She laughs, and it sounds like birds singing. Damn, she’s turning me into a sap. “I’m not. Don’t worry. What I meant was, you didn’t like me—like, at all—the last two times we met. In fact, you were a real jerk.”
I wince a little at that. “Yeah, that happens sometimes.”
“Well, I guess I yelled at you too.”
I turn to her again, reminded of something. “About that. Why did you ask me to make you a pot pie?”
Her head sinks into her hands and she laughs again, louder this time. “It’s from The Breakfast Club.”
“Never seen it.”
She bounds to her feet and perches her hands on her slim hips. It startles the hell out of me. “You’ve never seen The Breakfast Club? It’s a classic!”
“Uh, sorry?”
She shoos my pseudo-apology aside. “I mean, it’s super old, but that’s part of its charm. John Hughes is like the godfather of high school coming-of-age comedies. Parts of it are super awkward, but it’s hella good.”
“If you say so.”
“No, I mean, okay.” She starts talking with her hands and babbling on about some chick named Claire and a dude named John, and there’s something about a peanut butter sandwich, but I mostly just watch her talk. She’s joyful and animated and full of that sunshine I remember from the other day—even though it’s the middle of the night. When she finally finishes, she lets her hands drop to her sides, and I can tell she’s blushing, even in the sparse light. “Anyway. It’s a good movie.”
I don’t want her to be embarrassed, so I search for the right thing to say. “I’ll definitely have to watch it sometime.” The lie is worth it for the smile I get in return.
“Well, I guess I should head in before Jenna wakes up and goes calling the police.”
“Yeah, I guess.” I don’t want her to go, but we’ve been talking for a couple hours now, and the last thing I need is more cops in my business or another set of rich parents coming after me. I only narrowly escaped the last time. My thigh pulses, as if to remind me.
“It was nice to meet you, Milo.” She’s twisting the hem of her t-shirt in her fingers, and it soothes me.
I stand up and shove my hands in my pockets. “You too, movie star.”
“From your lips to God’s ear.”
I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone under seventy say that phrase, and I’m finding it cuter than is wise.
“I’ll call you,” I say.
Her eyes widen in surprise and she blushes again. And damn if it doesn’t make me entertain a whole lot of what-ifs.
“Your sister, I mean,” I clarify, and I can see the second it registers because she shoos the air like she knew what I was talking about all along.
“Yeah, I know. Thanks again.” She turns and runs to the darkened condo, kicking up sand behind her as she goes.
I wait until she disappears behind the porch door and then make my way back to Bran’s apartment.
Present Day
Now that I know Jill’s not hanging out with hookers and junkies anymore, I should be able to breathe easy. Sure, she didn’t confide in me what’s going on, but why should she? Hell, maybe she was doing a social experiment and writing some op-ed on life in a small-town prostitution ring. I don’t want to admit to myself that the more likely reason is she’s just plain broke. It hasn’t escaped my notice that the woman doesn’t appear to own a car, which has me even more curious as to how she ended up here and what she’s been doing for the last twelve years. I figured she’d be in New York or L.A. living the good life.
But I need to put her out of my mind and get to my first day of work. I’ve been back in town for a few months, but I’ve been laying low—as in, gutter level. I’m not sure why, exactly, apart from maybe a sense of denial that I’m staying put for the time being. In some ways, it’s like I’m in a completely new town and I’m the tourist.
A lot has changed in the last twelve years. Multi-building condos and hotels have sprung up on sites that used to house independent variety stores, mom-and-pop restaurants, and family neighborhoods. My favorite pizza place is gone, and so is Bob’s Corner Stop. Streets have been rerouted, the boardwalk has had a facelift, and my dad’s house is just about the only one left on Kure beach that hasn’t been torn down and replaced with something grander. This explains the near-constant stream of real estate vultures to my door since he died. I have no doubt my old man threatened bodily harm to each and every one of them who showed up trying to get him to sell over the years—and let’s not forget the mouse traps and bang snaps. Even though he left the place practically a run-down hovel, it was his hovel, and he always said he’d never budge. The man was born and raised on the ocean, worked his whole life on it, and died on it—just how he wanted.
Even Camille’s restaurant is new since I left. She used to run a Bavarian bakery with her husband, but I heard he died and she got some idea in her head to start the SWiN. She still does all the bread and desserts, from what Rayna told me. And Jill’s right. She still hates my guts, but that’s no surprise. She should probably get in line.
One thing that hasn’t changed much is Coastal Adventures Dive School. It sits a couple blocks off Carolina Beach with the same three buildings, a handful of equipment and transport vans, and the small training pool. But Leah has taken over the entire business from her parents, something I learned from Bran as soon as he hunted me down the week after I got back to town. I’m not surprised. The woman was always driven, and she loves the water just as much as I do.
I park my bike out in front of the utility building and grab my bag before making my way to the main entrance. I don’t want to presume to use the side door, at least not yet, so I weave my way around the unfamiliar racks of branded clothing and equipment until I reach the front desk. And then I see her.
Leah Musgraves looks exactly the same as the last time I laid eyes on her. Blond hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, work polo fitted to her athletic frame, and an expression of fixed concentration parked on her face. A staff member asks if I need help, but I wave him off, preferring to stand where I am until she notices me. It doesn’t take long, and I’m surprised by both the warmth in her smile and her move around the counter to hug me. Eighteen-year-old Milo would have sprouted a boner and tripped over his tongue, but the adult me is just happy to have a job.
“Look what the cat dragged in.” Leah pulls back and tugs on my beard like we just saw each other yesterday. “This is new. You dive with this thing?”
I reach up to smooth my beard, feeling slightly discomfited by her playing with it. I don’t really know what I expected, but it wasn’t this sort of instant familiarity on her part. She’s always been just a little standoffish, and it suits her serious personality. But I’m unsure what to do with this version of Leah, so I just nod and push on.
“Took a little adjusting at first, but I’m going on four years now.”
“It looks good. You look good.” Leah props her hands on her hips and smiles up at me. Small talk has never been my forte, and now that it’s veering in an unexpected direction, I have an instinct to get the hell out. I need to get my head in the game.