Page 1 of The Best Worst Mistake
Prologue
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Juliet
I’m panting by the time I trudge over the last sand-covered dune, emerging from a different spot than where I walked a few moments ago. It’s our last night here, and I was the one who forgot the champagne back at the rental. But now that I’ve retrieved it, the chilled bubbly will go perfectly with the heat of our bonfire — if I can figure out which direction I left the two guys I’m here with.
I look both ways, finally spotting the familiar broad-shouldered silhouettes. They’re sitting in a pair of Adirondack chairs, nearly hidden behind long strands of beach grass waving in the breeze.
They look like a postcard, their backs to me, facing out toward the water, and I grin, letting my feet sink into the sand while I watch them.
Grant and Silas stare out to the waves as they talk, bathed in a canvas of orange and rose gold hues. The warmth of the day is slowly disappearing above us as light bounces and churns offthe Atlantic surf. Likely still frigid from the colder-than-usual spring we’ve had this year without a chance to warm yet beneath a summer sun.
Silas’ laugh carries with the breeze to me, followed by Grant’s. It’s the soundtrack of our last four years at Harvard together, and one I can’t imagine ending quite yet. But that’s why we’re here: to bookmark the end of one thing and the beginning of another.
It’s our first and probably only time staying at this Cape Cod bungalow. Grant’s parents had surprised the three of us with the reservation before we collected our diplomas in Cambridge outside Boston a few days ago.
I bite back a wave of nostalgia and absorb the moment I’m in now like a sponge. It’ll be our last time the three of us will be together for a while and I already miss everything about it, even though I’m still standing right here. Bottle in hand.
Silas says something I can’t hear in the wind while Grant nods and chuckles beside him. Then he reaches over to pat Grant on the shoulder. Grant returns the gesture so their arms stretch across the sand between them for a moment. They smile at each other, the wind whipping their hair.
My grin widens and I wonder when they’ll notice that I’m only a few yards behind them.
Both drop their arms and gaze at the sea, settling into the comfortable silence that comes with a friendship nearly as old as they are.
What will Grant do without his best friend after we all part ways?I already promised myself I wouldn’t cry again this weekend. But it feels like the end of an era before the final push of adulthood rushes in like the tide first thing tomorrow.
When we get back to Boston, Silas will use his father’s jet to take him to Amsterdam, where he’ll begin a solo backpacking trip through Europe. He’ll start in Switzerland, then go whereverthe wind blows him after that, I suppose. He’s the only one of us who doesn’t have to worry about starting his career right after graduation. I know his father would prefer that he take a different path, one that looks very similar to his own. But much to Silas’ surprise, his dad hasn’t insisted on him starting work yet and has given Si at least a year to do what he wants. Maybe more, we’ll see.
Speaking of, Silas must feel me watching them because he suddenly turns around. His face lights up when he sees me and we grin at each other. I hold up the bottle I’ve just grabbed from the fridge at the house.
He nudges Grant’s shoulder, and Grant turns around then stands to move the third chair in the group closer to his side before I reach them.
The sand is deep and I kick off my sandals when I get there. It’s cold but soft and damp between my toes. I curl up in the chair and tuck my feet beneath me.
“A sight for sore eyes,” Si says, pointing at the champagne bottle. He stands to take it from me while I settle in next to Grant. “I was ready to send out a search party.”
Grant squeezes my knee and laughs. “I told him you were probably just enjoying some alone time — without this goon around to bother you.” He points at Silas.
I laugh and Silas smirks while unwrapping the neck of the bottle.
“Hardly,” he mumbles, but his voice carries off in the breeze. He’s about to start working the cork out when he turns to me. “Glasses?”
I gasp and cover my eyes. “Shit.”
They both chuckle.
“You forgot the glasses,” Grant confirms, already knowing my answer.
I lean over to kiss him. “You’re more than welcome to go grab some if you’d like, my love. I just got my cardio in for the day by running back there, thanks.” My hair flies around my head and a long strand catches between our lips.
When we break apart, Silas is facing the ocean, poised to push the cork out of the bottle with the neck pointed up toward the sky. He glances over his shoulder.
“Fuck it, Jules,” he says. “We don’t need glasses. You’re fine. Thanks for grabbing this. We’ll manage without.”
I smile then raise my brows at Grant as if to say,See? We don’t need ’em.
