Page 46 of All Along The Watchtower

“I didn’t know that until after I’d already screamed bloody murder in front of half the eighth grade.”

The easy back and forth felt so natural, like we’d stepped through time to before everything went wrong. Before I’d screwed everything up. My chest ached with how much I’d missed this. Missed her.

Peyton’s head swiveled between us like she was watching a tennis match. “I need to see these pictures.”

Bree’s eyes danced with mischief. “I’ve got you, boo.”

I groaned, but this was the longest conversation Bree and I had managed without her walls slamming back into place. I didn’t want to do anything to break the spell. So I merely dropped my head into my hands and gave a theatrical moan. “I’m doomed.”

CHAPTER 22

BREE

I pulled up to the school just as the last bell rang, parking in the visitor’s lot alongside other waiting parents. Keeley’s tail thumped rhythmically against the backseat as kids began streaming out of the building in noisy clusters. Peyton emerged with her backpack slung over one shoulder, her long legs eating up the ground as she made her way to my Jeep. Even from here, I could see the tension in her shoulders.

“Hey.” She slid into the passenger seat, immediately reaching back to scratch Keeley’s ears. The dog’s happy whine filled the car as she pressed into Peyton’s touch.

“How was school?” I tried to keep my tone casual, still learning how to navigate these regular conversations with a teenager.

“Fine.” The response came with a restless fidget that I recognized all too well from my own school days—the constant shifting, the way her knee bounced against the dashboard.

“You look like you’re about to crawl out of your skin.” I watched her from the corner of my eye as I pulled away from the curb.

“Just tired of being inside all day.” She pressed her forehead against the window, her breath fogging the glass. “The walls start closing in after a while, you know?”

I made a quick decision, turning toward the beach access road instead of home. “How about we take Keeley for a walk? Get some fresh air before heading to the Brewhouse for a snack?”

Her whole face lit up, tension melting away. “Really?” The way she perked up reminded me of a wilted flower finally getting water.

“Really.” Movement and food. It always worked for me. Sometimes the simplest solutions were the best ones.

Ten minutes later, we were strolling along the shoreline at Osprey Beach, Keeley running ahead to chase seagulls. The salty breeze whipped our hair around, and the late afternoon sun painted everything in warm gold, and the temperatures felt more like March than early February. The beach was nearly empty this time of day, just the way I liked it.

“Thanks for this. I needed it.” Her voice was soft, almost lost in the sound of breaking waves.

“I remember what it was like, being trapped inside all day.” I watched her skip a shell across the incoming waves with perfect form. Just like Ford used to do. The memory flashed through my mind like a sandpiper darting in and out of the waves. “Your dad taught me how to do that.” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

“Yeah?” She searched for another suitable shell, her movements precise and deliberate, just like his. “What else did he teach you?” There was a hunger in her voice that made my heart ache.

“How to fish. How to body surf.” I smiled at the memories, remembering long summer days when the air was thick with humidity and possibility. “How to hot wire a car, though wenever actually did it. Your dad was always better at the theory than the practice when it came to troublemaking.”

She laughed, and it was so much like Ford’s laugh. “Did you teach him anything?”

“How to make the perfect s’more. How to lie convincingly to his moms.” I grinned, thinking of all those nights we’d spent around beach bonfires. “How to sneak out without getting caught. Though honestly, I think Mama Flo and Mimi just pretended not to notice half the time.”

“Sounds like you were trouble together.”

“The worst.” But the best kind of trouble. The kind that had made growing up on this island magical.

I leaned over to bump Peyton’s shoulder with mine, noting how she didn’t flinch away. “How’s it going with you two?”

“It’s weird.” Peyton kicked at the sand, sending a spray of tiny grains into the air. “He’s trying so hard. Like, sometimes I catch him just staring at me like he can’t believe I exist. Yesterday, he spent twenty minutes telling me about his high school track medals, then got all flustered when he realized I might not care about that stuff.”

“That’s probably exactly what he’s thinking. Ford’s always been the type to overthink everything.”

“He asks about Mom a lot.” Her voice went quiet, almost lost in the sound of the waves. “I get why, but…”

“But it hurts to talk about her.”

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