Page 45 of Tourist Trap

I shift a bit to look down at her, her face hopeful and glowing, and once again, I can’t find it in myself to lie.

“You. You’re here.”

Because I can’t help myself, I put a hand to her hip, tugging her in closer so our bodies are melded, her soft breasts pressing into my worn T-shirt, and she beams up at me as we continue to sway.

The music isn’t fast, but it isn’t slow, either. Instead, it is stuck in that normally awkward in-between beat where you’re not sure what to do, but with her, it feels natural. My body just knows how to move with hers.

I lift my hand, pushing the hair that’s fallen into her face back as we sway, and she looks up at me with wide eyes that shift from my eyes to my lips, then my eyes again.

It would be easy to kiss her.

Too fucking easy.

Except, then, the song changes. I should be relieved, but instead, an alarming sense of disappointment fills me, but not Claire. She gasps, her eyes going wide at the tune I don’t recognize.

“OH MY GOD!” June yells from the other side of the room.

“It’s our song,” Claire whispers, still in my arms.

“You should probably go dance with her,” I say.

“I guess.” But she doesn’t let go. “Thanks for saving me, Miles.”

“What?” I ask, confused.

A smile spreads across her face like a wave. “I knew it,” she whispers, then moves to her toes and presses her lips to my cheek.

I don’t know when she did it, but the next morning, on the paper pinned to the fridge, she added a new item to the bottom.

Dance at the Seabreeze

And she crossed it out.

And when warmth fills me, I realize once again just how fucked I am.

SIXTEEN

MILES

“I’m fine, really, Helen!” Claire says as the front door opens. It’s barely nine, so it can’t be a good thing that she’s back this early, much less with Helen in tow.

“No, you’re not. The doctor said you need to lie down and rest! Where’s that Miller boy?” Ignoring the way my pulse beats a bit faster at the idea of Claire being hurt, I move to the entryway from the kitchen, Helen ushering Claire to the sofa in the living room. When she sits and Helen leans back, I can see there is a giant goose egg on her forehead.

“Jesus, Claire, what happened?” I ask, moving around the couch quickly to check her out.

“Nothing, Helen is just being a bit overbearing,” Claire says, though when she rolls her eyes, I don’t miss the small wince she makes.

“Overbearing my ass!” Helen shouts with a glare directed at Claire, then shifts her gaze to me. “Kids were playing baseball on the beach, not paying attention. Seems the sun got in their eyes, and one of the kids got her in the head. She was out cold for a few minutes.”

“Please stop exaggerating,” Claire says with a sigh, sinking back into the couch. “I was not out cold for a few minutes. A fewmomentsat best.”

“A few minutes or a few moments, it’s kind of the same, Claire,” I say, because neither sounds great.

“It’s a huge difference. If I was out cold for a fewminutes, they wouldn’t let me leave the doctor’s office. The other is where I am right now. I was dazed, not concussed.” She glares at me with a venom I didn’t think someone with a head injury could muster. I’m proven correct when she winces, her hand moving to her head, then mumbles, “Shit.”

“See.” Helen turns to me. “I’ll be expecting her to stay home for at least two days.” She turns back to Claire then, giving her a motherly, chiding look. “And you’ll need the doctor to give you a note saying you’re good to return.”

Claire’s shoulders drop, and she gives Helen a deadpan look. “Is that really necessary?” she whines.

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