“To be fair, I think Bee refused to give up the pickup truck because it was your grandfather’s other lover. He spent as much time tinkering with that thing as he did sitting with Bee on the front porch. At least that’s how it seemed when I was a kid.”

“Whenever I visited, he spent most of his time in the garage,” Van agrees.

We both smile, and Van tips his head, eyes dipping down.

“Does everyone around here mumble and add an r to your name and call you Darlin’?”

I chuckle. “Honestly, I think Billy is the one who started calling me that, and everyone else followed suit. Like he couldn’t pronounce it properly, and then people started adding the r, and it stuck. Except Bee. She called me Lynnie, and sometimes people call me Dee because it’s shorter, and we’re lazy with our tongues.”

“What do you like to be called?”

I shrug. “They’re all fine. Apart from trailer trash, anyway.”

Embarrassment makes him duck his head. “Monica is an asshole.”

“She’s the kind of person who made me hate the north side of the lake. All that entitlement and believing they’re better because they were born with a silver spoon in their mouths. I wanted to prove to everyone who ever looked down on me that I could be just as successful. And I wanted to prove to this town that if you wanted to leave, you could.” Between people like her and Tucker, I had motivation to get out. Spread my wings, and knock a few people off their pedestals on my way out.

“And now?”

“I’m starting to see this place differently.” Having lived in the city, where anonymity is easy to come by, and then coming back here, to where everything and everyone is familiar, has changed things. And so has the guy sitting across from me. He’s a link to Bee, and in many ways he embodies the nostalgia of my teens. And now that I’m getting to know him, I’m finding there’s lots to like about him.

“Yeah, me too. At least when I’m around you.” His eyes roam over my face, and this time I don’t win the battle with my hand not to touch my hair.

I snicker. “You’re a fan of surly neighbors?”

“Maybe it reminds me of Chicago. Everyone’s surly there.”

“That’s a fact.”

“Or maybe it’s because you don’t put up with shit.”

“Oh, I put up with lots of shit.”

“Not from me.”

“You happen to catch me on particularly surly days, is all.”

“I like your surly.” His tongue peeks out and drags across his bottom lip. “Can I tell you something?” He tips his head down, the brim of his hat casting shadows over his face again.

“Sure.” We’ve been open with each other tonight, and all that hostility I felt has dissipated, especially in the wake of his revelations.

He taps on the table, leaving fingerprints in the dust. “Remember the summer you worked at the french fry truck?”

“Yeah, it was my last summer in Pearl Lake.”

“Mine too. I used to go to the food truck all the time and get fries and hot dogs, even though I’m not a fan of either.”

“Who doesn’t like fries? And why would you get them if you don’t like them? For Bee?”

Van laughs. “No. I mean, sure, she liked them well enough, but I went just so I could talk to you. I kinda had a thing for you.”

“A thing?”

“A crush, Dillion.” His smile is wry.

“Oh. I had no idea.” I lean back in my chair, which creaks ominously. “Why didn’t you come over and say hi, when I lived right next door to Bee?”

He tips his head to the side. “Because I knew you had a boyfriend, and I was only there for the summer. I had a feeling if I acted on that crush, it would be hard to walk away come the end of August. I used to go to those beach parties hoping I’d run into you there.”

“I hated those parties back then. It was always a bunch of summer kids trying to hook up with the locals.” I rub my bottom lip, remembering the one time I went to a beach party while Tucker and I were on one of our breaks and ended up kissing a north side boy. “Did you ever make out with any of the local girls?”

“Only one. Did you ever make out with any of the guys from the other side of the lake?” he asks.

“Only one. And only because I got roped into a game of truth or dare that played out more like a game of spin the bottle. It ended almost as soon as it started, though, because some jerk made a trailer trash comment—”

“—and a fight broke out.”

“How do you know that?” I can feel my face heating up. I’d hate to think that Van, who had been crushing on me back then, had witnessed that embarrassing moment.

“Because it was me.”

“What was you?” My pulse speeds up at the memory. The way I hadn’t been able to see that summer boy’s face because the fire was burning low and he’d been wearing a ball cap.

“I was the one who kissed you. I didn’t even know it was you,” Van says quietly.

“Because I was wearing a sweatshirt—”

“—and the hood was up,” he finishes for me.

I’d been hiding behind it, watching Tucker flirt with some girl from the other side of the lake. The bottle landed on me, and someone dared Van to kiss me. So he did.

I shake my head. “I thought about that kiss for the rest of the summer.”

“Me too.” He rubs his bottom lip, leaving behind a smudge of dirt. His left eyebrow arches. “Did you think good things?”

I breathe out a laugh. “Yeah. I thought good things. I wondered for the rest of the summer if it was you I’d run into, but you were too embarrassed that you’d gotten called out for macking on trailer trash.”

“Stop saying that. It’s pissing me off. If I’d known it was you, I would have been at your door every damn day for the rest of the summer.”

“I still can’t believe it was you,” I say softly.

“Seems like fate is trying to tell us something, don’t you think?” He slides his chair across the rough wood floor, closer to me.

“Maybe Bee is trying to send us messages from heaven.”

“Maybe.” He reaches out and drags my chair away from the makeshift table so we’re knee to knee, his legs parting to bracket mine.

He props his forearms on his thighs; his knuckles barely graze my knee and send a shiver running down my spine. “Can I tell you something else?”

“Sure.” It’s more breath than word.

“You make me nervous.” His voice is soft and low.

It’s also not what I expected to hear. I tip my head, unsure where he’s going with this.

He links our pinkies. “Do you want to know why?”

“Sure.”

His fingertips glide along my palm, and a wave of goose bumps flashes over my skin. “Because I feel like you see me. Like it doesn’t matter what I say or do. I’m transparent, and you’re already under my skin.”

“And why does that make you nervous?”

He runs his thumb over my knuckles and lifts my hand. “Because I want you to like what you see, the same way I like what I see in you.” He drops his head until I can feel his breath break across the back of my hand. “Do you, Dillion?” The end of his nose brushes my knuckle. “Like what you see, that is.”