This Summer Will Be Different(30)

Bridget orders mussels and I order lobster and shrimp tacos with French fries, and the three of us chitchat about vacations past while Felix pries open one oyster after another. Trivial Pursuit tournaments won and lost. The year Zach brought a diagram of how to replicate the Panmure Island Lighthouse to scale for the sandcastle competition. There’s none of Felix’s usual flirting. There’s no teasing, no shimmery eyes. But when our gazes snag, I feel it like a shock—longing and heat and something else more treacherous.

Bridget is doing an impression of her grandma’s failed attempt to teach me to square dance—“You don’t just have two left feet, Lucy; you’ve got three!”—and Felix is chuckling. It strikes me how the two of them connect in a way I never have with my brother. It could be that Lyle is six years older, or it could be that we don’t have shared interests. He’s a dentist like my mom and a jock, and even though I love him, I also find him a little boring. His husband, Nathan—a chatty real estate agent with a Harry Styles obsession—is the most interesting thing about him. But unlike our parents, Lyle is vocally supportive of what I do.

Stacy believed she was the reason my parents didn’t approve of my becoming a florist—that it was about her rocky relationship with my mom and not about job security, as they claimed. I suspect it was both. Over time, they’ve grudgingly accepted my career, but they’re not exactly enthusiastic, and they don’t attempt to mask their anxiety about my life as a florist. I try to brush their worrying off, but I’ve never managed to escape it entirely. It’s Bridget I turn to when I need reassurance.

When the lunch rush passes and Felix’s former boss hollers at him to take a break, Bridget and I relocate to the patio while he fixes himself something to eat. I send Lillian another message about our meeting.


Would Monday evening work?



If we fly out Monday, I could meet her later in the day. Otherwise I’ll have to push it until next week to give myself enough time to prepare for Bridget’s wedding on Saturday. If there’s a wedding. Tension knots in my neck, and I rub my shoulder.

I close my eyes and try to enjoy the salt air, the rumble of boat engines, and my one-beer buzz. Bridget is similarly lizard-like. We stay that way until her phone rings. She frowns at the name on the screen, then looks to me.

“Take it,” I say. “I’m happy sitting here on my own for a bit.”

She exits the patio and makes her way toward the beach, out of earshot. She’s facing the water, so I can’t see her expression. I’m trying to read her body language when Felix sets a dozen oysters on the table, along with a basket of onion rings.

“So you don’t have to watch me eat,” he says, biting into a tomato and cheese sandwich. But I love watching Felix eat. Even his sandwich chewing is hot. Ugh. I’m the worst.

“Is she speaking with Miles?” Felix says, turning to look at Bridget.

We observe her for a minute. “I’m not sure.”

I face Felix again, and there’s an awkward pause. “I wanted to apologize to you,” I tell him.

He sets his sandwich down, his focus on me fully. There’s no feeling like it—the rush of holding his total attention.

“This morning on the deck, that’s what I was trying to say.” Felix is perfectly still, but his eyes sail across my face, waiting for me to go on. “I’m sorry for how I left last year. You were so good to me, and I didn’t have a chance to thank you properly. Or say goodbye.” I hold up my hands. “So this is me saying thank you.”

He studies me for a moment, his gaze softening. “You’re welcome, Lucy.”

It feels good to clear the air. “I owe you big-time.”

“You do.” A smile creeps over his lips slowly. “A breakfast, if I remember correctly.”

I look over his shoulder. Bridget is striding toward us.

Felix follows my gaze, and says, “You can pay me back later.”





15





Now





I’m sitting in a Muskoka chair by the bonfire pit at Summer Wind, but instead of watching the setting sun cast the cliffs in an even more spectacular shade of red, I’m texting with Lillian about our meeting, away from Bridget’s judgment. We’re turning our expensive breakfast into expensive cocktails Monday evening.

I’m so looking forward to this, Lucy, she writes. Let’s get this done!

So this is good news. Great news. I could double the business in a year. But there’s that quiet, questioning voice. Can I handle that? Do I want to? Who is my success for?

I set my gaze on the horizon, where the sun is dropping quickly. It will take the warmth with it when it dips below the horizon.

“Live your life for you, and no one else” was one of my aunt’s signature pieces of wisdom. But what if you aren’t sure what you want? Or what a full life looks like? I wish I could ask her.

I return to the house, melancholy, but then Bridget waltzes into the kitchen. She tells me that Felix will be home soon with oysters. He needs to practice for the shucking competition tomorrow night, and he’s invited Zach to help us eat them. She’s wearing sweat shorts and a tank top. There’s a mustard stain on her left boob.

“There’s a mustard stain on your left boob,” I tell her.