Page 56 of The Summer Off Grid
My dad was never my whole world.
But she is.
And every mile closer to California feels like another mile I’m losing her.
Chapter Twelve
The Breakfast Convo
Ingrid
I fill up a cup of orange juice when I hear someone clear their throat behind me.
I turn, and Cash is standing in front of me, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.
His blond hair falls across his forehead and I remember—for a brief moment—that I used to love him.
Not the way I love Wilder. No, that’s different. Loving Wilder is like bottled-up lightning—rare and electric.
I loved Cash the way the trees always remember to bloom in the spring and shed their leaves in the fall. Simply, and only for a season.
“What’s up?” I ask him as I pick up my plate and motion to a free table in the hotel dining hall.
He exhales and follows me.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he starts as I plop into a chair across from me.
My orange juice sloshes around the plastic cup as I bring it up to my lips and take a sip.
“It’s fine,” I say, waving him off with a flick of my wrist before digging into my strawberry yogurt.
Cash shifts uncomfortably in the seat across from me. “I know how it looks,” he starts.
I raise a curious eyebrow. “It looked like you were having a great time, Cash. Really, you don’t have to apologize.”
“Oh good.” He sighs in relief. “I was worried you thought I was still hung up on you.”
That’s an odd thing to say.
I set my yogurt down. “Why would I think that?”
Cash shrugs, and says a little too quickly, “No reason.”
I’ve known Cash for a long time, and I know there’s something else going on.
But right now, I have an even bigger problem.
Wilder.
He’s been acting weird this whole trip, and I really hope it’s not because he’s hiding something from me.
I wouldn’t even know what it is.
We spend every waking moment together. If there was something going on, I would know about it, right?
“So, we’re good then?” Cash interrupts my mental spiral.
Speaking of spiraling, why is Cash keeping this pen pal under wraps?
