Page 67 of On The Beach

"And here I thought he wouldn't know his foie gras from a fish taco." Anna fluttered her eyelashes. "Heishandsome. You know, Dan, we talked about a threesome someday; I want someone who looks like that."

"And I want someone who looks like his date," Dan remarked.

"He has a date," I said woefully. "How could he say he loves me, and now fuckthat?"And how am I supposed to compete withthat?

Just then, Mick caught sight of us, his eyes meeting mine. He dropped a charming smile and gave me a small wave as if to say, "Fancy seeing you here."

I gave him a curt nod, pretending to be engrossed in my now tasteless Dover fucking sole.

Anna leaned over. "He's checking to see if you're watching."

"He's here with someone else, Anna.As if I care." I picked up her glass and took a sip of wine, almost choking on the irony. The truth was, I did care—and my annoyance only grew as I watched him from the corner of my eye, talking easily with his date, seemingly untouched by any of the chaos he'd thrown my life into.

Anna raised her glass in a mock toast. "Here's to Mick, then."

"Yeah, may he enjoy his overpriced wine," I ground out.

"And may you figure out what exactly you want with this man," Dan chimed in.

I let out a sigh. "All I want is for him to get back on a plane to Reef Harbor and stay there."

"Liar.” Anna grinned.

"Bigfatliar," Dan agreed.

But as I took another sip of Anna's wine, I knew they were right; I was a big, huge, fatliar.

"I hate her," I said enviously.

"You know what Aristotle said?" Dan arched an eyebrow and tilted his chin, striking a pose like a philosopher deep in thought. "To avoid criticism, say nothing, do nothing, and be nothing. And let's be honest—if you didn't feel at least a little envy, she wouldn't be doing anything worth talking about."

I groaned, leaning back in my chair. "Great. So, according to Aristotle, that woman's existence ismyproblem."

Dan laughed. "Exactly. Philosophically speaking, it's not hate—it's admiration with a touch of existential dread."

Whatever, I thought petulantly.

CHAPTER 23

at the bottom of hope

MICK

Walking into Les Sablons, I'd expected a quiet night with my cousin Darcy, who lived in Boston. What I hadn't expected was Belle, looking effortlessly stunning, sitting across the room with a couple.

I gave Belle a quick wave and—though it was subtle—caught her eye roll. She was throwing those my wayallthe time for the past month since I'd come to Cambridge. She'd thwarted every effort of mine for us to talkaboutusand insisted that the island fling was over. I had half a mind to get her back to the island so she'd fucking listen to me.

What was most disturbing about my situation was that I was enjoying myself in Boston. I liked…okay, loved—being back in a lab. I hadn't expected to feel this way ever again, but as I got into the rhythm of things, it felt more and more natural,like riding a bicycle.

"Who do you keep looking at?" Darcy wondered and turned around as her eyes scanned the room.

"The woman in green," I told her.

"Hmm…she's not your type," Darcy remarked. "So, maybe that's a good thing?"

Darcy was a journalist atThe Boston Globeand was one of the few people in my family I didn't mind spending time with. She was from the American side of my family—theBottomside.

"I came to Boston for her," I confessed.

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