Page 59 of From Now On

Conor approaches with a stack of plates. The top one has several pieces of buttered toast piled on it. He takes a seat on the other side of Harlow.

Hunter sits down last, a cluster of forks in one hand that clink when he sets them on the table. He has a shirt on now, but it’s the athletic kind that’s made from a fabric that clings like a second skin. So I can basically still see all his muscles.

Stop staring.

“You gonna be ready to go after breakfast?” Aidan asks Hunter.

He reaches for a piece of toast. “Uh-huh.”

“Go where?” Rylan asks.

“We’re surfing,” Aidan replies in an enthusiastic volume that worsens my headache.

“Oh. Right.”

“Yousureyou don’t want to try it?”

“Very sure.”

Aidan sighs. “Harlow? Eve?”

“I’m good,” Harlow says.

“Me too,” I answer. “Not feeling super athletic today.”

Truthfully, surfing would sound fun if I wasn’t so hungover. I’ve never tried it before. But the mere thought of rocking waves is making me feel nauseous. And Irefuseto risk throwing up in front of Hunter again.

Conor has his phone out now, researching beaches nearby for their surfing expedition. It sounds like Harlow and Rylan are planning to tag along for a walk on the beach, and I’ll probably do the same.

Walking on the sand sounds safe, and I can bring my sketchbook. I’m sure the scenery will be stunning. A closer look at what’s essentially our backyard here.

“You sleep okay?”

I choke a little on my breakfast as Hunter’s question registers. Glance up to confirm he’s speaking to me and then hastily swallow. Once, to clear the eggs. Again, because it suddenly feels like my throat is stuffed with cotton.

I can actually feel my pulse quickening. Goose bumps rise on my arms under my hoodie. I sat in a car with Hunter for—eleven hours? Twelve? I can’t remember exactly how long our trip ended up taking with all the delays. But these weird reactions should have worn off by now. I should have developed some immunity to those blue eyes by now.

“Like the dead,” I say. “I guess the secret cure to insomnia is tequila shots.”

Great job, Eve. Keep reminding him how drunk and disastrous you were.

I clear my throat and add, “Uh, you?”

“Yeah, I slept well.”

What a nice,normalanswer.

“No three-a.m. shower?”

God, what am I doing? Teasing him? Attempting to flirt? Running through a highlight reel of my most embarrassing moments?

“No three-a.m. shower,” Hunter confirms. The corners of his eyes are crinkled a tiny bit, like he’s fighting a smile.

I hope he loses.

But before I can find out, Conor passes his phone to him. “What do you think of this place?”

Hunter takes the phone. “Why are you asking me?”

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