This Summer Will Be Different(51)

“Why didn’t you tell me this was a casual event?” I say to Bridget as we pass a young woman wearing a tiara and a sash that reads MISS OYSTER PEARL—even she’s wearing denim cutoffs and a tank top. Bridget has on something similar, but I thought that was just Bridget being Bridget.

“What about an oyster-shucking event in a community arena suggested not-casual?” She scrunches her face. “Why do you care? You look the way you always do when you go out.”

It’s true. I’ve been the dressiest person in the room many times in my life. It’s kind of my thing, and it’s never bothered me before.

“You’re right,” I say. “I don’t care.” But I think maybe I do. This is Felix’s world, and part of me is wondering if I could ever fit into it.

Felix is pulled aside by one person, then another. A man a bit younger than his father claps him on the back and asks about his grandparents. A guy our age asks him why he hasn’t seen him at the gym this week. A couple—who by their matching island spuds hats I assume must own a potato farm—invite Felix to their home for dinner next week. Many of those who stop him are women. Many of them beautiful. I watch a brunette put her hand on his chest, over his heart. My belly pinches strangely. Which is silly. I have no claim on Felix.

The emcee is already onstage—bearded, ball-capped, and wearing a shirt that reads LET’S GET SHUCKED—going over the rules.

“After the juniors shuck, it’s the grading contest,” Bridget explains. Felix has vanished into the crowd. “And then the national shucking championship is after that. We have a couple hours before Wolf competes.”

“What do we do until then?” I ask as Felix reappears, clutching three cans of beer.

He passes one to each of us. “Drink.”

“What about you?”

“No alcohol before I shuck,” he says. “Then . . . a lot of it.”

“I’ll drive us home,” Zach says. “I won’t drink anything after this.”

I see her over Felix’s shoulder just before she gives it a tap. Her hair is such a pale shade of red, it’s almost blond. It extends to her mid-back, and her bangs are immaculate. Joy is even more stunning than when I met her three years ago.

I watch Felix hug his ex, holding my breath. I’ve never seen Joy and Felix in the same room, and it’s staggering how easy they are together. After they embrace, Bridget holds her arms open and proceeds . . . to . . . hug . . . Joy?

“Joy! I’m so glad you’re here.” She nods at the stopwatch around Joy’s neck. “Wolf didn’t tell us you were volunteering.” It’s like I’ve entered an alternate dimension, one where my best friend wouldn’t be the primary suspect if Joy were found murdered in her sleep.

“Surprise,” Felix says, giving Joy a grin and a dimple.

“You’re looking at one of the official timers for this year’s Canadian Oyster-Shucking Championship,” Joy says, puffing out her chest in jest.

“You should be shucking yourself,” Felix says, his voice fond.

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, Dad.”

I’m mostly at peace with my curves, but Joy is so toned, she makes me feel like a moose in a maxidress. Her hair is in a high ponytail, and she’s in a red volunteer shirt and bike shorts that treat her thighs with the adulation they deserve.

“Hi, Lucy.” She leans in to embrace me. And ugh, she smells amazing, too. Like a butterscotch sundae. But an elevated one. One that would cost twenty dollars in Toronto. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

“You too,” I tell her, though frankly, I would have preferred not being reminded how perfect and genuinely nice the woman Felix wanted to marry is. Or seeing how relaxed they are with each other.

She nods at the stage. “I gotta get up there. Lucy, I have a question for you about peonies later, if you have a sec? Mine are unhappy.”

Blech, she’s wonderful.

“Uh, sure.”

She turns to Felix. “Mrs. Stewart is looking for you. She wants to set you up with her granddaughter in Borden-Carleton.”

He looks at Joy, disturbed, and she laughs.

“I’m just warning you,” she says.

Felix winces. “Thanks.”

I watch them with a feeling not unlike dread. Or maybe it’s a form of jealousy. It’s not about the prospect of Felix being set up. Or even about Joy. It’s realizing that he has a reason to fear Mrs. Stewart’s granddaughter, and I don’t know what it is. But Joy does. Because Joy knows Felix. He has friends who understand him and exes who he bumps into on occasion. He has people who see him year-round, not just when the weather’s warm, who see him at the gym and know when he’s off his routine, people who can invite him for dinner on a random Wednesday evening.

“Well, I gotta get back to it,” Joy says. And then off she goes, ponytail swishing.

I must be wearing my feelings on my face because Felix gives me a questioning look. I smile, ignoring it, and turn to Bridget. “I never thought I’d see the two of you so chummy. Care to explain?”

“She reached out to me a while ago.”

“Really? That’s great. Why didn’t you tell me?” It’s another thing gone unshared between us.

“It’s no big deal, Bee. We’ve just been texting a bit.”