Page 39 of Summer People
“And make sure you bring a jacket,” Sutton adds, eyeing me pointedly as I rub at the goose bumps erupting along my arms. “If you’re cold now, it’ll just get worse when the sun goes down, right Fisher?”
He rolls his tongue against his bottom lip in the cockiest way, his eyes dancing. The man knows precisely why I’m shivering, and it has nothing to do with the weather.
Fifteen minutes later, Fisher comes to a stop on the side of the road in front of the park—and by park, I mean the open space beside the pier between the inn and the water. It’s the perfect spot for such an event, especially if tourists come. The rolling hill off the rickety white deck of the inn is covered in blankets and picnic baskets.
There’s even a guitarist sitting on a stool near the building, strumming tunes. I haven’t seen him around, but I’m not sure I’ve met all sixty-eight people on the island yet. I’m just about to ask Fisher about him when Bing barks and takes off toward a loud whistle.
“Yoohoo! Over here!”
Fisher bumps me with the picnic basket, herding us in the opposite direction. “Just ignore him. Bing will find us eventually.”
Wilder jogs up to us, gasping for air when he stops. It’s an exaggerated display, but I’m smiling, nonetheless. Especially when I see the T-shirt peeking out from under his flannel. It reads:When God made me, he grinned and said “this will be fun.”
“I won’t take that personally,” he mumbles to Fisher. “I’ve got a spot set up over here.” With a hand to my back, he steers me toward his blanket.
“We’ve got our own,” Fisher grumbles.
“Oh, Lindsey’s here!” Squealing, Sutton takes off.
Fisher deflates, like he knows there’s no chance we aren’t joining them and he’s not thrilled about it.
I don’t mind in the least. Being surrounded by people means it’ll be easier to avoid looking at the man whose eyes keep boring into me, who’s speaking to me in a gentle tone that’s as strange coming from him as it would be coming from Betty the goat.
Since the piggyback ride yesterday, it seems as though the man has gone from despising my existence to wanting me around. And I don’t know what to do with that. Every time I look at him, I catch him watching me, and the affection in his eyes makes my cheeks heat.
Is this change in his behavior because he feels bad for me? God, I hope not. The idea that he’s only being kind because he pities me is far worse than dealing with his annoyed scowls.
“Where’s Kennedy?” I ask Wilder.
“She’s working off island for the week. She helps out at the clinics on the other islands throughout the summer.”
“Hmm.” I’ve never thought about the other islands off the coast. Are they like this one? They couldn’t possibly be smaller than Monhegan.
“How’s island life?” He drops onto his knees and pats the space beside him. He’s like a giant golden retriever. Always smiling, always looking to play. He couldn’t be more different from the grump who’s currently scowling at him.
As I ease onto the blanket and pull my legs in, Fisher’s scowl deepens and he whips out his own blanket, practically setting it on top of Wilder’s. He lets out a heavy sigh and shuffles closer. But before he can sit, Bing reappears, taking the spot on the other side of me.
Biting back a smile, I focus my attention on Wilder. “Not too bad. I’m loving the weather now that it’s finally getting warmer. Is there a place to go swimming when it gets hot?”
With a frown, Wilder leans forward, peering at his friend. “Fisher hasn’t shown you the beach?”
I shake my head. “Oh, no. He doesn’t have?—”
Wilder winks. “Don’t worry, I’ll take you to all the good spots.”
Fisher grunts and eyes his dog as he settles on the other side of him.
I open my mouth, ready to tease him about it, but snap it shut again when my phone dings. With a mutteredexcuse me, I dig it out of my pocket and look away from both guys and the dog sandwiching me.
Brad: What the fuck kind of games are you playing? If the money isn’t back in my account by morning, you’ll regret it.
I frown at the text. What money? I haven’t taken any?—
The words from the headline materialize in my mind, and I snort. Of course the asshole didn’t make that donation. But why does he think I had anything to do with it? The humor dies quickly when I realize that this will just be another thing I haveto deal with, and it doesn’t even involve me. Though I’d like to kiss whoever did transfer the money to that charity. What sweet karma that is.
“Everything all right?” Fisher asks, peering over Bing.
I press the button on the side of the phone so that the screen goes black and smile. “Everything’s perfect. Oh, people are dancing. Want to dance?”
