“Seattle’s nice, if you like concrete and brick. The island is more pastoral, don’t you think?” He met her gaze.
She laughed at his description. “Pastoral’s more country. Like farmland? This is rural, yes, but forested and set more on the water. Everything is about island life. If it was on the coast, you could use #saltlife on social media.”
“So the author hired the right person to edit her books.” He picked up a fry. “I was trying out a word I read in a book last week. I guess I got it wrong.”
“No worries. I’m not her editor. Or even a beta reader. I’m a researcher, I guess. However, right now, I think she’s testing me with busy work. I feel like I’m back in Mrs. Scott’s sixth-grade class, doing the dictionary search. Remember that assignment?”
“No, because I never finished my real assignment. You were always doing extra credit. She made up things to keep you busy.” His gaze met hers. “You were always years ahead of the rest of your class.”
“And look how far that got me.” Meg held up her hand. “No, I don’t want to go through a list of my failures, at least not tonight. Who’s going to be at the bonfire? Anyone I know?”
He considered her statement, then nodded. “A few from school. Several new guys who think saving the island from newcomers is their personal life mission.”
“But you said they were new, as well,” Meg said as she finished her fish and handed Watson one fry since he’d been quiet while they ate. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“They aren’t rich. So, therefore, they think they’re one of us. Mostly they’re jerks. Maybe don’t talk about working for Ms. Aster. I’ve heard them rag on her and her house before. Everyone hates the rich until they become wealthy.”
As they left the restaurant and headed to the marina to take Dalton’s fishing boat out to the beach, Meg wondered how much Bainbridge Island had changed since she’d left to live in Seattle.
CHAPTER3
A person’s history tells a story.
The sun was low in the western sky, and the bonfire in the middle of the sandy beach was already lit. So were several of the young men gathered around it. From what she could see, there were more men than women. Meg spied the group of women hanging out next to another boat that had been beached on the shore. Natasha waved her over. When Meg and Watson walked over, Natasha hugged her.
“I didn’t realize you were going to be here.” Meg glanced around at the other women. Three were from her class, but they hadn’t been friends. This was the old stoner group from high school. At least that was what the band kids had called them. Meg still had her flute.
“I told him to invite you. This is the gathering spot for everyone under thirty on the island. Unless they’ve already married and are living the boring settled life.” She introduced the other women. “So remember that singles bar in Seattle, Harbor Bay Hannah’s? The one we used to go to after we turned twenty-one? This is Bainbridge Island’s equivalent.”
“Except the men at that bar were way cuter,” the woman standing next to Natasha added. She glanced over at the group of men. “And usually less trashed than these guys. I swear, they must start drinking at noon. I’m not sure why I even come anymore. I’m not that desperate. I’m Luna, by the way.” Luna hadn’t been in Meg’s graduating class.
A cheer went up around the fire as someone threw an empty bottle into the flames. It was going to be a long night. Watson whined at her feet.
“I think I need to walk him.” Meg smiled at the group. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Luna followed her. “I’ll show you the property lines. Most of the residents are cool, but some of them can be touchy about someone crossing the invisible line onto their precious private beach. We don’t want the cops out here arresting people. Most of these guys need to go to work tomorrow. So you came with Dalton. He’s sweet.”
“He’s my brother’s best friend. We’ve known each other since we were kids. He’s being nice.” Meg turned her head and caught sight of Dalton, who was talking with another guy. And watching her. He raised a soda bottle in greeting.
“He never brings anyone to the beach, and he never leaves with anyone, either. At least not since I’ve been here. And believe me, I’ve watched the guy. He’s hot.” Luna looked back and smiled at him and waved, but he turned away. “See? He’s guarded. Except with you.”
Meg thought about her mom’s earlier question.Are you ready to date so soon?Dalton had been a part of her life as soon as he’d become friends with Junior.History tells a story.She paused as Watson watered a small bush on a dune. “I just got out of a serious relationship. I’m not ready to date yet.”
Luna looked back again and saw that Dalton was still watching them. “Have you told him that?”
When they walked back to where they’d left the group of women, they saw that everyone had gathered around the fire. Dalton waved her and Watson over to a pair of chairs he’d set up outside the ring of people. “I’ve got soda or water. Or if you want something else, I’m sure someone has extra.”
As he said that, Natasha came over with a six-pack of hard lemonade drinks. “I hope you still drink these, Miss Fancy Pants. I couldn’t afford one of those bottles of wine you were drinking last week.”
“I’ll have one. You should come over one night, and we’ll open a bottle of that wine and order Chinese food. I think my delivery service app is still attached to Romain’s checking account.” Meg took one of the black cherry–flavored drinks. “Bring over a chair and chat with us. I haven’t seen you since my walk of shame home.”
“Moving home isn’t a walk of shame. You should have left that jerk a long time ago.” Natasha handed her the bottle. “Girls rule, boys drool.”
“What are you, twelve?” Dalton leaned back in his chair. He had been watching the conversation. “Natasha, do you want my chair?”
“No, I don’t. I want to sit in the sand and give Watson my full attention. He’s the only guy here I can trust.” Natasha sank to the sand and patted her leg to attract Watson. The dog looked up at Meg, then went and cuddled on Natasha’s lap.
“Traitor.” Meg reached down and rubbed Watson’s head. “He’s all confused, but he loves Aunt Melody’s backyard. He thinks we’re on vacation or something.”
