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She did? Then it dawned on her. “It’s fine, Peter.”

“No, really, I should have?—”

“No.” She put her fork down and put a hand over his, resting on the table. “You don’t have to apologize for things that happened thirty or thirty-five years ago. I was a dumb kid with a big fat crush and you didn’t owe me anything. If anything, I owe you an apology for following you around for all those summers, no doubt making it painfully obvious that you were the number one topic of all my diary entries. I mean, you could barely say a sideways word to me and I was writing, ‘Peter McCarthy brushed sand from my face,’ in all caps, underlined and heavily hearted. So, no apologies for…”

Her voice faded out as his expression slowly changed from sincere to confused to…seriously amused.

“I was going to apologize for sending you up the high road to make nice with your ex-husband,” he said, fighting a chuckle. “But then you gave me what cops call a panic confession.”

Very slowly, she lifted her hand as the blood rushed out of her head as she realized…what she’d confessed. “You…didn’t know…that?”

He laughed, his broad shoulders shaking. “Not one word.”

“Eli…didn’t tell you?” she croaked. “Like a bro code thing?”

“He’syourbro first. Eli is man of honor, and you are his beloved sister. He’d never betray your…what did you call it?” He leaned in, his eyes dancing with mirth. “Abig fat crush?”

She just stared at him, fighting a smile and a moment of profound embarrassment.

“So I guess my observation skills weren’t so great back then,” he said. “’Cause, honestly, I had no idea.”

She laughed and took a deep drink of wine. “Well, my secret’s out now.”

“Your diary, huh?”

“I have them all, thanks to Eli,” she told him. “He found them before he did demo; they were in an indestructible plastic container with instructions for immediate death to anyone who read them.”

He chuckled, searching her face. “What else did you write?”

She let out a sigh, relaxed now, and not feeling judged. “About the time I got a terrible sunburn and you walked a mile to buy me aloe vera.”

“I remember that,” he said. “We watchedFerris Bueller’s Day Off.”

“You do remember it!” She gave a little clap. “Yes, we did. And thus began a long crush.”

He shook his head, studying her. “I didn’t see you as, you know, a girl.”

“I know. But you sure saw…Bethany or Brittany…the blonde.”

“No recollection,” he admitted. “But you were a little more like family than a girl I’d pursue. I’m sorry.”

“You do not owe me an apology,” she insisted. “You were never anything but kind and, yes, you were more like a brother. Especially in the summers. During the school year, you weren’t around much.”

“I did sports and…took care of my mom,” he said. “My dad wasn’t in the picture by the time I was in high school. But in the summers, my mother went up to see my grandmother in New England. I had to choose between a trailer park in New Hampshire or the beach in Destin. Not a tough decision.”

She nodded, vaguely aware that he’d had a much tougher upbringing than the Lawson family.

“I’m glad you chose Destin,” she said, sensing that it wasn’t the right time to dig into his childhood—though she wanted to, and would, eventually.

“And the diaries are here?” he said. “I have to see one.”

“Oh, no, you don’t. You don’t need to see how many different ways a girl can write ‘Vivien McCarthy’ in pink Flair pen.”

He sucked in a breath. “You?—”

“I was thirteen. Fourteen. Maybe fifteen, although I haven’t gotten that far yet. A kid.”

“You were eighteen that last summer,” he said. “But I had a lot going on that year. Had to decide if I was going to drop out of school or join the military. It was a complicated time in my life, or I probably would have noticed you.” He inched in. “I’m noticing you now. Is that going to make a diary?”