Conrad wasn’t at the fire at all. He was up at the house, standing on the back deck, one hand wrapped around a glass of lemonade he hadn’t touched. She could see his silhouette from here. Tall. Still. The kind of still that meant he was thinking too hard.
Down on the beach, Jeremiah looked up at the deck. He saw Belly standing alone. And for just a second, his smile faltered.
He stopped. Swallowed.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, squared her shoulders, and walked back down to the fire.
Book 3. The summer everything broke.
He let go.
Conrad’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. “That sounds like him.” book 3 the summer i turned pretty
“Am I?”
Jeremiah was on the other side of the fire, his arm slung around a girl from Lacrosse camp. He was telling a story—something about a capsized sailboat—and every few seconds he’d glance over at Belly. Not long glances. Quick ones. Checking. Conrad wasn’t at the fire at all
Three summers ago , she thought, I would have been sitting right between them.