17
Brynn
Sloan’s bedroom is dark, but I can hear the sound of the ocean waves and feel the soft breeze coming through the window.
The room is quiet, but I get this inkling. This prickling that crawls up my spine and alerts me that someone else is here.
Josh?
No. It can’t be Josh.
We said good night hours ago.
And if it were Josh here, I wouldn’t feel this panic in my stomach, this clenching in my chest that makes my heart beat so fast that I feel like there’s a strong possibility that I am about to have a heart attack.
“Who’s there?” I whisper.
No one answers. Not that I really expected them to. My hand reaches for the bedside light, but just as my fingers find the chain, a hand clamps down on my mouth.
I scream.
The sound is muffled.
But I also yank on the light chain hard, and the room fills with soft yellow light.
My attacker is all in black. With a balaclava over their head. But there is a lock of hair peeking out of the eyehole. It’s an unmistakable shade of red, and I know exactly who is hovering above me.
I rip the hand from my mouth.
“Poppy?”
She laughs and pulls the mask off her head.
“You should have seen your face a moment ago. Classic.”
“What are you doing here?”
She stands back up, folding her arms across her chest. “Get dressed. I need your help.”
I blink a few times just to be sure that she is real and that this isn’t some bizarro dream. But Poppy is very much Poppy as she heads for my closet and pulls it open.
I watch as she sifts through the racks of clothing and pulls out a pair of black cargo pants and a black long-sleeved bodysuit that I’m pretty sure was from the Halloween episode where both Sloan and Poppy dressed like sexy cats.
“This will have to do, I guess.” She tosses the clothing onto the bed. “Hurry up. We need to get up there before the sun comes up and I have to be back at town hall by noon.”
I reach for the clothes and pull them on, still completely in the dark about what it is we’re doing.
When I get downstairs, Poppy is holding open the back door with her foot. She taps her toe as I pull on Sloan’s one and only pair of non-heeled shoes. As I stand, she presses a black ski cap into my hands.
“You can wait until we get there to put this on.”
I tuck it into my back pocket. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
Poppy smiles wickedly. “This is a DFA.”
A DFA was Poppy and Sloan’s code phrase for I need you, but don’t ask what for. I had always assumed the F between don’t and ask stood for fucking. Now that I’m here, I’m not so sure. Either way, DFA was a phrase that could be uttered during dire times of need. Sloan used it once when she needed Poppy’s help to steal the biology midterm from Mr. Nguyen’s classroom when she had to work double shifts all weekend to bail her estranged delinquent half brother out of jail. Poppy used it when she needed help stealing the mascot costume from Carson’s Cove’s rival football team—a bold move that ultimately secured her spot as cheer captain junior year.
It was a blood pact.
You don’t ask questions and you show up.
I’m still not fully awake as I get into her silver BMW. Poppy offers no further clues on where we’re going or what we’re doing as we drive along the dark and twisty back roads away from town. At least a full fifteen minutes of driving pass before we turn down a dirt road and a small farm comes into view. As she pulls the car behind a large bush at the very end of the driveway, I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“I need you to be my lookout.” Poppy puts the car into park and cuts the engine. “I figure I have at least thirty minutes.”
Even in the dark, I can tell that this place wasn’t a set on the show. Yet, despite its unfamiliarity, I get a sneaking suspicion that I know where we are.
“Whose farm is this?”
Poppy seems unfazed by my question. “Luce’s, obviously.”
Shit.
“And why exactly are we here?”
Poppy reaches into her backseat and grabs a white plastic bag.
“Luce has been walking around town all week telling people she’s entering my pageant. I am simply going to remind her that the crown is meant for another head. Mainly yours.”
She bops me on the nose before reaching into her bag and pulling out two cans of spray paint.
“What are you going to do?” I ask, already suspecting the answer.
Poppy shakes the cans, the little balls clinking against the aluminum.
“Relax. I’m just going to send her a little message. Nothing we haven’t done before.”
Right. Poppy and Sloan were notorious for their own brand of vigilante justice. Toilet-papering Chad Michaels’s house when he took Luce to prom instead of Poppy. Egging Mrs. Garret’s car when Sloan failed her chemistry midterm, dealing a crushing blow to her GPA.
These pranks may have been funny back on the show, when Sloan and Poppy were in high school, but this is one of those Carson’s Cove quirks that hasn’t aged well.
“Poppy, I don’t think this is a great idea.”
She ignores me and gets out of the car. I follow her down the darkened driveway toward the barn.
“All you have to do is stand over there.” She points to a small shed between the barn and the white farmhouse. “Give me a signal if you see Luce coming. That’s all.”
“A signal?”
“Yes. A warning. Just hoot like an owl or something.”
I don’t like this.
It’s wrong.
But Poppy is also Sloan’s best friend. She’s been there for Sloan through everything. It doesn’t leave me with much of a choice.
Besides, it’s just a little spray paint.
“Fine, but hurry up.”
I creep over to the shed and peek around the corner at the house. It’s a small two-story white building with vertical shiplap and wooden porch beams. It’s cute. I can envision Luce living there.
I watch the darkened windows for a few minutes, listening for any sign from Poppy that she’s done and we can leave. But then a light flicks on, illuminating a small white kitchen and a person who is definitely Luce yawning in front of her coffee maker with a mug in her hand.
My heart hammers hard against my ribs as a silent alarm in my head screams Abort, abort, abort.
I cup my hand around my mouth. “Oooooooo-ooooo, oooooo-oooooo!” My best attempt at an owl call carries through the yard.
My eyes scan the stretch of farm surrounding the barn. Poppy isn’t where I left her. Nor is she in the driveway or near the shed.
There’s no sign of her at all.
My eyes flick back to the house.
I can no longer see Luce in the kitchen.
My already pattering heart kicks up another notch as I get that sinking feeling that things are about to go very wrong.
I hear twigs snapping behind me.
And just like I knew there was someone in my bedroom this morning, I know that when I turn around, I won’t be alone.
I twist.
It’s an eerily slow 180-degree turn as my brain chants over and over, Please be Poppy. Please be Poppy. Please be Poppy.
It’s not Poppy.
The creature snorts.
It’s not Luce either.
I have always thought horses to be docile creatures. But this one flares its nostrils as if it knows why I’m here and it doesn’t like it.
Beside it are a second black-and-white-spotted horse, two goats, and a chicken.
“Hey there, friendly creatures of the barn.” I make my best attempt to sound gentle, but these are not the sweet and fluffy farm animals that used to frolic through scenes of Carson’s Cove. I’m looking at an angry farm animal gang, and they’re all staring at me with the same expression: Intruder.
“So…I’m just gonna sneak past you guys, if you don’t mind.” I attempt to move around them.
But they do mind.
They mind a lot.
As soon as I take a step, the chicken squawks and flaps its wings. It startles the goat, which then rams into the side of the first horse, which snorts so loudly it irritates the other horse, which rears up onto its hind legs, letting out a loud nehhhhh.
My heart lurches, letting out a stream of adrenaline that pumps through my entire body.
I sprint full-speed away from the barn and the horses and the chicken and the goats, back down the driveway toward the spot where we left the car.
The sound of galloping hooves behind me only fuels me to run farther and faster. As if my life depends on it.
The black-and-white horse overtakes me as soon as I make the final turn at the end of the driveway back onto the road.
But only because I stop dead in my tracks as I realize that Poppy’s car is gone.
“Come back!” I yell, not entirely sure if I’m talking to Poppy or the horse that is now barreling down the road toward town.
Neither return, and I’m left alone in the middle of the road, attempting to piece together what just happened.
Luce’s animals are freely roaming the countryside.
Poppy is definitely gone.
Whether those two events are directly connected is not completely clear. Neither is whether Poppy intentionally abandoned me or fled in fear.
“Okay, no need to panic,” I say to no one but the birds.
The sun has risen enough that I can see now without a flashlight, which is great because I seem to have dropped mine.
I start to walk, following the same road taken by the fleeing horse.
It’s a long, flat stretch of country road serving as a visible reminder that I have a very, very long walk ahead of me.
I spend the first thirty minutes straining my ears for the sound of tires on gravel, sure that Poppy is looping back to pick me up at any moment.
I spend the next thirty minutes cursing her name because who the fuck does she think she is, dragging me out of bed and leaving me like that?
The last thirty minutes are a blur.
I’m hot.
I’m dehydrated.
I’m exhausted, and my stomach is grumbling because our morning crime schedule didn’t include time for breakfast.
My god, I’d give my left arm for an Egg McMuffin right now.
My footsteps start to stagger.
There’s even a point where I swear I do smell eggs and bacon.
But the road ahead seems to grow even longer with every step.
The heat makes the horizon a blur.
When a man comes into my line of vision, I’m sure he’s a mirage.
His body glistens in the morning sun as his arms and legs pump rhythmically with my beating heart.
Lub-dub. Lub-dub.
He’s shirtless.
He’s running.
My body floods with a feeling of euphoria.
Spencer.
Our date last night may have fallen a little flat, but maybe I was getting too ahead of myself. Expecting too much.
Maybe this, here, is the storyline we were meant for. I’ll collapse into his arms from sheer exhaustion. He’ll tell me that Poppy came to his beach house, frantic because she lost me, and that he, sick with worry, didn’t even have time to put on a shirt before he tore out the front door to come to my rescue.
The sun behind him is casting a hazy glow that forms an angelic halo next to his sun-kissed skin.
He looks like a god.
A bronzed god.
Except Spencer would never be described as bronzed.
He’s an SPF 50 kind of guy.
A soft cream color on a summer day.
The runner gets closer, and I realize that it’s not Spencer coming to rescue me.
It’s not Spencer at all.
“Josh?”
He removes an earbud from his ear as he slows his run to a walk.
“Brynn. What are you doing way out here?”
I don’t want to answer that question.
“I was about to ask you the same thing.”
He pulls a water bottle from a pack around his waist and squirts it into his open mouth. It spills down the front of his chest, and I have to restrain myself from pouncing on him and licking up the droplets.
Because dehydration.
“Ten K. Every morning. Remember?” He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand.
“Me too,” I lie. “I thought that since we’re trapped here, I should take advantage of the opportunity to work some more cardio into my life.”
Josh nods, either not picking up on the lie or too polite to call me out on it.
“I was just about to turn around.” He points at the road behind him. “Do you want to run back with me?”
Dear god, no.
“I would, but…” I clutch the side of my waist. “I got a cramp in my side. I can’t seem to get rid of it.”
He steps toward me. “Here, let me help.”
Before I can think of another excuse, his hand is sliding up my waist. His palm is warm and I swear his voice is unusually husky as he says, “Lift your right arm above your head.”
I obey. There’s no hesitation.
He grabs my upheld hand by the wrist and pulls it just hard enough that my side becomes taut, allowing him to really lean in and work his thumb in firm circles, kneading the muscles that were perfectly fine to begin with.
A picture floats into my vision.
Josh, holding both my hands above my head.
Firm but gentle as his golden body looms above me.
The euphoria returns in a rush, followed by a feeling of lightheadedness.
“That feels so good,” I moan. And I swear Josh’s hand stills for just a moment before he clears his throat.
“Breathe. Just keep breathing through it.”
I’m not sure if he’s talking to himself or me.
My knees give out from underneath me. I mentally blame my morning of unplanned exercise as I lean into him. My hand is braced on his shoulder, and my breast presses against his biceps.
“Does that feel better?” he asks.
I can’t find words, so instead, I nod. My magical state is only broken when he releases me and steps away.
“We should probably take it easy and just walk back. Is that okay with you?” He points at the road.
Again, all I manage is a nod. “You can keep running if you want. I’m fine to get back on my own.”
Josh shakes his head. “Naw, it’s fine. I’ll probably have time for another one later.”
I applaud his stamina.
We start to walk toward town.
Our hands accidentally bump every few steps, and I realize I’m not walking in a straight line and try to correct myself. But a few more steps later, I find my way back to him again.
I blame Sloan’s fashionable but not-so-functional sneakers.
Josh doesn’t say anything about it at first. But after a third hand bump, he looks over.
“You haven’t said a word in fifteen minutes. It’s starting to creep me out a little.”
“Really?” I shake my head to clear some of the fog. “Sorry. Just thinking, I guess.”
Josh nods. “Anything you want to talk about?”
I don’t think he wants to hear that I’m craving the feeling of his hand on my waist again. Or that my concocted fantasy of him looming above me has been burned into my eyelids. Or that every time I bump into him, I think a part of me is secretly hoping I’ll trip and have to brace against his chest again. Or that I like his sweaty smell.
I lock my eyes on the road and try to clear away the thoughts I should not be having about Josh and his glistening body. Part of me is thrilled that I’m once again feeling that stir of desire, which confirms that I’m not, in fact, broken. But there’s a very real problem in that those feelings are aimed at Josh and not Spencer, and as enjoyable as it is to lust after Josh, doing so isn’t going to get us home.
The monotonous stretch of dust and gravel is a welcome distraction until a speck appears up ahead, then, as it gets closer, grows into the form of a bike.
Its rider’s familiar pale arms are almost reflective in the sunlight.
“Spencer?”
Josh, who hasn’t yet noticed the biker, shakes his head. “You want to talk about Spencer?”
“No. Spencer.” I point to the bicycle, panic rising in my throat. “He’s coming. Quick! We need to hide.”
I search the roadside for any sort of cover. There’s a large flowery bush. But when I attempt to dive into it, Josh blocks my way.
“Wait. Why are we hiding?”
He doesn’t understand.
I told Spencer last night that there was nothing going on with Fletcher and me, and if he sees us together out here, early and alone, with Josh all sweaty and looking like Josh, he’s going to think I lied to him.
“He keeps finding us together. He’s going to think something is going on.”
“I’m sure it’s fine—”
“No!” I get my second adrenaline rush of the morning. This one is exponentially more powerful. I mean to push Josh out of my way, but I’m hopped up like the Hulk and make firm contact with his shoulders. He takes a step backward, but the road gives way to a slight slope and it’s enough to keep the momentum going. I swear I hear a hard and true “Shit” as he lands in the middle of a bush, flowery branches engulfing him.
It was not what I intended, but it’s the outcome I was looking for. As Spencer cruises up, it’s as if I’m completely alone.
“Sloan, hey. I thought that was you.”
Spencer takes off his red bike helmet. It matches his red-and-black spandex biking onesie perfectly. He pulls his mirrored wraparound sunglasses from his face and hangs them in the deep V created by his half-zipped zipper. I can’t help but compare the sickly white of his clammy skin to Josh a few moments ago in all his bronzed glory.
Spencer sees me checking out his chest and puffs out like a preening peacock. He leans over the handlebars of his bike so that we’re perfectly at eye level and gives me the Spencer Woods half smile he’s famous for.
“I really shouldn’t be stopping.” His voice seems intentionally low. “I like to get to ninety percent of my optimal heart rate for at least six miles to really get into my pinnacle fitness zone, but I had to tell you that I haven’t stopped thinking about you or our kiss since last night.”
This declaration surprises me in a way that I can’t explain. “Really?”
The bush starts to move. Spencer turns his head to investigate, but I jump in front, blocking his view. “There’s a raccoon in there.” I attempt to contort my body into a shape to achieve maximum bush coverage. “I saw it earlier. Pretty sure it’s hibernating. Possibly rabid. Definitely doesn’t want to be disturbed. We should ignore it. You were saying something about our kiss?”
Spencer blushes. “I’ll be honest. I thought it might be weird. We’ve been friends so long. I didn’t expect it to be so, so, so…”
I brace, expecting the worst. That he slept on it and came to the same realization that I did last night. It was terrible.
“It was epic!” Spencer says. “I think it may have been the best kiss of my life.”
I ignore the epic and let his sweet words run over me. This moment is exactly what I’ve been waiting for.
My stomach should be swooping right now. My heart should be hammering hard against my rib cage. I should be feeling things. Picturing our future children. Or our matching rockers on our wraparound porch. But the moment Spencer said kiss, I pictured the roof last night. And kissing Josh.
“Ahhhhh.” Spencer reaches up and cups my cheek. “Are you picturing it too? Well, I’d suggest we try again right now just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke, but I’ve got numbers to hit.” He points at an elaborate fitness watch. “And you,” he says, reaching out a finger and bopping me lightly on the nose, “have a pageant meeting to attend.”
“I do?”
Spencer eyes me as if he’s uncertain if I’m joking. “Yeah, the Lobsterfest pageant meeting for all the contestants. I saw Poppy at your place as I was leaving. She said she was there to pick you up.” He rechecks his watch. “She mentioned the meeting starting at noon sharp. You might want to get going.”
This new information about Poppy only adds to my confusion, but all thoughts about her are temporarily put on hold as Spencer leans in, and for a terrifying moment, I think he’s going to kiss me.
To my relief, he instead reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. “I will catch up with you later.” He lowers his head so his eyes are level with mine. “I’ve got plans for us, Sloan. Big plans.” He winks before remounting his bike. I watch him ride off down the road, trying to will myself to feel something for him.
As soon as Spencer is out of sight, I run to the side of the road and pry back the branches of the bush.
Josh is lying on his back, hands folded behind his head. I ignore how my eyes are drawn to his lips and the stupid smirk on his face and the way his laid-back pose flexes his biceps and instead direct my attention to the fact that he’s staring up at me, making no effort to move.
“You pushed me into a bush.” His tone isn’t mad, but more matter-of-fact.
I hold out my hand. “Technically, I pushed you, and then you fell into a bush.”
He raises his brows, ignoring my hand.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, fully meaning it. “I panicked. I honestly didn’t mean to shove you that hard.”
He nods as if accepting my apology and takes my hand, but instead of letting me pull him to his feet, he tugs hard and quick, and I pitch forward, the branches of the bush only slowing my fall as I topple directly onto him.
He’s grinning at me as if inviting a reaction and although my instinct is to roll off immediately, I find myself studying the tiny flecks of green in his eyes.
“Now it’s you who pushed me into the bush.”
He grins. “Technically, I pulled you. It’s quite nice in here. I thought you should experience it firsthand.”
He’s so close, and his cedary scent is mixing with the delicate sweetness of the flowery blossoms, lulling me into a trance where I almost consider burying my face in that place between his chin and his collarbone and just hanging here for a while.
Instead, I find the will to heave myself into the mound of dirt beside him. Sprigs of scented purple flowers spring up around both of us.
“You were right,” I tell Josh. “For a bush, it’s surprisingly comfortable. I’m almost tempted to stay here for a little while.”
Josh reaches up, picks a flower blossom from its stem, and inhales slowly before offering it to me. “So why don’t we? I have nowhere I need to be.”
I do. If Spencer was right, I’m expected to be at some pageant meeting, and we’re still some ways out of town.
I take the flower from Josh’s fingers and smell it like he did a moment ago. Its fragrance is so sweet and summery that I don’t even realize I’ve closed my eyes until I open them again and find Josh watching me.
I feel his gaze all the way to my toes. It zips through me like an electric shock.
“Here.” I shove the flower back into his hand, the feeling in my chest shifting from whatever it was just doing to more of a panic.
“We should get going.” I sit up a little too quickly, my vision clouding with the sudden head rush. “I have a Lobsterfest meeting to get to.”
Josh moves at a fraction of my speed, pushing up to his elbows. “Remind me again what you’re doing with the lobsters?”
“It’s a pageant. Sloan needs to win it, remember? Spencer was saying there’s a big meeting that I’m supposed to be at.”
“Sounds serious.” Josh eyes me momentarily, then gets to his feet in a single smooth rock and roll. He holds out his hand. “Shall we?”
He pulls me out of the bush and continues to hold my hand as we climb out of the ditch and back onto the road. When he finally does let go, my fingers tingle, filling me with this urge to touch him again.
“Hey, Brynn.” Josh steps toward me. His hand reaches for my face, his thumb skimming the line of my jaw as if he too was suddenly missing that contact. For a moment, I think he will cup my cheek and kiss me again.
I still.
But his hand finds my hair and pulls something from it. A tiny hydrangea blossom. He holds it up and twirls it between his fingers.
“A souvenir of our time in the bush.” He tucks the blossom behind my ear, but before I can reply with the appropriate response, he turns and takes off.
“Hey! You’re not going to wait for me?” I call after him.
He turns and starts walking backward, smiling. “I figured I’d stay ten paces ahead. Don’t want someone to see us together and get the wrong idea.” He winks. “I’ve got Sloan’s reputation to protect. She’s got a crown to win, and we look like…well, we look like we’ve been rolling around in a bush.”