Page 33 of Summer After Summer

“That’s just something money can buy. This is thoughtful. Thank you, Fred.”

“Aren’t you going to kiss him?” Sophie says, twittering next to me.

Fred’s eyes are dancing, and I lean forward and kiss him on the cheek, feeling the heat of his skin through my lips. “I was always going to remember this night, but now I really will.”

“My pleasure.”

The cake comes next, and everyone sings me happy birthday, and then the music starts, and we dance to the Abba songs they play for the grownups. Then the DJ transitions to a slower number. Avril Lavigne’s “I’m With You.”

“Will you dance with me?” Fred asks, holding out his arms.

I walk into them for an answer, avoiding the knowing glance I’m receiving from Sophie. Most of the adults leave the dance floor, with only a few younger couples near us swaying to the music. The sun has set, the stars beginning to poke out. Fred’s arms are tight around me, looped low on my back. Mine are around his neck.

“Having fun?” he asks against my ear, his lips grazing it.

The side of my face starts to tingle. “Yes.”

“I know birthdays can be hard after …”

I tighten my grip, holding on. “I got a nice card from my mom. She wrote it before …”

“That’s really sweet of her. I wish my dad had done that.”

“Me too.”

He pulls his head back, and I look up at him, our eyes connecting, a powerful pull between us. Our faces move closer together and I think it’s going to happen, a kiss, but then Avril hits a high note, and it cuts through the moment. Fred pulls me to his chest, and I turn my cheek against it, breathing him in until the song is over.

Then we’re pulled to the beach, where some of the local teenagers have set up a massive bonfire. Ash is there, and she admires Fred’s gift, then tells me that she’ll leave us alone so we can “you know.” I turn back to Fred and try not to think too much about the kiss I want, the expectation of it hovering between us like the fireworks that are waiting to be set off.

Someone presses a beer into my hand, but I put it down because the fizz of the champagne is still running through me, and I want to remember everything about this night. The salt air and the sea breeze and the way Fred’s hand feels in mine, strong and sure, and the tinkle of his bracelet against my wrist, the empty links a promise of many more charms to come.

Someone attaches an iPod to a speaker. “Hey, Ya!” comes on and we “shake, shake, shake it,” laughing with each other, shaking our hands at the fire. Then it transitions into Nora Jones’s “Don’t Know Why,” and Fred pulls me into his arms like he did at the club party. This time I can concentrate on how well we fit well together, my chin resting on his shoulder, our thighs brushing as we turn slowly in the sand.

Fred pulls me tighter, his arms crossed over my back, his hands resting in the depression at the bottom of my spine. I tip my head back. My body feels hot in his arms, my heart full of a happy ache. He touches my cheek, running his finger down to my chin, and I start to tremble as he looks at me like he did an hour ago, full of heat and promise.

The world slows down, and he brushes his lips against mine, then presses us together more firmly as my hands reach up and tangle into his hair.

And as the first fireworks explode above us, my mind is full of the fact that this kiss—this kiss—is everything I wanted it to be and more.

CHAPTER NINE

June 2023

Fred is acting weird, like he doesn’t recognize me or wishes he didn’t.

It’s not anything he says, but his expression says it all. A slight downturn of his mouth, a wariness in his eyes. I know his looks better than my own, and even though it’s been years since I’ve seen him, it hasn’t been too long for me to misinterpret them.

He’s surprised by what I look like now, a shadow of myself, and he’s unhappy to see me in general, though he must’ve known, when he went to a party at my father’s, when he agreed to come to my sister’s, when he negotiated to buy our house, that it was inevitable.

He must’ve sought it out, and though I feel like I have a pretty good idea of the answer, I want to ask him why.

But now’s not the time, not with him looking at me like I’m an unpleasant stranger.

“I’m going to go,” I say to Sophie.

“You sure? Stay for a drink.”

I eye Fred across the room, where he’s sitting with Lucy, smiling at her the way he used to smile at me. Attentive, engaged, that heat of interest. His hair is short in a way that suits him, almost no curl to it, and his face is tan. My heart squeezes just looking at him, but that might be muscle memory.

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