, "Wow."
"I know. I'm sorry—"
"See, that's the thing. You're not."
"No, really, I—"
"You just asked for—no, demanded—details of my sex life, and you actually expect an answer." He laughs a little, but there's no humor in it.
"I don't."
He doesn't hear me. "What is with you lately? It's like a theme: 'Melanie Takes an Unnatural Interest in Conn's Love Life.' I mean, first you make a very big point of telling Hannah I'm not available—"
"For her own protection. She's still recovering from her breakup, and I didn't want her to mistake a crush for—"
"Come on. Why would you take it seriously? Hannah doesn't even take it seriously."
He's right. Hannah admires Conn because he's a smart, friendly, good-looking guy, but it's obvious her heart is still with Marty (I'm no dummy). I don't bother telling Conn any of that. He's not waiting for me to respond anyway.
"Then you warn me Taylor is after me, which is completely insane, and now Sasha?"
"I—"
"What I want to know is…why? Really. What makes you think you have the right to tell me who I can and can't spend time with?"
"Because we're friends! And…and friends look out for one another."
"Seriously? That's your reason?"
"Okay, maybe all the stuff with Hannah and Taylor was…misguided. But Sasha? After she broke your heart, you're going to let her waltz back in here and—"
"I think that's my business, don't you?"
"Oh, here we go again. Your business. In case you've forgotten, I was right here when you moved back home. I saw what was left of you when she got through with you. I saw you at your worst—because of her—and I helped you put your life back together…"
I don't need to say this. Conn knows. He still gives me grief about it, teasing me about how I kept bothering him, being obnoxiously cheerful, invading his personal space when all he wanted to do was sulk in his house with only his equally grumpy cat for company. I saw him through his darkest moods. I have a right to express an opinion about this.
"Why would you think I wouldn't have something to say when she turns up out of the blue with that…that look in her eye?"
"Oh, you always have something to say," he snaps. "But for your information she didn't 'turn up out of the blue.' I invited her."
I can feel my mouth working, but nothing's coming out. Finally I manage a few weak words. "You…you want her here?" Now it's my turn to look away. I cast my eyes down at the sand, clumped in little hills from the many feet that have kicked through it today. I focus on a bent cigarette butt poking out of a nearby mini-dune. "Well then." I take a deep, slow breath. "You're right. I overstepped. Forget I said anything."
I turn to go, but Conn reaches out to stop me. "Hey. It's not like that."
Flinching, I pull away so he doesn't actually touch me. "Don't. You're right—you don't owe me any explanation. It's my own fault that I think you do."
"But you're upset that she's here."
"Of course I am!" I erupt. "I know how this goes. She's going to do it again."
"Do what again?"
"Dazzle you, blind you…what she always does. And then…" The tendons in my neck ache from the strain of trying not to shout, trying to hold it together, the pressure on my heart so intense I think it's going to burst. "Take you away. I couldn't stand that because you wouldn't be…" I stop again, choking on unshed tears, horrified at the thought that's surfaced.
"What?" he demands. "Wouldn't be what?"
Mine.
"Around anymore," I say instead. "And it wouldn't…be the same. It wouldn't be right. Conn, I…I need you here."
"You need me here? For what?"
Everything. I don't dare answer. I don't know what to say that won't sound presumptuous, stupid, proprietary—everything I have no right to feel, but I'm feeling anyway. I need him here because…
"Melanie?"
Conn's voice sounds distant, muffled. It's drowned out by the thundering of my heart, the roiling of my insides, and the chaos of my own thoughts. I need to respond. I have to acknowledge Conn is talking to me.
"I'm so sorry," I fight out, with effort. "Really. Please believe me."
"Okay. It's okay. I get it. You're looking out for me, like you said."
No. I'm not. I'm looking out for me, trying to catch the pieces of my shattered heart that are falling through my fingers as I realize. This isn't about Sasha, not really. It's about any woman coming between me and Conn. He really has been everything to me, for a long time. Once he was the cool kid I idolized. Then he was the young man I admired. But recently? So much more. A really good friend…at the very least. Normally I don't let myself think any further than that.
Now he's looking at me fondly, a warm light in his eyes as he shakes his head in wonder. "Yeah, that's us: I pull you back from whatever virtual cliff you're about to wander off of, and you keep my head on straight. I'm glad you care about me." Then he winks. "You, er, do care, don't you? That's what you were going for, right?"
I start nodding, almost violently, like I can't control my body. "I…I love you."
Apparently, I can't control my thoughts either, because that one actually comes out.
My eyes are wide when I look at him, stinging when they're hit by a salt-laden breeze. The lobster roll I had for dinner is threatening to make a grand reappearance on my shoes. For quite possibly the first time in my life, I'm terrified. I didn't tack on "you doofus" like I usually do. Because this time…I mean it. I mean really mean it.
Conn is smiling, genuinely and almost bashfully. I don't move—I can't—so he reaches out and pulls me into a hug. I'm stiff as a board, not even able to raise my arms to hug him back, because now it's not just Conn holding me. It's Conn. The man I…love?
Ho-ly…this is bad. This is really bad.
One ear is mushed into his chest, and he's covering the other as he cradles my head with his hand, but I'm still able to hear what he says next: "And I love you right back. We…" He hesitates long enough to make me wonder what he's trying to say. "We make a…a good team, don't we?"
Maybe not anymore, because the way he loves me and the way I love him…for the first time in our lives, they're not the same.
I squeak something unintelligible into his shirt, all the while trying to ignore his familiar scent, the hard muscles beneath the fabric, the way he holds me.
Then his arms tighten around me, and I feel the vibration of his voice all the way to my core as he says, "Melanie…"
"Hey, you two!" Whatever he's going to say is interrupted by the arrival of a painfully chipper Sasha. "What's going on?"
I stiffen all over again, but she's not suspicious, not even when she finds us locked in an embrace on the beach. Of course she isn't. I'm only little Melanie, after all. Hardly a threat to her and Conn.
As if to confirm that, Conn answers cheerfully, "Our usual little lovefest."
"Oh? I hope I wasn't interrupting." Pleasantly teasing, not even a hint of jealousy. I'm insulted.
Conn releases me from his hug and, with one friendly, brisk rub between my shoulder blades, says, "You know me and Melanie. We fight, we make up. She loves me, really."
"Of course she does!" Sasha drapes an arm over my shoulders and turns me toward Conn's house. "It's been that way for as long as you've known each other. Hasn't it, sweetie?"
Damn, the woman has pincers for hands. She squeezes my arm like she's trying to snap it off just below the shoulder socket. Maybe there's some jealousy there after all? But her expression is mild and neutral. Conn doesn't follow us. I don't dare look back. I can't look at him now.
I'm not sure I'm ever going to be able to look at him the same way again.