Page 21 of Plotting Summer

“I can accept that.” He gives a solemn nod. “And will you agree to stop avoiding me?”

That seems like a decent trade. “Agreed.”

He steps forward with an outstretched hand.

I glance down and wonder if he actually means for me to shake it as though we’re entering into some sort of contractual agreement. When he doesn’t waver, I realize he does. Hesitantly, I put my hand in his, and the minute our skin touches, a jolt of pleasure rushes through me, and I become acutely aware I was never going to say no to his plan. Because somehow, after everything, Tristan is still my greatest weakness.

Tristan’s boat putters along the canal, just like in our boatpooling days. And, also like those days, I’m sitting in the very front with my gaze locked on the water, watching for manatees … and possibly avoiding conversation. It’s been less than an hour since Tristan and I agreed to the idea of redefining our relationship with Sunset Harbor, and I’m already questioning my sanity.

“Hopefully you won’t be too late for dinner,” Tristan says, pulling my attention over my shoulder to where he’s causally steering the boat with one hand, his leaned-back posture somehow full of a carefree confidence. I create a mental image of him to store away for later because he’s radiating a this-scene-needs-to-be-in-a-romance-book vibe. Not that I intend to write another story about him—one is regrettably too many—but that doesn’t mean I can’t grab nuggets of inspiration here and there to jot down. The man is basically a living, breathing book boyfriend, and it would be a travesty not to continue to share bits and pieces of him with my readers.

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Tala just texted to say dinner is ready. So I’m fine. Besides, I’d be thirty minutes later if you hadn’t insisted on giving me a ride from the parking garage.”

His eyes glint with humor, and I know it’s because of how adamant I was in regards to my taking the ferry when we saw each other back at the parking garage after leaving the store. Tristan finally put an end to my feeble excuses by calling them what they were—an attempt to avoid him. Again.

“When should our first outing be?” he asks.

I shrug as though the idea of hanging out with him doesn’t send my insides reeling. “Next week sometime?”

He pins me with an accusatory look. “Give it plenty of time for someone to find your keys?”

I open my mouth to defend myself, then close it again. “When were you thinking?”

“What about tomorrow after the talent show?”

My chest constricts. “Tomorrow?”

“Unless you have plans already?”

He’s well aware I have zero commitments. Not that I’m attempting to avoid him again, I just … Shoot. I am. Old habits die hard. “Tomorrow works. Should we make a plan for what we want to do?”

“What if we take turns planning the outings?”

“Like we each come up with something we’d want to do?”

“Or we could come up with something we think the other person wants to do.”

I laugh. “That’s not fair. I’m easy. Take me to the beach and hand me a book.”

“Tempting, but this is about making new memories, not passing time reading on the beach. Besides, I’m confident I can think of a few things to do that you’ll love.”

“Really?” I pin him with a skeptical expression. Tristan hardly knows me. Not like I know him.

“Capri Sun, are you doubting my abilities?” The corners of his lips are creeping upward, and it ignites an odd desire in me to keep this going. And there’s nothing to stop me. Friends can have playful relationships. Besides, I’ve always wished that was the sort of friendship Tristan and I had. So why not lean into it now that we’re also redefining our own relationship along with our relationship with the island?

“Entirely.”

He shakes his head. “Let’s make a bet, then.”

I narrow my eyes. “What sort of bet?”

“If I plan the most memorable outing, I want your first published book dedicated to me.”

An unexpected laugh bursts out of me. Partially from my shock at the request but mostly at the irony. Done. Secret Crush is already dedicated to him: The protagonist of my own love story. Thanks for the inspiration. Since I’m going to be confessing the whole thing by the end of this, it fits in perfectly with my current course of action. “And what if I never publish a book?” I ask, hoping to play off my laughter as something other than the unhinged outburst it was.

“You will. And that dedication page is going to have my name on it.”

His confidence in me is so very Tristan, and I distract myself from the unfounded warmth it causes by contemplating whether he’ll still count my dedication if I didn’t name him outright. “You seem pretty sure you’re going to win.”