Page 80 of Every Beautiful Mile

Finn lifts his hands over his head, doing a mock cast through the air with sound effects.

I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“But we don’t know them. Isn’t that a little… weird?”

“Mom.” Marin laughs as she sips her tea. “We spent hours with them on the river, and you spent two nights with the man. And you’ve been emailing him for months! Is he giving off serial killer vibes or something?”

“Okay, I did not spend the night with him. And no, it just doesn’t feel responsible. Plus, it’s the Fourth of July. Don’t you want to do something festive?”

As much as I hope they agree, I don’t want them to, which confuses me.

Finn scoffs. “We aren’t ten-year-olds that need a fair, Mom. I think this sounds amazing.” He pours syrup over his pancakes.

I groan.

“Fine. But if this goes terribly wrong and we all end up in coolers somewhere, I’m blaming both of you.”

We take our last bites of breakfast as my phone pings with a text, What time will you be here?

Sonofabitch.

Me: How did you get this number?

Ethan: I know the owner of the inn. What time will you be here?

I rub a hand on my forehead. He’s just so arrogant.

Me: What time would you like us to get there?

Ethan: Now.

Bastard.

Me: I’ll see you in a couple of hours.

Me: And wipe that stupid grin off your face by then.

Ethan: No promises.

***

When we arrive at the address he sends a couple hours later, I mentally give him the middle finger. He lives in the cedar house on the river.

Of course.

“This is the house on the river,” I say to the windshield more than anyone else.

Marin chuckles as she cranes her neck from the back.

“Duh, Mom. Derek pointed it out to us as we floated by.”

“Well, Ethan left that detail out,” I say dryly.

Derek meets us outside in what seems to be his tie-dyed t-shirt and swim short uniform, flicking us a wave before guiding us into a flat space to park.

“Hey, man,” Finn says as he opens his door, giving him a very teenage handshake that involves too many steps. Marin gives him a hug and tugs at his t-shirt, saying something that makes them laugh.

Austin wanders off the back porch slowly, looking like the stereotypical college student who has slept until noon wearing athletic shorts, t-shirt, and a sleepy face. The kids laugh as they drag the cord from the Avion to plug us in and unroll the awning before wandering down to the river’s edge.

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