This Summer Will Be Different(2)

He picked up another oyster and, after taking it apart, said, “It’s a nice tablecloth.”

“It better be. This tablecloth stretched my credit card within an inch of its life.”

“Don’t mind him, sweetie,” the server said as she took two platters of battered haddock from the kitchen pass. “He’s rusty. Thinks he can get by on those eyes alone. Women appreciate manners, I keep telling him.”

I laughed. His gaze swung to mine at the sound, and I felt it again. Lightning down my spine.

“Is that what women appreciate? Manners?” His voice was low, brushing across my collarbone, my shoulders.

I knew that tone. A flirtation. He was subtler than what I was used to—lacking the blatant pickup line and you can’t resist me swagger—but it was there. An invitation to play. A scene partner’s opening line in an improv. I could flirt. Flirting, I was good at. My lips tingled; a grin played on one side of his.

“I don’t know about other women, but this one would appreciate a menu.” I leaned in closer. “Please.”

“Fair enough.”

But he didn’t obey my request. Instead, he grated a knob of fresh horseradish, which tickled my nose, and he placed it along with two lemon wedges in the middle of a ring of oysters. He set the plate and a bottle of hot sauce in front of me. Six glossy Malpeques.

“It’s on me.”

“Really?”

He moved down the bar. He wore jeans, dark denim and cuffed at the bottom, and a pair of black-and-white-checkered Vans. I watched his biceps as he poured a pint. He placed the frosty glass in front of me.

“Here you are . . .” He drifted off.

“Lucy.”

“Here you are, Lucy.”

“Thank you . . .” I gestured to him.

He wiped his hands on a tea towel, eyes fixed on mine like he needed to decide something before giving me his answer. “Felix,” he said after a moment.

“I’m not usually a beer drinker, Felix.”

“It’s a blueberry ale, made here on the island. Try it.”

I took a sip. It was ice cold and slightly tart.

“Thanks.” I set the glass down. “And you were right earlier—I’m not from here. I live in Toronto,” I said, picking up an oyster.

“Toronto,” he repeated, though it sounded more like Terranah. He nodded once, solemn. “Sorry about that.”

I gave him a crooked smile. “Don’t be. I like it. Most of the time. Have you been?”

“Once,” he said. “I was only there for a night, but it was long enough.”

I hummed. Toronto could be an acquired taste, and even though I’d lived there for seven years, I wasn’t certain I’d entirely acquired it. I topped the oyster with a pinch of horseradish and a squeeze of lemon and lifted it toward Felix in salute before tipping it back with my eyes shut. Fresh ocean salt hit my tongue, and with it a memory.

Bridget and I in our apartment last fall. We’d just moved in together and had spent the weekend unpacking and assessing. How did our stuff fit together? How did we fit together? By Sunday evening, we’d determined we had two can openers, no coffee table, a futon with an aggressively uncomfortable frame, and a lifetime supply of IKEA tea lights.

We were covered in dust and lying on our backs on the floor when Bridget jumped up and skated to the kitchen in her socks. She pulled a box of PEI Malpeques from the fridge. Bridget was a rare twentysomething with her own shucking blade, but I’d never had an oyster. She couldn’t find the knife in the chaos of newspaper and plastic wrap and cardboard, so she jimmied the whole batch open using a screwdriver she’d dug from her toolbox, face scrunched pink with effort.

“If you ever meet my family,” she’d said as I fished out a shard of shell, “swear you’ll never tell them what a shit job I did with these.”

We’d been friends for a year, and aside from my aunt, she was already my most treasured person in the world, but I fell a little more in love with Bridget that night.

She should be here for this. My first oyster on PEI. I’d seen her just that morning, but I suddenly missed her with such intensity, my throat ached.

When I opened my eyes, Felix was staring at me. I could have sworn I’d seen a hint of pain—a melancholy swimming beneath the blue surface. But it vanished again before his mouth hooked up at one corner.

“Good?” he asked.

“Very.”

I shifted on my seat, crossing my legs. I could feel the beginnings of a blush. I wore my strongest emotions on my chest in bright red. It started between my breasts and crept its way to my neck. Felix’s eyes skated down, landing on the trio of moles below my collarbone.

“So what brings you to the island?”

“Girls’ trip.”

It had been Bridget’s idea. I would finally tell my parents I’d left my PR job, and then we would take a vacation to her family’s home on the island. Two weeks of oysters, sand, and sea. Two weeks to unwind, with nothing to worry about. It felt like we’d reached a new level in our relationship. We’d been roommates for a year, and friends for a year before that, but you never really know someone until you meet their family. And I couldn’t wait to meet Bridget’s. She was the most confident, most capable, most bighearted person I knew, and I wanted to see where she came from.