With my heart pounding, I make a beeline for the only empty swinging bench I can find. It’s at the far end of the riverfront by the group of restaurants and is spackled with dried bird shit. Sitting there secluded, I wipe the dampness from my eyes. I’m not sure if it’s from the heat or if I’ve been crying, but either way, I can tell it’s smudged my eyeliner because my eyes are starting to sting.

The sound of waves lapping up against the shoreline calms me, and the slightest breeze of the swing brings me cooler air. I finally catch my breath from the nerve of Kate’s idea. A party? A memorial for Lydia? The thought alone sends my stomach churning as I feel more sweat pooling underneath my breasts and at the small of my back.

Growing up, Lydia had been best friends with Kate and me. She was Garrett’s younger sister by three years, and we were truly inseparable, a trio of girls that wanted nothing more than to spend every waking second together. Afternoons spent dodging ocean waves on the island, hiking the overlook bridge with Cherry Cokes and gas station snacks stuffed in our backpacks, sneaking out of the house after midnight to meet the neighborhood kids for a pickup game of Kick the Can.

I sigh and think about Garrett, how hard it was for him to lose his baby sister like that. He was fifteen at the time. The three of us had gone down to Lake Carson in Wilmington for the afternoon. I don’t remember much of what happened, but she never made it home that day. She ended up drowning out there.

Late one night after a few too many beers in the back of his truck, Garrett admitted that Lydia drowning was his fault, that he wasn’t able to save her. But the next morning, he texted me and asked me to forget he ever said anything. I agreed, and he hasn’t talked about that afternoon since. But I don’t blame him. If I’d witnessed her last breath, I wouldn’t speak a word about it either. The thought alone makes me want to hug the sadness right out of him. But how do you try to pull someone from a deep, dark cave of pain when they refuse the help? The only way I’d gotten through it myself is therapy.

Beyond the haze of my own guilt, I hear an obnoxious squeak echo off the parking lot of Carter’s River Grille. Looking up, I spot Garrett’s 2009 Silverado, large and blue, but he’s nowhere to be found.

My palms start to sweat as I consider heading to his truck to wait for him. But the past few days, I hadn’t been able to blot out the thoughts I’d been having about him ever since the golf course.

Screw it, I need to see him.

Gravel collecting in the toes of my sandals, I race through the dusty parking lot just as Garrett steps out of the restaurant with a to-go bag in hand. I can’t help but notice the broadness of his shoulders and how genuinely at ease he looks when he’s alone. Slipping into his truck, he turns the key just as I reach the driver’s side door out of breath.

“Hey,” I shout, aiming my voice at his open window. It carries over the sound of his engine causing him to notice me, but I haven’t really planned much beyond that. “What are you doing?” I ask, trying to kick the gravel and sand from my toes without him noticing.

“Talkin’ to you.” He has his right hand draped over the steering wheel, the other hanging out the window. “Come up here.” He motions to me with a thick finger, and I can’t help but to oblige.

Grabbing the window on either side of his arm, I hoist myself up onto his side rail so we’re nearly eye to eye. The air conditioner of his truck throws cool air on me, and I feel my nipples start to harden under the chill. “Did you get supper?”

“Steak and potatoes,” he says, rustling in his to-go bag.

“You know there’s a ton of food over there, right?”

“Sure, but there ain’t no potatoes.” He’s looking over at his bag, messing with something.

“There’s tons of them. Potato salad, mashed potatoes, potato casserole—”

“Nah, nothin’ good as this,” he says, bringing up a red-skinned, quartered piece of potato between his fingers. “Open.”

My eyes grow big as quarters, and I shake my head, my stomach still too full from the mounds of food I consumed at the roast.

“Damn, Gator. Just try it.” His voice is so sullen at the possibility of me not trying his potato, that my heart starts to ache for him.

“Garrett, I’m—”

“Please?”

Relenting, I open my mouth. As he stares at me, he places the potato past my teeth, his fingers brushing over my bottom lip sending sparks straight through me. When I close my mouth, he tries to read my expression, and closing my eyes, I chew. The vinegary dressing on the potato cuts through all the other foods I sampled earlier. The acid is a sweet and tangy relief.

“Good, huh?”

Swallowing, I shrug and glance at him. The worst thing I can do around him is be too agreeable. “It’s alright. Nothing to write home about,” I say, biting my bottom lip. I can still taste vinegar on it.

“Stop doin’ that.”

“Doing what?”

“Bitin’ your lip like that.” He sighs heavily and runs a hand down his face in what seems like frustration. “Making me want you.”

Staring right at him, I bite my lip again and can’t help but smile. The moment he tells me not to do something, I’m for sure doing it again.

His eyes are fixed on my lips now, and he slides his wide hand underneath my hot mess of hair, the chill of his palm causing me to shiver. Pulling me closer to him through his window, he presses his thick lips to mine, silencing every wrong thought in my head. His lips taste strong of clove and peppermint, and my vinegary lips part in a hurry the moment I feel the sweep of his tongue. I can feel him caressing the back of my neck as I suck on his lip. The sounds of our kissing are dampened by the still-running engine and the hum of his air conditioner. I trace tiny circles on his forearm, intoxicated by his flavor. But in a sudden halt, he pulls away from me, leaving me breathless.

“I gotta go feed Dudley,” he says, snapping me back to reality.

I’m half mad at him for bailing mid-kiss, but it’s probably for the best. If Kate happened upon us, I’d not be allowed back in our apartment for who knows how long. I hop down to the gravel. “Why don’t you just get a cat or something?” A cat would make more sense, given that Dudley isn’t really a pet at all. He’s a wild fox that regularly snoops around Garrett’s backyard and waits for extra table scraps. Shit, for all I know the potatoes are for Dudley.

“I hate cats. All they do is sleep and shit.”

“They cuddle occasionally. And meow.” Admittedly, I can’t think of much more than that. But I’d been more of a dog lover myself.

Garrett eyes me, looking down at my denim cutoff shorts then up to my eyes. The strength and longing in his stare nearly steals my breath. I hate how much he affects me.

“Come home with me?” he asks, wielding a certain wonder in his tone.

Though my core tingles at the idea of spending the night with him, my logic won’t let me. It’s the same Garrett he’s been for years, the one wanting a spin for free. And that just isn’t something I’m willing to do anymore. Even with him.

“Sorry, I can’t.”

Sighing, he throws the truck into gear. “Right. See yah.” Any other night, he would’ve tried to convince me otherwise, but he throws his hand up, showering me in plumes of parking lot dust.