This Summer Will Be Different(61)

We were watching a Great Dane try to capture waves in her mouth when Felix asked gently, “What happened with Carter?”

I blew out a breath. “I thought things were going okay, but he said he hadn’t seen me half as emotional about him as I was about the break-in at the store.”

I hesitated before telling Felix the next part. I didn’t want him to think less of me. “He said I was”—I made air quotes with my fingers—“?‘kind of a shitty girlfriend.’?”

“What a dick,” Felix said.

“I know, but he was right in some ways. I did care more about the business than him.”

“Of course,” Felix said. “It’s a part of you. He should have realized how lucky he was.”

I sat upright so I could look at him. We were so close, I thought I might be able to count every one of his ebony eyelashes. Felix reached for my braid, pushing it behind my shoulder so it fell down the center of my back.

“He wasn’t the right guy for you.”

His fingers skated over my spine, featherlight, and my breath hitched at his touch, at the way he looked at me, his desire laid bare, there for the taking.

“Sometimes I wonder if I might not want to find the right one,” I whispered. It’s something I’d worried about—if I dated Carter because I knew we’d never last. My aunt thought I should be open to a meaningful relationship, but the only man I seemed to be drawn to time and time again was sitting next to me. And he lived eight hundred miles away and seemed as reluctant to commit as I was. I could never have him. “I think I might be broken.”

“Lucy.” That’s all Felix said. Only my name, but I felt it everywhere.

Something had shifted between us since I’d arrived, an awareness that was now impossible to ignore. Felix had become so much more to me than a casual hookup, but I didn’t know what to do with this knowledge. All I could do was address my loudest, most urgent need: I’d been craving Felix’s mouth and hands and wind-kissed skin since the moment we met. I felt like a bottle of champagne, shaken and ready to pop.

“You’re not broken,” he said. The space between us narrowed. “You’re p—”

I pressed my lips to his. “I want you,” I whispered against them.

He smiled against my mouth, his hand wrapping around my braid. “I want you, too.”

“Yes,” I told him.

More.





27





Summer, One Year Ago





Felix was lying beside me when I woke up, sunlight streaking his dark hair with gold. I gave myself a moment to drink in the sight of him—naked, chest bare, the sheet around his waist—then sat, taking in my surroundings. I was in Felix Clark’s bedroom. In his house.

There was just enough space for a queen-size bed, two nightstands, and a four-drawer dresser, which sat underneath a window overlooking the back of the property. Despite its size, the room was stylish, with a deliberate color scheme I doubted Felix was responsible for. The walls were two-tone—matte black from the floor to waist height and light brown on the upper portion—the bed linens gray and toss pillows tan. Black swing-arm sconces were installed on either side of the bed, and a vintage map of Prince Edward Island hung on one wall in a handsome frame. The only thing that didn’t coordinate seamlessly was one of his grandma’s patchwork quilts, folded across the bottom of the bed.

I’d barely paid attention when Felix carried me in here yesterday. We’d come straight from the beach and spent the rest of the day and night twisted together like two ampersands. We were covered in sand, and after round two, Felix sent me to wash off while he stripped the sheets and remade the bed before joining me in the shower. We’d slept together before, of course, but it felt different. We were learning each other in a way we’d never been able to. The first time was slow, Felix’s forehead on mine, his kisses like confessions. His words, too.

You, he kept saying. You.

Felix, I kept saying. More.

My chest ached with finally having him again, and when he was kneeling in the shower, my hands in his hair, I had a fleeting thought that I might be in trouble. But there was no stopping us. We were loud and greedy and giddy. I felt like a squirrel—that I wouldn’t survive winter if I didn’t get all of Felix in my system before I returned to the city.

I stared down at him now. He looked almost innocent while he slept, but his lips were swollen, and my thighs were chafed from where his beard had scraped against them.

Stomach rumbling, I slipped out of the bed, threw on one of his T-shirts, and found my way down the hall to the kitchen. His place was small but well cared for. It had smart slate gray siding Felix had replaced himself and a pond that sat to one side, spindly old apple trees behind it. There were no neighboring homes in sight. Felix had redone the bathroom, replaced the windows and furnace, reshingled the roof. He hadn’t gotten to the kitchen yet. He told me all this on the drive from the beach.

“It’s not much,” he’d warned, fingers tapping on the steering wheel. Nervous.

“I’m sure it’s great.” I put my hand on his thigh. “But let’s save the tour for later.”

We were tearing off our clothes before we made it over the threshold.

I placed a slice of bread in the toaster, studying a photograph on the fridge of Felix and Zach standing on the doorstep of one of the cottages while I waited. Zach’s arm was around Felix’s shoulder, and they both grinned broadly. I wandered over to the living room. It was painted a dark mossy green, the furniture caramel leather. There was a cute cast-iron fireplace in the corner. I wondered if Chloe had been his interior decorator, or maybe Joy. I knew she’d helped with Salt Cottages, knew Felix and his ex were friends, but I was surprised by how the thought made me feel. Itchy and uncomfortable.