That Forever Girl

by Quinn, Meghan

  “Wow, when did my best friend become so considerate?”

  I sprawl out on our blanket while Harper sinks down next to me and pulls a Capri Sun from the cooler for each of us. “I have my moments.”

  We both insert our straws and sip, gazing out toward the ocean. Well, at least Harper does. I’m busy stealing glances in her direction. Checking out the way her long legs captured the sun this summer and the pink on her toenails that continue to dig deep into the sand.

  And then there’s her lips. She’s wearing some kind of glossy shit on them today, so every time she moves her head, they glisten in the sun. It’s driving me crazy.

  What would it taste like to press her lips against mine? Would she taste like vanilla, her signature scent, or sweet like the strawberry gloss on her lips?

  And what’s with her shirt today?

  It’s short; every time she’s leaped into the air, I’ve seen patches of her firm, toned stomach. It’s doing all sorts of weird things to my body, and even Griffin noticed once. He smacked me on the back of the head and told me to stop staring.

  But I can’t. I can’t seem to pry my eyes off her.

  “Do you think they’re going to go make out?” Harper asks, pulling me from my horny thoughts.

  Caught off guard, I tear my eyes from her legs and clear my throat, putting down the empty Capri Sun I hadn’t realized I’d finished. “Uh . . . probably. They always go to this little alcove a few yards down.”

  “Hmm . . .”

  She doesn’t say anything after that, and I worry. Why would she care if they’re making out? Does she have a crush on Griffin? I mean, I could see that; I’m firmly planted in the friend zone, and just about every girl in town swoons over Griffin anyway. If she did have a crush on him, I’m pretty sure that would just about crush me.

  Then again, he’s with Claire, so would it really matter?

  “Why do you ask?”

  She sets her Capri Sun to the side and lies back on the blanket, folding her hands behind her head. “Just, you know . . . wondering.” She sighs wistfully.

  I lie down next to her and bump her elbow with mine as the sand molds to my body. “Why are you wondering?” I take a risk and ask, “Do you have a crush on Griffin or something?”

  My breath seizes in my chest as I wait for her to answer. Please say no. Please say no.

  Propping herself up on one elbow, she looks down at me, eyebrow raised. “Are you serious? No! Why would you think that?”

  Thank God.

  I can’t hold back my smile. “I don’t know. You just seemed curious about, you know . . . if he was making out.”

  She performs a dramatic eye roll before lying back down. “Forget it.”

  “When you say shit like that, you know I can’t forget it. So you can either spill it now or let me harass you for half an hour before I get it out of you.”

  “Ugh, I hate that you’re right.”

  “Come on.” I nudge her. “You can tell me anything.”

  I roll my head to the side, our noses almost touching as I wait for her to spill the beans. She bites down on her plump lip, a thoughtful expression on her face. What’s she so scared to tell me? There isn’t much that we haven’t told each other—really anything, actually.

  “You promise you won’t make fun of me?”

  “Come on, Harp, you know me better than that.”

  “I know.” She sighs. “It’s just embarrassing, you know . . . since you have experience.”

  “Experience?” I sit up and quirk an eyebrow at her. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know . . . experience kissing.” I stare at her blankly. “You know, with Mindy Gallow and Shannon O’Hare.”

  Oookay. They were pecks, barely anything I would call experience. My pillow has gotten more action from my lips than Mindy and Shannon, which is something I will never tell Harper.

  Ever.

  “Uh . . . what does that have to do with anything?”

  Groaning, she sits up and crosses her legs. She faces me but keeps her eyes cast down as she runs her finger over the blanket. She looks so vulnerable, so different from the confident Harper I’m used to. “I just always wondered what it was like to be kissed. I’ve never kissed a boy before, and with our sophomore year days away, I feel a little . . . dumb.”

  I often wondered if that was the case with Harper, but she just confirmed it. And for some reason, it brings out this weird primal feeling I didn’t know I had.

  “You want to know what it’s like to be kissed?”

  “Sort of, yeah. Like, what if some guy finally asks me out this year? Is he going to think I’m too inexperienced? Am I supposed to practice on my arm?”

  Don’t mention the pillow. For the love of God, do not mention the pillow.

  “First of all.” I reach out for her but stop myself, unsure if I should touch her or not. “If a guy thinks you’re stupid because you’ve never kissed anyone before, then they don’t deserve your attention.” I glance at her lips. “And no, don’t practice on your arm. That’s weird.”

  “I know I shouldn’t worry about what guys think of me. I’m not that girl. But no one at school has come close to asking me out. Am I that repulsive?”

  Is she insane? I can give her one big reason why not one single guy has asked her out yet, and he’s sitting right next to her. I might not be as tall or big as Griffin just yet, but I’m large for my age and intimidating. No one has asked Harper out because they have to go through me first, and in my eyes, no one is good enough.

  Not one single person.

  “You’re not repulsive, Harper. You’re beautiful.”

  She snorts. “You have to say that; you’re my best friend.”

  “I don’t have to say shit.” I grow serious and scoot in closer. My heart in my throat, I reach out and tilt her chin up, touching her this time. Our eyes meet; vulnerability laces her pupils, and there’s a shake in my unsteady hand. Does she see how nervous I am? Can she sense my need to touch her, to get closer?

  “Wh-what are you doing?” she asks, worry etching her brow.

  I have no damn clue. I just hope I’m doing it right. I pull her in closer and then pause, unsure if she’s going to pull away.

  “You want to know what it’s like to kiss someone, right?” She doesn’t answer; instead she searches my eyes, fear but also curiosity staring back at me. I lean a few more inches. Please don’t pull away. “Then kiss me.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Try me.”

  I sit there, waiting, hardly believing my own boldness, and desperately hoping she takes me up on my offer. The only thing I want more than Harper’s lips on mine is for her to want that too.

  With bated breath, I wait as she decides her next move. My skin tingles in anticipation, my tongue peeks out and wets my lips, and I swear I can feel the pounding of my heart in my throat.

  Kiss me. Hell, please kiss me, Harper.

  She moves an inch closer, and just when I think she’s about to cup my cheek, she presses her palm against my chest and pushes me away, laughing nervously.

  Shit.

  “Stop playing around.” She stands abruptly and picks up her Capri Sun, only to stuff it in the cooler and start packing up.

  My excitement plummets to the pit of my stomach as a small part of me cracks. I thought that maybe she might have feelings for me, that maybe I wasn’t the only one who wanted more. I guess I was wrong. Clearing my throat, I laugh too, only to save my pride, even though inside my courage is crumbling to my toes. I pick up the blanket and shake it out before folding it up. “Want me to walk you back to your house?”

  “Sure.” She slips her sandals back on and takes the blanket from me while I grab the cooler and football, just like every other time we walk back from the beach. Except that this time, an awkward silence settles between us.

  And for the first time since I’ve met Harper, I don’t exactly know what to say.

  Do I tell her the trut
h? That I’ve developed feelings for her?

  Do I tell her she just about shattered my heart?

  Do I tell her I’ve wanted nothing more all summer than to hold her hand?

  From the way she’s put distance between us, I’m going to guess no.

  We make it to her house, which rests right next to Port Snow’s lighthouse, and I set the cooler and football down against the garage door. Sticking my hands in my pockets, I stare down at the ground. “Are you ready for school next week?”

  “Mostly.” She toes a rock on the ground. “You?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. We have a game next weekend. It’s just a practice game with Heiner High, but we should have a pretty good crowd. Are you going to go?”

  She shrugs. “Probably. Are you going to start?”

  “I hope so.”

  Silence.

  “Um . . . well, I guess I’ll get going.” She jabs her thumb to the house behind her. “It’s my turn to make dinner.”

  “Oh yeah? What are you making?”

  “Grilled cheese and soup.” She chuckles. “Nothing too fancy, but Dad likes it.”

  “I’m sure he appreciates it.”

  Tension fills the air as we stand a few feet away from each other, trying to move past the awkward moment at the beach where she just about kicked me in the balls. She didn’t want to kiss me, but she wants to be kissed. What does that say about me?

  I scratch the back of my neck. “Well, uh—”

  “Thanks for today.” She finally looks up at me. “I mean . . . you know, thanks for everything.” Glassy and beautifully green in the late-afternoon light, Harper’s eyes transfix me, making my pulse erupt in seconds.

  “Yeah, sure,” I answer, uncertain if she’s thanking me for offering to kiss her. And if she is thanking me, why didn’t she go through with it? And why hasn’t she made an attempt to go back in her house yet?

  Carefully I study her, the way her hands twist in front of her, the way her tongue quickly wets her lips, the short intakes of breath inflating her chest.

  It almost seems like . . . she’s changed her mind and wants me to kiss her.

  She takes one step back, putting distance between us but still facing me. “Okay, I’ll see you later, Rogan.”

  Another step.

  What should I do? Hand still behind my head, I pull hard on the back of my neck, trying to make a decision.

  Another step.

  Fuck, she’s retreating.

  Just do it. Just pull her in and kiss her.

  The air stills; my heart pounds in my ears as I take a step forward . . . but then think better of it. She catches my indecision; her eyebrows rise as I reach for her and then pull back. An unsettling awkwardness stretches between us, and I have no idea how to make it better.

  I consider just turning and running, acting as if none of this ever happened, but before I can put that plan into action, Harper does the unthinkable. She quickly closes the space between us, cups my cheeks, and plants her lips directly on mine.

  Oh. My. God.

  Stiff at first, I have no idea what to do. Do I touch her, cradle her neck, take her hands in mine?

  But when I feel her relax against me, I let my shoulders unwind and my hands fall to her hips. I don’t grip too tightly, not wanting to show her how desperate I am for this kiss but instead letting her know I’m into this. Like, really into this.

  She tastes so good, just like I thought: sweet with a hint of vanilla. This kiss, it’s more than I ever expected, more than I ever thought I wanted, but I realize in this moment that being Harper’s friend is never, ever going to be enough for me. Harper is the kind of girl I want in my life, forever, and not just for friendship but for so much more.

  She’s the first to pull away, taking a step back, a shy look crossing her beautiful face. She touches her lips, a little shocked at what she just did, but then smiles up at me.

  “Sorry to surprise you like that.” She takes a few steps back. “But I’m not sorry about the kiss.” She smiles that confident smile of hers and then takes off running toward her house, leaving me speechless and wanting more in her driveway. Even though her back is toward me, I give her a small wave and then stuff my hands back into my pockets.

  “I’ll see you later. Have a good night!” I call out.

  Have a good night. God, that sounded dorky.

  I shakily pick up my stuff before I turn around and start my walk back into town, replaying the kiss over and over in my head. I just hope that come tomorrow, she’s going to want to do that again.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ROGAN

  Present Day

  Four Men and a Witch Group Text

  Brig: Alert! Alert! I was just at Mom and Dad’s house and the winter fudge catalogue arrived.

  I inwardly groan, reading Brig’s text. The gift shop my parents built from the ground up, the Lobster Landing, is known for selling a huge array of baked goods along with classic lobster memorabilia. But above anything else, it’s the fudge that gets the most attention, and it’s all because my dad is obsessed. Every season, a new fudge catalogue comes in, and my dad spends days going through the recipes, trying new ones and creating some of his own. And we are the ones who have to taste test. Well, my brothers and sister have to taste. I refuse.

  Reid: Ugh, please tell me we’re not going to have another peppermint crisis.

  Griffin: I think I can still taste the peppermint from last year.

  Brig: Better to have peppermint mouth than the time Dad asked me to try his Buffalo Wild Wing fudge.

  Reid: *Cry laughing emoji* Thank God we were all gone for that. Didn’t you throw up?

  Brig: Four times.

  Rogan: But not before you drank a cup of blue cheese dressing.

  Brig: Because my mouth was on fire! What was I supposed to do?

  Griffin: Not be such a kiss-ass with Dad and tell him no.

  Reid: Great advice coming from the golden child.

  Rogan: ^^ Truth.

  Griffin: Siding with Reid, huh? See if I let you copy my taste testing answers this go around. Fucker.

  Reid: Yeah, eat fudge, Rogan!

  Brig: Right down your gullet.

  Rogan: You all have issues. When did he say the recipes will be ready?

  Brig: Who knows? I blacked out when I saw it. But before I left, Mom did tell me that she saw Harper over at Wicks and Sticks buying some apple scented candles.

  Griffin: Oh apple, good choice. Ren loves the spiced hot toddy scent.

  Reid: Aww, look at you, blissfully in love.

  Rogan: Why did Mom tell you that?

  Griffin: Don’t be jealous of our candles. It’s not my fault your house smells like a horse’s nut sac, Reid.

  Brig: Why else would Mom tell me? To bother you.

  Reid: It does not smell like a fucking nut sac in my house. It smells like man.

  Griffin: Yeah, a man-horse nut sac.

  Brig: ^^ historically a man-horse is also referred to as centaur. #ShowRespect

  Rogan: And why are you bothering me with this information when you know I don’t want to know anything about Harper? You’re only going to piss me off.

  Reid: Where does the penis fall on the spectrum of horse man? Is it horse penis or man penis?

  Brig: I heard she also bought a lavender candle. How does that make you feel?

  Griffin: I think horse dick.

  Rogan: It makes me want to kick you in the eye. I don’t want to know about her damn candles.

  Brig: What about her clothes? Mom said she was wearing a lovely shade of green that really brought out her eyes.

  Reid: I think you’re right. I just looked up a picture—totally horse dick.

  Rogan: I’m going to murder you, Brig.

  Griffin: If you murder him, hire a centaur to do it because . . . bow and arrow carrying horse man

  Reid: Fuck yes. #DeathByCentaur

  Griffin: #MurderousHorsePenis

  Reid: #ManCock?

  Brig
: #ImpaledByCentaur

  Reid: #OddlyAroused

  Jen: What the fuck did I just stumble in on?

  Rogan: Run, Jen . . . Run.

  Jen: Oh wait, just caught up. #ManHorsePecsTurnMeOn

  Rogan: Why am I a part of this family?

  “We can do shiplap on the fireplace if you would like,” Gina, my faithful assistant, says.

  I shake my head, running my hand across my jaw. “One, this isn’t a farmhouse, and two, shiplap doesn’t fit the era. This is Snow Vale Manor, which once hosted dignitaries from all over; we need to make sure we keep everything historically accurate.” My irritation is at an all-time high, and it has nothing to do with the renovation of Snow Vale Manor. No, it has to do with a very different blast from the past.

  Since Ren’s birthday party four nights ago, I’ve heard from my mom, my brothers, Jen, and even Oliver, who owns the corner store, all about Harper being in town and how beautiful she’s looking.

  I didn’t need the reminder. She’s always been beautiful, and the other night, when I got a good look at her up close? Fuck, she’s even more beautiful than I remembered.

  That night, when I went to bed, my body physically ached from seeing her, like I ran the New York City marathon and didn’t train for it. I was in pain, out of breath, and regretting all my life choices.

  And since then, I’ve been in a foul mood, avoiding everyone. Anytime I’m not working, I’ve been holed up in my house, lights off, chugging glass after glass of stupid-as-shit water, despite wanting a whiskey.

  “We can plaster the upper half and repaint the bottom to its original glory. Is that what you were looking for?”

  I nod, focusing back on the project. “Yes, everything needs to be white in here.” I thumb through the stack of letters that I found beneath the floorboards years earlier, letters that once belonged to the original owner and are dated decades ago. They contain a detailed description of the house and the devotion put into every inch of the space. “The house is described as a wintery wonderland—everything white with crystals hanging from the chandeliers like snowflakes about to fall from stormy skies.”