Page 63 of Marriage is a Shore Thing
When we finally settle down, my sides hurt nearly as much as the too-full ache in my chest. I gaze at my friends, my cheeks stinging from smiling. Then I turn my head, finding Van’s grayeyes already on me, a look of absolute devotion tracing his handsome features.
Energy zips through every cell as our gazes meet, making breathing impossible. Van’s chest shudders at the exact same time I struggle to fill my lungs with air. I don’t even notice how strongly he’s gripping my free ankle until he pulls his hand away to rub his ear, the slightest pink gracing his cheekbones. My heart trips and falls down three flights of stairs at that faint blush.
Brynn efficiently brings our focus back to finalizing the plan. After that, we enjoy the delicious spread and more conversation. At one point, someone suggests a heist-themed game of Pictionary and we use the back of the floorplans as the drawing board. Van and I team up with Brynn while Noah joins Vivian and Finn. I knew that my brother and Brynn were competitive—they’re both former athletes—but you’d think a gold medal was up for grabs instead of bragging rights. Despite their thirst for glory, we all end up laughing as the game progresses. And when our team is triumphant, Noah only sulks a little bit.
Brynn hovers beside me while everyone else finishes cleaning up.
“You said there’s nothing between you and Van, but the way you look at each other says otherwise.” My gaze snaps from Van joking with Noah in the kitchen to Brynn raising her palms in front of her chest. “Not that it’s a bad thing. All I’m saying is, Van seems to make you happy, and I’m here for you if you want to talk about anything.” Her lips twist to the side, rueful. “I wasn’t supportive enough when Vivian was falling for Finn. I thought she’d get swept off her feet and abandon me, which…looking back on it, was a stupid fear.”
My mouth opens, but only stilted air comes out. I can’t respond because my mind keeps circling on one phrase—falling for.
The rest of the group comes back into the living room, and Brynn gives my shoulder an almost too hard pat, like she’s my coach, and I’m about to go into the fight of my life. I numbly say goodbyes, acquiesce when Van offers to carry me upstairs, and stare at my reflection in my bathroom mirror for far too long as I brush my teeth. My molars have never been sparklier, my incisors pristine.
Am I falling for Van?
With my heart as battered as it is, am I even capable of that?
Fear, insecurity, and a looming sense of dread swirl in my stomach as I lie in my bed. As the windstorm thrashes against the house with its ghostly howl, I doubt there’ll be any chance of sleep anytime soon.
twenty-seven
Van
At first, I think the thumping and cursing is part of the windstorm. After all, I’ve been hearing my name on gusts of air since everyone left. My heart jackrabbited in my chest, thrashing like a wild animal as I heard my sister’s voice for the second time since arriving at Wilks Beach. It’s nonsensical, so I’m either hallucinating or it’s some weird magical trick, like the fireflies creating shapes in Geneva’s backyard.
Either way, the whisperedEvandermakes all the hairs on my arms stand on end. Taylor only ever used my government name if I’d really ticked her off. And I have no idea what she could be mad about. My head shakes, tossing overgrown hair into my eyes and reminding me I haven’t had it cut since before I arrived.
“Taylor is gone, and none of this is real,” I tell the empty kitchen.
The thumping continues until a crash has me racing to the staircase. Geneva’s crutch tumbles down the last few stairs, clattering onto the hardwood floor.
“Hey.” She gives me a rueful smile from halfway up the staircase, clutching the railing. “Apparently, this is harder than it looks.”
I shake my head at Geneva but am beyond grateful for the distraction. Carrying her down the stairs, doing anything other than wondering why my sister’s voice keeps repeating my name, is exactly what I need right now.
“Did you need something?” I ask, gathering her to my chest and heading downstairs.
“Not really, but I heard you were up.”
A hum resonates in my throat. “Can’t sleep either?”
She shakes her head as I set her in her kitchen chair and prop her ankle up on mine. The chairs are two different styles, and we’ve unspokenly chosen our favorites. Mine is a pressback chair with swirling designs etched into the oak, and Geneva’s is a streamlined crossback chair stained glossy black.
“Cocoa?” I ask as the microwave beeps its completion.
Her head tilts to the side. “What number did you use this time?”
“214.” I dump the packet into the steaming water and stir up the mixture. “Do you want some?”
“No, thank you. I’ll have some pineapple, though.”
I bend to grab Geneva’s snack from the fridge, picking up her favorite seltzer water as well.
“No, thank you?” I ask, setting the two in front of her. “You feeling alright there, wifey? Normally you just bark orders.”
She grimaces at the endearment before realizing I used it on purpose to get this reaction. Then her chin lifts, a daring flash in her eyes. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”
My sip of cocoa goes down the wrong pipe. I slam my chest with a closed fist, coughing like I was just rescued from a riptide. Geneva hums, drumming her polished fingernails on the table before opening the container of pineapple. The way she sets a single piece on her tongue with a flirty wink is nothing short of—
