Page 45 of Forget Me Not

That’s where she’s wrong. “He doesn’t like me.”

And if I just wanted to scare you off?

“That man watches you like—” she pauses, as if she doesn’t want to finish the sentence.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re his. Like he’s yours. You two . . .” She shakes her head. “There’s something there and even if it’s a summer fling, I think you should do something.”

I think about it for a moment. Just how good it would feel to finally just lay next to someone. Feel them. Not have to worry about the ghosts in my closet coming to drag me down to the personal hell that waits for me at the bottom of the ocean.

For a brief moment, the feeling is nice. Heavenly.

Then the shame sets in.

It never disappoints.

“You know I can’t.”

Katelyn shoots me a look, practically throwing down the quilt she’s holding and marching over to me. She takes me by the shoulders, forcing me to look at her and I have to admit, she’s kind of terrifying like this.

“Nova. You are hot. You’ve got great tits and a good ass and you deserve to be railed six ways to Sunday by whatever guy you want. Well, not the taken ones, but you know what I mean.”

When I don’t respond, she releases me, shaking her head and stalking back to her stack of quilts where people are starting to take notice.

“You’re right,” I call after her.

It tastes like battery acid.

Katelyn pauses, staring at me wide-eyed.

“Did you just admit that you deserve happiness? Are you the Nova Leigh Fischer?”

“Keep it up,” I grumble and she chuckles. “It would be stupid to try something with Reid.”

“Maybe not,” Katelyn offers. “He’s leaving in a couple weeks. That gives you time to get used to the dating game before you jump in, full force.”

“I don’t think I’m cut out for the dating game.”

“Bull. Have you seen yourself? You’re the prettiest person on this island.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better about little miss sunshine, over there.”

“How long are you going to hate her?” Katelyn asks quietly.

I pause, thinking over the list of reasons why Sophie and I have never really gotten along. It’s not her fault . . . but it is, at the same time. If she wasn’t around, maybe things would have been different.

“I don’t hate her,” I murmur, grabbing my gloves. I’m expected to help at the community garden in ten minutes. “I just don’t like her.”

“Touché,” Katelyn laughs as I walk off. “Try not to out-pick Judy!”

I start back down Main Street, wading through the crowds of tourists and locals in town for the festival, toward the inn where the garden is planted across the street. Just like most days out of the year, the inn is the centerfold for Founder’s Day, so everything is alive and bustling around the building.

It’s been a busy day. I woke up at six this morning to come help prep the inn for tonight’s celebration, where Mayor Copley will give the same boring speech he did last year about what a great community we have. There will be food, dancing, sweet crabs for all, and I have a sneaking suspicion it’ll last until way too late in the evening.

I’m already tired. Am I getting old?

I’m halfway to the garden when a familiar scent of sea water, leather, and that foresty smell of the man I can’t date wash over me like the great wave of Kanagawa.

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