Page 93 of Summer People
She shakes her head. “Anything but this. I think he wants to stay because of my parents.”
I nod. She’s right. But Fisher would be devastated if he found out she feels this way but is afraid to tell him. “I could talk?—”
“Please don’t.” She grasps my arm tightly, her nails digging into my skin.
I place a hand over hers, uncurling her tiny fingers.
Sheepishly, she looks at me, realizing I’ve got scratches from her wild nails.
“I won’t say a word. I promise. But you should. Tell him your truth. If there’s anyone in the world who would move heaven and earth for you, it’s him.”
Her small body relaxes a fraction. “Maybe,” she says softly.
I fight the urge to sigh. She won’t tell him. And I won’t betray her trust. But maybe I can find a way to get Fisher to figure it out on his own. Looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me this weekend.
The porch creaks as Fisher steps outside. “Ready to head to Mrs. K’s?”
Sutton throws her arms around me. “Promise you’ll come back?” she whispers.
Behind her, Fisher eyes us cautiously.
I force a smile and press a kiss to her hair. “Of course, pretty girl. We’ll be back in two days.”
Sighing, she pulls back. Then she hops off the porch and heads to the truck without looking back.
“She okay?” he asks, his attention trained on her back.
I nod, lips pressed together. This is the first time I’ve lied to him. I don’t like it. That means I have to get these two to be honest with one another, and soon.
Two hours later, Fisher picks up both our bags in one hand—my pink carry-on and his dark green canvas weekender—then holds his hand out to me. “It’s only a few blocks. You okay to walk, or do you want me to grab the car and come back and get you?”
I pause, frowning. “Grab what car? Did you rent one?”
Fisher wiggles his fingers, reminding me that he’s waiting, and I slide my palm against his.
“Nah,” he says, guiding me toward the street. “My Range Rover is here.”
I pull up short. “Your what?”
He glares at where my feet are firmly planted. I’m not moving until I get answers.
“My truck. It’s a Range Rover. Ever heard of it?”
I roll my eyes. “Of course I’ve heard of it. I’m just wondering why you have a Range Roverherewhen you livethere?” I throw a thumb over my shoulder, gesturing to the island so far out it can’t even be seen on the clearest of days, which today is not.
“Can’t bring it there,” he grumbles, as if that actually answers my question.
He tugs on my hand, and I allow him to steer me through the droves of people swarming the small town. Sutton and I explored the town the last time we were here, so I know there’s a small boutique just up the hill, nestled between tourist shops. In every window, T-shirts and hats emblazoned with puffins and lobsters are on display. Plush versions of the creatures are easy to come by, and we even found Lego sets. I was tempted to buy the puffin set, but figured the boat was a big enough purchase. I’ll save that one for another day. Maybe on our way back to the island. As we round the street corner and start toward a hill, Fisher slows down a bit so we’re walking side by side. “Are you ready for the audition?”
No. Yes. Maybe? With a sigh, I settle on “I don’t know.” Nerves skitter through me like they do every time I think about the upcoming audition. “I took voice lessons as a kid, but once I got my first movie role, that kind of fell to the wayside.”
“You sing in the shower,” he says with a smile.
“Oh, are you standing outside the bathroom and listening? That’s a little stalkery, Hacker.”
He lifts one shoulder. “I like watching you.”
Eyes wide, I scoff. “Fisher Jones, do you have a camera in your bathroom?”
