Page 6 of Summertime Friends

“Don’t worry about it. I’m happy for you,” he tells me.

“Okay.” I take in the sight of him one last time before following after Brandon, who is standing at the door watching our interaction.

I’m a few steps away from him when he calls out my name again.

“States.”

I turn back to him. “Yeah?”

“It’s great to see you.” For the first time since he tapped my shoulder, Liam smiles at me.

“You too.” I mirror his smile. I turn back around and hurry to the door.

“All good?” Brandon asks me as I reach him.

“Of course,” I lie. He leans in to kiss me, but I turn my head, and his lips land on my cheek. He pulls away and glances over his shoulder to where I know Liam is standing, and then we leave.

3

EMERSON

Six Summers Ago

“This is ridiculous! Emme, did you even book two beds?” Natalie snaps at me.

“Yes, Natalie, I did.” Is she serious right now? It’s almost midnight. We’re both tired from the fifteen-hour train ride from Barcelona—I knew we should have flown.

“Then why is this happeningagain?” The emphasis she puts on again makes my eyes roll to the back of my head. “I trusted you to book all the logistics.”

“Do you want to see the booking confirmation?”

I flash her my phone. The confirmation email already pulled up before we even checked in. Two beds, city view. In bold, right at the top. I booked the same type of room in every city we are traveling to.

Natalie huffs, rolling her eyes, and turns away from the counter.

The lovely, older woman working the concierge desk has already apologized proficiently after informing us they only have one king bed and city view room available. If we wanted two beds, we would have to substitute the city view for a street view. I was about to agree to that offer when she told me it was all cars and garbage on that street. I opted for the king bed and a better view. We could share a bed. We have several times in our friendship. Plus, I don’t need another Natalie episode when she wakes in the morning to the site of garbage.

“Natalie, did you hear me? Is that okay with you?” I try to wrangle a final agreement from her before I take the keys from the concierge.

“Whatever. I’m tired.” She’s on her phone trying to connect to Wi-Fi as she spins on her heels and trudges toward the stairs. “Let’s just go to the room.”

I turn back toward the concierge. “I’m sorry,” I quietly say to her. Dropping my shoulders, I remove the keys from her hands. Rolling my suitcase behind me, I follow Natalie up the stairs.

Natalie doesn’t speak to me as we unpack our bags and prepare for bed. Brushing past each other in the bathroom. An annoyed glare when we both reach for the last hanger in the wardrobe. The silent treatment is extremely childish, but I’m used to it.

After what happened in Rome, I should have triple-checked and reconfirmed all of our hotels. Barcelona, we were in the clear, but I can guarantee that if it happens again after tonight, I might not make it back alive from this trip.

Even though I booked the correct accommodations—these are mistakes I wouldn’t make—the hotels are changing our reservations. It’s still my fault. I know this is letting her down.

And I hate letting Natalie down.

I hate letting anyone down.

Nat releases a dramatic sigh as she climbs into bed. My trusted telltale code for ‘I’m disappointed in you.’ She’s had it since we were ten.

Kicking her feet at the covers, she wiggles her way into the sheets and pulls them up to her chin—only a mess of blonde curls sticking out on the pillows.

“I’m sorry,” I say to her as I climb into bed on the other side and turn off the glass lamp on the bedside table.

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