Page 64 of Summer People
My chest aches at just the idea of it. I hate talking about Hunter. I hate talking in general. But talking about Hunter, missing him, remembering that I’m a shitty replacement for the original, is more painful than I can bear.
Libby gives my hand an encouraging squeeze.
“I can’t get rid of their stuff. I just can’t.” My voice almost cracks on the last word. I clear my throat and swallow past the combination of loss and inadequacy. “I’ve already taken over the rest of his life, as you so aptly pointed out.” I force a lighter tone to keep her from harping on that point. “So, what’s your plan after the summer?”
Brows lowering, she deflates. “Why does everyone assume that I’m leaving?”
Because nothing on this island sparkles the way she does. And something that shines as bright as she does should not be stuck in the dusty salt air of Monhegan. “’Cause you’d lose your mind here, Princess. I promise.”
With a sigh, she slips her hand from mine and rubs her temples.
“Head hurting?” I ask.
She nods, though she doesn’t look at me.
An ember of worry ignites in my chest. “Badly?”
“No, just a dull ache. Kennedy said it might.” Her posture sags further, her eyes getting heavy.
Knowing I need to keep her up, I stand. “No sleeping yet. Let’s eat. Then we can watch a show so you can relax.”
She puts up no fight, eating her entire steak and her favorite salad before she insists on watchingFriends. And when she drops next to me on the sofa, I wrap my arm around her and tuck her into my side. As she rests her head against my shoulder, a peace I don’t think I’ve ever felt settles over me. Watching stupid crap on the television has never appealed to me, but I wouldn’t move for anything right now. The show might be dumb, but the company is perfect.
“I don’t get what everyone loves about these people,” I grumble halfway through the third or fourth episode. It’s impossible to keep track of this nonsense.
“They’re the friends I always wanted but never had. Most friendships in LA are transactional. Business. No one really cares about anyone but themselves.” She yawns, her words slowing. “You and Maggie feel like my first real friends.”
The words explode like fireworks in my chest.
I tighten my hold on her and swallow past the emotion clogging my throat. Minutes later, her body is limp and herbreathing evens out. When I’m sure she’s truly asleep, I carry her up to my bed and tuck her in.
Just as I lean down and press my lips against her forehead, she whispers, “Please stay.”
Crawling into bed with her is simultaneously the worst and the best idea. But now that she’s asked, I can’t turn her down. So I flip off the bedside lamp and pad to the other side of the mattress, where I lie on top of the blankets. As the mattress dips with my weight, she shifts and rests her head on my chest.
“Night, Fisher,” she mumbles.
For a long time, I lie awake, watching the way her long lashes flutter in the dim light of the moon. I brush a strand of blond hair off her cheek, my thumb sweeping across her silky skin. I could watch her forever.
I swallow hard. I promised myself I wouldn’t fall for the woman who will leave me in a matter of weeks. But at this moment, I know it’s already too late.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
libby
I can’t believethis happened again. I can’t believe I’m waking up in Fisher’s bed again, inhaling this intoxicating aroma, reaching out for him, only to realize that he’s not here.
Of course he’s not here. Why would he stay in bed with me? After I made a fool of myself by asking him to stay, he probably waited around long enough for me to fall asleep before he snuck out. Hopefully he crashed in Sutton’s empty room rather than on the couch this time.
It should be a relief. How awkward would it have been to wake up side by side? With my luck, I probably would have been sprawled over him. I never sleep on one side. I also never share a bed, so I have no reason to stay still.
Or could I have subconsciously known to keep to my space? That’s probably something I should find out before I start dating.
My stomach sinks.Before I start dating? God, Libby. A man is nice to you for one night, and you’re already fantasizing about the future?
Before my mind can conjure any more delusions, I fling myself out of bed. It’s the comfort of his sheets that’s throwingme. That’s what I tell myself to avoid the disappointment threatening to crush me after waking up alone.
It’s nearly eight a.m. and my headache is gone. I’ll just head home, have a nice warm bath—assuming the pilot is lit—and come up with ways to avoid Fisher until these feelings subside.
