Page 3 of Spring Tide

His features instantly pull tight, almost as if he’s holding back a wince. Unprompted, he schools his expression, a careful retreat back to a blank canvas. “I have some other plans.”

“Oh, alright,” I murmur. “Something with the football team?”

“Nope.”

He carries on stacking his gear, pulling some twisted line from a fishing rod. It takes him a few quiet seconds to wrangle them into the correct place. With a displeased grunt and no further acknowledgment, he tosses the fixed rods into a separate pile.

“You don’t really spend much time with them, do you?”

“The team?” he clarifies, finally meeting my gaze. “We have practice almost every day.”

“Right, practice,” I echo. “I meant, outside of practice. You know, on the weekends and stuff?”

He shuffles some more gear around before he says, “I have work to do.”

“Oh, okay.” I press my palms together, offering a smile. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

With a tiny sigh, he shakes his head. “I meant, I have work whenever I’m not at practice.”

“I guess I didn’t realize you worked that much,” I say, genuine surprise coloring my tone. “That’s pretty admirable, actually. I’ve been working a lot this past summer, but I’ll cut back to weekends once the term starts. Then, come November, lifeguarding won’t really be an option anymore.”

“Hm,” he grunts out a nonresponse.

I pause, waiting for something more. But nope, that’s it. That’s all he has to say.

I try again, hopelessly attempting to elicit a small sliver of information. “Do you plan on working during the school term?”

He bends forward, brows pinched together as he lifts the crate. “Yep.”

Okay, nowthatwas definitely a wince.

“Alright.” I give him a gentle smile, finally picking up on his not-so-subtle hints. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m really sorry you can’t make it tonight. I’ll see you around, Reynolds.”

I take one step back before he stops me in my tracks. “Hold up a second.”

“What’s up?”

He brushes his palms down the front of his jeans and says, “It’s Luca.”

“What?”

“The name,” he clarifies, tipping his chin. “Call me Luca.”

“Oh, definitely.” I take a careful step forward, right arm jutting out as I reach for his hand. Once the initial shock wears off, his fingers wrap around mine for two quick shakes. “I’m Harper, by the way. Harper St. James. I’m glad we’ve finally met, although I feel like I’ve known you for a while now.”

He stares back, eyes locked on mine. There’s no instant spark of recognition in his gaze. No subtle upward curving of his lips. It’s just him, plain and bold, leveling me with an open stare.

“Well, see ya, Luca.”

He nods. I slowly pull back. My brain threatens to betray me, so I pinch my lips together, fighting to keep my wandering thoughts at bay.

I’m dying to ask him what he’s really doing tonight, why he never seems to hang out with anyone, how he manages to juggle football practice and work and school. All of it. But he seems soshy, so hesitant to meet new people and break free from his shell.

So I don’t ask him anything. Instead, I leave it at that, filing away the endless stream of questions for another day.

By the time I’ve wandered back to the patio, Stella’s already finished stacking the chairs. She’s sweeping now, carelessly swiping at the floor as she jams out to King Princess.

“How’d it go?” she asks, tossing her broom behind the bar.

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