Under the Same Stars(54)

“So much fun you blew her off?” Marco teased.

Yes, I thought, heat rising to my cheeks. Why?

Connor shrugged. “It’s loud here. I’ll call her back later.” He looked at me and gestured ahead of us, to the white-and-brown-shingled two-story Victorian house. Inside was a whirlwind of bright colors and controlled chaos. “What’re you gonna get?”

“Oh,” I squinted at the menu board, mounted on Springer’s wide front porch. We were still a little too far away to see it clearly, so I turned to Marco. My guess was he had the flavors memorized. “What do you recommend?”

“Hmm.” He stroked his chin, as if in deep contemplation. “Let me think…”

Connor ended up getting black raspberry while I took Marco’s recommendation and ordered something called Drunken Cherry, but I wasn’t the drunken one later. There had been plenty of sangria left when we got back to the ?lvarez cottage, and once everyone else had gone to bed and Marco’s lips turned scarlet, he suggested the three of us go for a late-night stroll. “There’s nothing like the midnight stars and salt air,” he insisted, dreamy and wide-eyed. “And the streets are empty, so we can hear the waves crashing on the beach.” He shook his head in wonder. “There’s also a blood moon tonight.”

Connor glanced at his phone, then tossed it across the porch’s couch. He still hadn’t called Lauren back. “I’m in.” He took a sip of his Miller Lite. Connor accepted any beer offered, but rarely finished them, tricking his friends into thinking he could really hold his alcohol. “Mads?”

I drained my ginger-lime soda and grinned. “Let me get a sweatshirt.”

The temperature had dropped during our walk back from Springer’s, so I went into Carina’s room to grab my favorite Champion crewneck. I glanced at myself in the mirror; I looked happy after a perfect day on the beach with my sun-kissed face and salt-water-stiff hair weaved into two braids. To pass the time in the Springer’s line, Marco’s cousin had twisted them into silly little buns.

Marco still had his sangria in hand when I returned to the living room, and Connor nursed his Miller Lite. “Come on, guys,” I told them. “No roadies.”

“Right,” Marco said. “Open container law.”

“And the liquor law.” Connor set down his beer and nodded at Marco. “Ditch the fruit juice, ?lvarez. We’re not twenty-one yet.”

Marco showed us his cup; only sliced orange, apple, and lemon remained, the red wine punch gone. Part of me didn’t blame him; I’d taken a sip and it’d been delicious.

The other part shook my head. He’d pay for it in the morning.

Marco clapped his hands together. “Shall we promenade?”

***

“Hey,” I heard someone distantly whisper. “Hey, sweet tart, wake up.”

“Mmm?” I mumbled before blinking until I clocked Marco crouched by the side of my bed. “What…time…is…it?”

“Five thirty,” he answered. “I thought—”

I groaned. Five thirty meant I’d only been asleep for three hours. Connor went to bed after our walk, but Marco and I’d hung out a while longer. “Why are you here?”

“I thought you might want to see the sun rise. I tried waking Connor, but…”

“There is no waking Connor,” I told him. “Only Connor wakes Connor.” I glanced over at Carina’s window and saw starlight slipping through her blinds. “But yeah, I’ll come.” I sat up in bed. “Give me two minutes.”

There were several other people and some dogs on the beach when Marco spread out a towel for us to sit on, but they seemingly disappeared the moment the sun broke on the horizon. Blazes of red, orange, and yellow streaked across the sky, giving the clouds a heavenly glow. The ocean had never looked so blue. Marco whistled. “Best one this summer.”

“This feels like a dream,” I said.

“It’s not,” he said, flashing me a smile.

I would’ve taken a picture if his grin hadn’t been so quick; instead, I settled for a photo of the sunrise.

“How do you not have a hangover?” I asked Marco on the walk home, sun now bright in the blue sky.

“My mom has a pineapple juice–based witch’s brew that wards them off,” he said. “I drank some before bed.”

I wrinkled my nose. Pineapples were not my favorite.

Marco chuckled, and I blinked when we ran into Connor in the driveway. Red-blond hair tousled from the morning breeze, he was holding a white bakery box. BREAD AND CHEESE CUPBOARD, its orange sticker read.

“I was first in line,” Connor said. “Yesterday you said you haven’t had a sticky bun in a while.”

I could barely do more than nod, amazed that he’d set such an early alarm. Bakery hours were not Connor waking hours.

He winked and held up the box.

I felt something blossom in my heart, and in that moment, I realized no one knew me better. Connor and me? Why had I been hesitating? We weren’t Austin-and-Samira; we were Connor-and-Mads. It was so obvious, so right.

Do it, I told myself. Shoot your shot!

“I hope a dozen frosted is acceptable—shit.” Connor handed the box of pastries to Marco so he could dig his chiming phone out of his pocket. “It’s Lauren. I’m sorry. I should talk to her.” He accepted the call, smiling a little. “Morning, Laur…”