Page 27 of The Sweet Spot

You said Brazil, and this was on your bucket list…

Here you go.

Luca

The last one is of a calm, quiet beach, palm trees studding the curvy coastline:Lagoinha.

Wren,

Just started fall semester at Universidade Federal de Santa Catarina

in Florianópolis. It’s beautiful here. Killer beaches.

I surf all the time but I miss home.

Luca

I read the words over and over, trying to imagine the boy I met in such a far-away place. His handwriting’s more of a rushed and messy scrawl than the other two, and I imagine he may’ve been a bit homesick when he wrote it.

“What are those?” Mom asks after a moment, peering over curiously.

I hand the postcards over, warmed from the inside out. “Postcards. From Luca. Remember that guy I met on the boardwalk?”

She examines the postcards for a long time, eventually looking up at me with a satisfied gleam in her eyes. “Those pictures in your room—this is the guy you were with, isn’t it?”

I give her a serious side-eye, wondering just how much she’s seen. Before college started, even though I’d displayed the photo strip in my room, I’d kept the ones of Luca and I kissing hidden in a drawer. I mean, come on—they werewaytoo intimate. Still, I wouldn’t put it past my mother to have discovered them during one of her cleaning frenzies. She always says she’s not being nosy, but I have my doubts.

“Oh, come on, Wren. You had those pictures up for months,” she says, folding her arms. “And they’re gone now, which leads me to believe you took them with you to your dorm.”

“Yes, yes, Detective. You’re right.”

“So, he did come back for you, didn’t he? I knew it!”

Chuckling, I lean forward and pluck the postcards back into my possession. “This isn’t the movies, Mom—he didn’t come backfor me. He and his friends just happened to be at the boardwalk again and we ran into each other. It was right when Saira came back from Encinitas.”

“Come on, little bird. I need more than that.”

“Saira and I were hanging out on the beach, waiting for the movie to start. The boys were playing soccer and we ran into each other. It was a total coincidence. We ended up spending the whole evening together—we even went on the Sky Glider.” I pause, and Mom smiles knowingly.

I narrow my eyes. She totally saw the kissing pictures. “And into the photobooth.”

But she just scoffs, leaning back in her chair. “Why didn’t you two just exchange numbers? Is that too old-fashioned for this generation?”

“No, I think we would have.” I sigh, staring at the slants and loops of Luca’s handwriting. “But there was a fight on the boardwalk that night and things got derailed. He and his friends left pretty abruptly.”

Her eyes narrow. “Was he fighting?”

“More like defending his friend. It was over really fast, but cops showed up and needless to say no one was feeling very romantic at that point.” My chest tightens as I remember Luca, glancing back over his shoulder at me as he and his friends melted into the crowd. “Anyway, apparently he left soon after for this internship in São Paulo.” I hold a postcard up. “I thought for a long time he’d forgotten about me. Guess not.”

“He couldn’t forget you,” Mom says, standing. She wanders over to the window overlooking the street. “You’re special. One of a kind.”

“You have to say that. You’re my mother.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true,” she says sagely. “Regardless, there must be a reason fate allowed Rodrigo to sit on these all damn summer, right? There must be a reason you’re only now seeing them.”

Yeah, well, maybe if Rodrigo had sent me these earlier, I could have written back—the first postcard has a return address. I wonder if Luca’s back in the States now.

“Anyway.” I stand, sliding my bag over my arm. “How’ve you been?”

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