This Summer Will Be Different(60)

We drove to Point Prim Lighthouse, the oldest on the island. Of the many, many lighthouses I’d visited over the years, I decided it was my favorite—tall, round, and painted bright white—and that Point Prim was one of PEI’s loveliest spots: a peninsula of gorgeous farmland jutting into the ocean.

“I could live here,” I said to Felix as we ate lunch at the chowder house that sat on the edge of the rocky shoreline beside the lighthouse.

He leaned back in his chair, eyeing me in a way that made my stomach flip. “I can see it,” he said. “The island suits you.”



* * *



? ? ?

“Chloe doesn’t mind you spending so much time with me?” I asked as we drove to the beach the following day. We took the truck this time.

“Uh, no.” Felix cleared his throat, then glanced in my direction. “Chloe and I broke up.”

“What? When? Bridget didn’t tell me.”

“Not that long ago. She wanted to move back to Ottawa, and I didn’t want to go with her. Neither of us wanted to do long distance. She said I didn’t let her get close enough when we were living in the same place anyway.” He shrugged. “Maybe I didn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” I told him. “I thought it was going well. I had no idea.”

“It’s fine. You’ve had a lot going on—I’m sure that’s why Bridget didn’t mention it.”

“I guess. Carter dumped me last month, too.”

“I heard,” he said, his gaze flicking my way. “That’s too bad.”

Felix told me how much he loved the island’s east coast. He said it was quieter than the north shore, wilder, and that the beaches were beautiful. Souris was good for sea glass hunting, and Bothwell was one of his favorites, but we went to Basin Head, where there were changing rooms and a canteen housed in little wooden buildings by the shore.

The sand was pale white, stretching as far as I could see to the north, swaying dune grass and scraggly pines running its length. To the south was a rocky red cliff crowned with evergreens. We took our shoes off and walked up the shore, where it was quieter, the sand squelching strangely under our feet.

“It’s called the singing sands,” Felix said. I rubbed my toes back and forth, trying to make a melody. It sounded like an out-of-tune seal.

We laid down a blanket and ate our picnic of baguette, cheddar, ham, olives, and Red Island ciders. I searched for a piece of sea glass in the little clumps of seaweed that had washed ashore but, as always, found none.

“I’m beginning to think sea glass is a prank islanders play on tourists,” I said, plunking down beside Felix.

He grinned. “Nearly forgot,” he said, reaching into the pocket of his bathing suit and pulling out a milky white stone that looked like a small piece of quartz. “This is for you. I saw it the other morning. You must be good luck—I haven’t found a piece in ages.”

He placed the sea glass in my palm. “White’s not as rare as some of the other colors. Orange, red, and blue are tough to find now.”

I studied the little treasure, then lifted my gaze to his. Electricity ran from his eyes to mine and back again. Something was happening between us, but I wasn’t sure what it was. I knew how Felix flirted, and this wasn’t it. This was tender. This was sweet.

I thanked him, smiling a nervous smile and laughing a nervous laugh, then dug out my sunscreen.

“Here,” Felix said when I rubbed it over my shoulders. “I’ll do your back. Your dress is low.”

“Sure,” I said, voice husky. “Thanks.”

I turned around, and Felix moved my braid over my shoulder. His palms coasted over my skin, and I closed my eyes. It was unfair how good his hands felt, how his touch sent blood flowing from my head to between my legs. But I needed to ignore how his body did things to my body. I didn’t want to mess with what we had going. This tentative friendship that began when he visited Toronto, that I believed had grown with every book I’d sent him, every package of seeds he’d mailed to me.

We spent hours reading on our bellies, kicking our feet, me scouring a stack of magazines and Felix with his nose in Beloved.

In the midafternoon, he stood, peeled off his shirt, and extended his hand to me. I’d neglected to pack a bathing suit, but it was hot enough that I held up my dress and waded in to my knees while Felix swam. The beach was busy, but when he emerged from the ocean, I forgot about everyone around us. He walked through the surf, water running down the tanned expanse of his torso, orange swim trunks clinging to his hard thighs. This friend thing would be easier if he didn’t look like that. I stared at Felix, my dress slipping from my fingers, as he made his way to me. He glanced at the lilac fabric swirling around my legs, and then up at me, a smile growing when he caught the red blaze across my chest.

We dried off, drank our ciders, and Felix asked about my aunt. I told him all about Stacy’s garden and how it had been my happiest place when I was a kid. I told him how she was the only person in my family who understood me. I told him how much Bridget missed the island when I met her, and how Stacy scooped her up into our little family. Old movies. Pasta from the restaurant down the street. Boozy lectures about living life to its fullest. Outings to the theater.

I wiped my tears with the damp hem of my dress, and Felix put his arm around me. We stayed like that, side by side, staring at a ship in the distance, and eventually I set my head on his shoulder.