The Shippers(50)

It was one thing to sing again for the first time in years quietly, in Cooper’s private cabin, in bed, in the dark, with rustling insomnia as the only other option.

It was another thing to sing in a ballroom.

Even if it was empty.

“Is there anything else I could do for you?” I asked.

Cooper shook his head.

I eyed the stage area.

“The fact that you don’t want to is the exact reason why you should,” Cooper said.

I looked around the small ballroom. Had it gotten bigger?

“You agreed to practice,” Cooper urged.

“Fine. Yes. Okay,” I said. “I agreed to practice.”

And so we got arranged on an imaginary stage and stood in front of an imaginary mic stand—but then Cooper started strumming real music on that mini banjo, and after the intro, when he nodded a cue at me to jump in and start, I looked around at the cavernous room, and I felt a little squeeze in my chest, and I just … stood there.

Cooper stopped strumming. “That was your cue.”

“I know.”

“Try again,” Cooper said, and started over.

But the squeeze happened again.

“You know what?” Cooper said. “Let’s just do the melody together. No harmony.”

This time, Cooper jumped in at the cue, too—but instead of joining him, I just listened.

He did two verses, hoping he might get me in the mood, but then he petered out.

I looked over at him. “I think it’s the ballroom,” I said. “It’s so … big.”

“How about you close your eyes,” he suggested, “and pretend it’s ten years ago—and we’re up on your roof?”

I looked at him doubtfully.

“Just for now. Just until you get comfortable.”

So I did it. I closed my eyes, and I imagined that we were still in high school, that Cooper and I had never given up on each other, and that we were up on the roof just like we had been the night before, and the night before that … and that I was still a person who could stand under the moonlight with her best friend and just belt out a song without any hesitation.

And guess what? It worked pretty well.

Once I closed my eyes, there was nothing but imaginary moonlight, and Cooper’s familiar voice, and the mini banjo I’d heard him play a million times … and that lovely little song that I knew so well by heart.

I just fell into it.

We sang it three times, in the end, and it was easy.

“Next time, we’ll do it with your eyes open,” Cooper said as he walked me back to find my mother before I got in too much trouble. But as we passed the gift shop, Cooper stopped to examine something on a spinning rack.

When I turned back to look, Cooper had put on a pair of red heart-shaped sunglasses.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“I think those look weirdly great on you.”

“Not for me,” he said. “For you. To wear onstage.”

“At the reception?”

He nodded. “So you can close your eyes if you need to.”

But I shook my head. “I’ll be okay.”

And then he nodded and said, “Yeah. You will.”





Seventeen


COOPER TURNED OUT to be phenomenally good at fake flirting.

For a guy who’d never even imagined such a thing until today, he caught up fast.

By dinner, he had tickled me, rested his chin on his hands to gaze at me, stolen my hat and made me chase him all around the lido deck to get it back, and laughed uproariously at more jokes than I had actually told. He also grabbed me while I was walking by and made me sit on his lap, threw me over his shoulder like some pillaging Viking, and gave me three new Josephine-based nicknames, including JJ, Jo-burg, and Pheenie.

“You are really good at this,” I told him as we changed for dinner back at our cabin—me, as always, in the bathroom with the door cracked, and him out in the room.

“I researched flirting on my phone,” he said.

“You’ve got a knack for it, buddy.”

“I do, don’t I?”

“I’m going to write you a kick-ass recommendation,” I declared, “for your next fake flirting job.”

We were supposed to dress up for dinner tonight. Sneakers and tank tops were banned, and jackets and ties were required. I was wearing another dress of Ashley’s, this one loose and silky and flowing—with spaghetti straps. It slipped on easily—no zipper required. I bent down to put on my most ridiculous pair of heels yet, and I heard Cooper say, “It physically hurts me to see you mutilating yourself in all these shoes.”

I’m sure I was about to say something deliciously witty, but when I lifted my head and saw him—it went blank.

Whoa. His hair was coiffed in that swooped-forward way he liked, and his tie was tied, and he looked neat and ironed and … truly handsome.

Ugh. I said it.

“What happened to you?” I demanded, looking him up and down.

Cooper eyed me. “What do you mean?”

“How did you turn into a Disney prince?”

“You think I look like a Disney prince?”

“I really do.”

“You think I look like a cartoon?”