He pulled out his phone and showed me a picture of a halfway-finished stone wall. “Did he send you this text?”

“No. Why is he not sending me texts?” I read the words he had sent with the picture. Working on a schoolhouse for the local children. I could picture Justin there, speaking Spanish, the language he spoke all the time at home, and playing with the kids.

I pulled out my own phone and sent a text to Justin. Where are my update pics, punk?

“Ah. I’m sure that will inspire immediate obedience,” Cooper said, reading over my shoulder.

“I’ll be equally happy with obedience or guilt.”

Cooper chuckled.

Elliot came back with our waters, followed by the waiter, who took our orders.

“How is your art going?” Mr. Wells asked from across the table as soon as the waiter left.

“It’s good.”

“Will you paint something for me?” Cooper’s sister asked.

“Of course,” I said at the same time his mom said, “No, that’s not polite to ask, Amelia.”

“Why not?” Amelia asked.

“Because Abby doesn’t have time for that.”

“It’s true, Amelia,” Cooper said, reaching behind me to tug on his sister’s hair. “Abby wants to paint five brand-new pieces for an art show she’s going to be a part of in six weeks.”

“No, I don’t,” I said.

“Yes, that’s what you said to me. You said none of the pieces you already had were good enough.”

“They aren’t,” I said. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“I completely disagree. They’re amazing. But whatever, you’re stubborn, so you’ll paint new ones.”

“I won’t,” I said.

“So are you going to use some you already painted? Which ones?”

“No.”

Now he was confused. I could tell. “You can’t both paint and not paint,” he said.

“There is no show.”

“He canceled it?”

“For me. There is no show for me.”

“I thought he was considering. He’ll say yes.”

“He said no.”

“Oh.” His smile immediately slid off his face.

“Yeah. But whatever, it’s not a big deal. I’ll find another show.” I could feel my cheeks go hot and I wanted to move on as fast as possible. I pulled my water glass close and took a long drink.

His parents looked at each other and then back at me. One of them was about to ask a follow-up question to clarify what I meant. Or say something like, but it is a big deal, or but your work should be in the show. His dad even cleared his throat, getting ready for whatever was coming next. I knew if he said one more word about it I’d break down in tears before the sentence was through. The tears were already threatening, clinging to the backs of my eyes, causing them to sting.

That’s when Cooper said, “You’re right, it’s not a big deal.” He squeezed my knee once, under the table, then dropped his hand. “Tell me I wasn’t awesome today out there on the dunes?”

His sister took the bait first, probably realizing as much as Cooper did that I needed a subject change. “You caught air on that back jump.”

His parents were a little slower to let go, his mom meeting my eyes and holding them before turning her attention to Cooper. “Yes, we are here to celebrate your amazing race. Let’s celebrate.”

By the time the waiter came back with our food, everyone had moved way past my failure and was well into celebrating Cooper’s success. I was grateful Cooper knew that was exactly what I needed.

“Abby’s going to bring me home,” Cooper said at the end of dinner, when the bill was paid and we’d all stood to leave.

“I am?” I asked. I really just wanted to go home and crawl into bed. I’d managed to push the thoughts of Mr. Wallace and the art show to the back of my mind (or at least the middle of it) for the last couple of days, but admitting the truth out loud had brought them flying back. What he’d said, and what, through all my anger and denial, I knew I believed.

“Yes, you are.”

“Be back by curfew,” his dad said, then took his wife by one hand and his daughter by the other and headed out of the restaurant.

“Cooper, I’m tired. Can we just talk tomorrow?” I asked when they were halfway to the door.

“Nope. You have to talk now. I can tell it’s bothering you. Come on.” He led the way toward the exit.

“Of course it’s bothering me, but I’m fine. I’ll get over it. Let’s get cheesecake instead.” I stopped at the lit glass case and surveyed all the beautifully displayed cake.

Cooper stopped beside me. “It looks like they don’t have white chocolate raspberry.”

“Maybe I want to try a new one.”

“You never try something different. Once you find the best, that’s all you ever want.”

“So true, Cooper, so true.”

He gave me a sideways glance, like he thought I was talking about something other than cheesecake. I was.

He shook his head with a breathy laugh, grabbed hold of my hand, and led me outside. His hand was warm and slightly callused, and I always thought it fit perfectly in mine. My car was parked in front of the restaurant, but he walked past it and toward the pier. He must’ve realized I was going to follow him without force, because he let go of my hand, much to my disappointment.

After a block and a half he said, “I got something for you.”

“You did? What?” Without my permission, my heartbeat sped up.

He pulled a white napkin out of his pocket and handed it to me. There was a phone number written on it. I swallowed my disappointment.

“I already have your number,” I said.

“Ha-ha. That is Elliot’s number. You’re welcome.”

“You still think you’re some sort of matchmaker?”

“I’m an excellent matchmaker.”

“Elliot gave me his number six months ago, but thanks anyway.” I knew Elliot had been interested back then. I’d kind of blown him off, exchanging a few texts but nothing more. I shoved the napkin back into Cooper’s pocket, then walked ahead of him. The planks on the pier were warped and I had to slow down once I got there so I didn’t trip.

Cooper caught up. “Did you ever call him?”

“We texted a little. I’m not interested, Cooper.”

“Did you ever tell me about this?”

“I’m sure I did.”

“Huh,” he said.

When we reached the end of the pier, I leaned against the wood railing and looked out into the water. At first glance, the ocean appeared black at night, but between the skyline and the shoreline there were so many variations of color and movement that it always made me itch for a paintbrush.

“Talk to me, Abigail. I hate it when you get inside your head. What happened? You said Mr. Wallace was considering you. What did he really say?”

“That I have no heart.”

“He said you were an android?”

I draped my arms on top of the railing and laid my forehead on them with a moan. The smell of salt and fish and seaweed overtook me.

Cooper rubbed my back. “He said you have no heart? What does that even mean?”

“He said I have no depth. That my paintings are basically one-dimensional. They don’t make him feel anything.”