“A mistake?”
“Yeah. You and me. It’s a mistake. You kissed me, and I got caught up in it, and I shouldn’t have let it keep going. It was a big, fat mistake.”
“You know that’s not true.” The song changes, some fast-paced pop number, but we stay together, swaying back and forth.
“Cameron, don’t you remember what this whole summer is supposed to be about?”
His face softens. “Of course I remember.”
“So, being in a relationship with you is not part of that. I am doing this list, and you don’t fit in it.”
Cameron’s hand presses against my lower back, and I let him pull me the slightest bit closer to him. “I could fit in, if you let me.”
“No, you couldn’t. What about number five?”
“Fall in love. What about it?”
The page flashes in my mind, the crossed-out words harsh and vibrant. “She wrote ‘meet my soulmate,’ Cameron. Not fall in love with a boy I’ve known my whole life.”
“Didn’t she cross that soulmate part out?”
My head is shaking, but I say, “Yeah, but it’s still the same. I need to find someone. Meet a stranger and fall in love. Not… this.” Even as I argue, the muscles in my arm relax, my elbow bending until we are pressed against each other, chest to chest, my hand flat between us.
He dips his head low, his lips just brushing my earlobe. Chills erupt across my skin, and I lean into him, already giving in. I can think of a hundred arguments, but my body craves him too deeply.
“Anna,” he whispers, and the sound of him speaking my name sends shivers down my spine. “We all start as strangers.”
I don’t know who makes the first move, but our lips meet, hesitant, then hungry. And we’re standing there, in the middle of the dance floor, couples spinning around us, kissing.
I could kiss him forever.
Chapter 25
The sun peeks through the window this morning, falling warm across my face, coaxing me awake. Cameron is lying next to me, one hand behind his head. He looks younger in his sleep. I press a gentle kiss to his lips.
He shifts, reaches an arm around me. The kiss deepens. He pulls me on top of him and tangles a hand in my hair. “Good morning,” he murmurs into my mouth.
“Back atchya.” I kiss him again. “What are we doing today?”
After a long kiss, he rubs a hand down my back, resting it just above the curve of my butt. “This.”
“This is definitely nice,” I say in between quick kisses, “but if you don’t feed me, I’m liable to get nasty.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“I’m just saying, I can’t be held responsible for the things I say when I’m hungry.”
He shifts, and I can feel his excitement. I run my fingers over his scalp, embracing his head with my forearms, and press myself into him. Forehead to forehead, I stare into his eyes then kiss him again, hard and eager. I’m ready to say that food can wait, to stay in bed all day, but my stomach grumbles a loud protest to that idea. Rolling off Cameron, I groan and stretch.
“Okay, okay. Point taken. Let’s feed you.”
The clock tells us we have fifteen minutes left to grab breakfast downstairs, so we plod to the dining room in our pajamas. It’s empty except for pitchers of milk, juice, and water on the table.
Cameron pulls a chair out for me, and when I sit, he bows deeply to kiss my hand. “My lady.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“I do my best. Be right back.” He rounds the table and peeks his head through the kitchen door. “Hello?”
Nancy’s voice rings out. “Oh, Cameron, dear. I’m so happy you two could eat with us today.” She comes out into the dining room, and Cameron sits next to me. “Good morning, Anna,” she says.
“Morning.”
“We have waffles with strawberries this morning. Does that work for you two?”
“Sounds wonderful,” I say, remembering my breakfast with Dad, not too long ago.
“How about some eggs? Would you like me to fry up a couple?”
“We’re fine,” I say at the same time as Cameron says, “That’d be great. Thank you.”
Nancy laughs and looks to me for clarification. “Eggs would be nice,” I say.
“Would you like some help?” Cameron asks.
“No, no, dear. You just stay there and enjoy. This is my job.” With a wink, she disappears into the kitchen.
We don’t talk, just sit at the massive table, shoulder to shoulder. Cameron puts his hand on my thigh, palm up. I run my fingernails over his palm, up and down his fingers, circling his wrist. I memorize the lines and contours of his hand, where it’s hard and calloused, and where it’s soft and silky between his fingers.
Nancy is back faster than seems possible for the amount of food she’s carrying balanced precariously on her arms. Cameron hops up and helps her off-load the plates onto the table, despite her protests.
“Thank you so much, Nancy,” I say. “This looks amazing.”
And it is. The waffles are light and spongy, almost more angel food cake than waffle, and the strawberries are fresh, not frozen in syrup like I’m used to. We eat fast, and before long I feel like I’m about to burst.
“I need a nap.”
Cameron laughs. “It’s, like, nine thirty. How can you possibly be tired?”
“Food makes me sleepy.”
“Too bad. We’re going exploring.”
Grabbing the front of his shirt, I yank him toward me. Our lips crash. “I can think of a few places I’d like to explore.”
“I can’t take you anywhere, can I?”
“Nope.” I kiss him again.
An hour later, we’re dressed and walking through downtown. We dropped off last night’s clothes, putting the garment bags in a Tupperware box the old woman left in front of her locked shop, a Post-it note on top reading returns.
We walk into an old-fashioned soda fountain, with Pepsi bottles lining the shelves and old metal signs hanging on the walls. It’s crowded with people seated at all the tables, a few around a display case at the end of the store. Two empty stools stand side by side at the counter, and we beeline to them. The wall behind the bar is a collage of old black-and-white and sepia photos interspersed with the history of Pepsi. The man behind the counter is sporting an impressive walrus mustache. He smiles wide, his eyes disappearing in wrinkles, and holds up a finger for us. “Just one second.”
As we settle onto our stools, Cameron grabs a plastic display card and reads: “The Birthplace of Pepsi, located in historic New Bern, North Carolina, is the actual site where Pepsi-Cola was first invented by Caleb Bradham in his pharmacy in 1898.” He scans the rest of the card silently as Walrus Man makes his way toward us. I order two Pepsis and watch him pour them from the fountain.
“It’s better here. Don’t you think it’s better here?” Cameron says, straw still in his mouth.
I take a small sip. It’s sweet, the carbonation tickling my nose. “It’s good,” I say, “but I don’t really taste the difference.”
“It’s better, I promise. More Pepsi-like.”
“More Pepsi-like. Got it.” With the straw between my teeth, I smile at him.
“Storm would get it,” Cameron says. “She was a real Pepsi connoisseur.”
“That she was.” We kept a list of places in town that carried Pepsi in glass bottles, because apparently it’s better that way. I could never tell much of a difference. Cameron is right; she would love this.
We drain our glasses and vacate our stools, waving off the Walrus’s offer of refills. Cameron turns as soon as we hit the sidewalk, grabbing my hand and hauling me toward the water. We skip-walk to the marina.
“Where. Are. We. Going?” I say between breaths.
“Boat mocking.”
I stop in my tracks, my arm jolting when it reaches the end of Cameron’s reach. “What the heck is boat mocking?”
He pulls my arm, lightly. “You’ll see. Just come on.�
�
We amble now, a gentle stroll along the docks of the marina. Many of the slips are empty, their owners enjoying the weekend, but enough boats are still docked that the marina looks full. With the sun glinting off the water and all the masts standing tall in a row, it feels like we’re walking through a painting, an artist’s rendition of what the coast should look like.
“There,” Cameron says, pointing. “That one.” We walk up to the back of a huge blue boat. White and gold lettering is painted on the back, reading In Deep Ship.
“Okay?…”
He looks at me like I’ve sprouted a second head. “Okay? That’s it? Come on, it’s funny! Who names a boat something like that?”
“Whoever owns this one obviously.”
“Funny girl.”
“Whatever. What should a boat be named, oh, wise one?”
“I don’t know. Something like”—he spins around, scanning boats, and rushes to one across a dock—“this! This is a respectable boat name.”
“Carpe Diem? If you say so, Captain.”
“What’s wrong with Carpe Diem?”
“Nothing. It’s just that you’ll probably find three in every marina on the East Coast.”
“It’s not that common.”
“I bet it is. Carpe Diem is like the Anna of boat names.”
Cameron’s smile is knowing when he says, “You always hated your name, didn’t you?”
“Yes—no.” I run a hand through my hair, fingers catching on the tangles, and I weave it into a braid over my shoulder. A quick search tells me I don’t have a hair band, so I tie the end in a messy knot. “It’s not that I hate my name. Anna’s a fine name.”
“Well, what’s the problem, then?”
“Nothing. I like Anna.”
“Liar. You used to try to change it all the time when we were kids. You made us all call you River for a month once.”
I shrug, remembering. I’d loved the name River when I was little. “It’s just—my parents. It’s like they used up all their creativity with Storm, you know? How did they name one kid such a unique name, and then less than a year later all they come up with is Anna?”
My hand is in his now, and we slowly leave the Carpe Diem behind. “Do you remember what your parents were like before you and Storm were born?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
He laughs. “Of course you don’t remember, but from stories, I mean.”
“Yeah. They seem like they were… different. More fun, less uptight.”
“They were hippies.”
“No—”
“They were! Total, honest-to-goodness hippies. Flower children. But then your mom got pregnant, and your dad got serious about his job.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I listen. Your mom used to talk about it all the time, how your dad went from wanting to travel wherever the wind blew them to studying all night to pass his classes and get promoted. She said it happened practically overnight when she got pregnant with Storm.”
When Cameron talks, I don’t picture Dad, the middle-aged man with the receding hairline and small paunch—the Dad I know now—nor do I see the man with the long sideburns and flowing hair from the wedding picture hanging on the wall in our upstairs hallway. Instead, Cameron’s words conjure an image of a third man, somehow better than either version of Dad I know. More handsome, too, like the hero in the romantic comedies Piper is always making me watch.
I can’t tell Cameron any of that, though—can’t admit how little I know about my own parents when he knows so much. Instead, I say, “I don’t really see what this has to do with our names.”
“Everything!” He throws his arms out, creating a huge circle in the air and nearly yanking my arm out of its socket in the process as he yells it. A man on a boat nearby—The Last Chance, I notice—stops his wipe-down of the instrument cluster and stares at us.
“Seriously?” I rub my sore shoulder with my free hand.
“Yeah. See, Storm—the name, not the baby—was a grasp at the hippie life they were leaving behind. It was the last vestige of who they were before they became parents. And by the time you came along—”
“A whopping eleven months later…”
“They were over it. They’d left that part of them behind. So they named you Anna.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re saying all it took for my parents to go from being creative, free-thinking hippies to giving me the most common name of all time was seeing the pee-stick turn blue?”
“Exactly. But I’m pretty sure Anna isn’t the most common name of all time—I think Mary might be.”
“Whatever.”
We’ve stopped walking. My hand is hot in his. A gull flits behind Cameron’s head, landing on the mast of a huge white boat named Persephone.
“That’s a good name,” I say, tilting my chin toward the boat.
He glances at it, barely, then looks back at me. “I like Anna better.”
“You’re a terrible flirt.”
He steps closer. I can feel his breath on my face. “I can call you River if you’d prefer.”
“Shut up.”
“That, I can do.”
He kisses me, hot and soft and firm all at once. Letting go of his hand, I loop my arms around his neck, my fingers in his hair. I memorize the feel of his body against mine, each curve and ridge and plane of his chest. His arms snake around my lower back and pull me to him even tighter, lifting me onto my tiptoes.
It’s always been a fetish of mine, this desire to kiss someone tall enough to get the tiptoes involved. But when you’re five foot ten, even the taller guys are not really tall enough for that. But Cameron is, and suddenly the limbs that have always seemed just a bit too long are perfect for me.
This kiss goes on forever, our lips dancing, tongues exploring. My head is cloudy, shutting out the marina and all the boats, the man on The Last Chance, who might still be watching us for all I know.
When Cameron backs up, breaking contact for a second, I follow him, leaning back in. I’m not ready to be done yet; already my lips ache for more. He obliges, kissing me for a moment longer, and then pulls away, pressing his forehead to mine. The tips of our noses barely touch.
His breath comes in rapid bursts. I tilt my face up to his again, but he shakes his head slightly. “Hold on,” he whispers.
Suddenly, his whole body is trembling. It’s the barely noticeable shiver of someone who doesn’t know yet that they’re chilled. But it has to be ninety degrees out here on the dock, so I know he’s not cold. He draws in a slow breath, his chest shaking with the effort.
“Are you okay?” I pull my head back from his so I can focus on his face. His cheeks are flushed, his lips slightly swollen. He keeps his eyes closed and nods.
“I…”
Just the one word, and he’s silent again. The tremor has calmed, so now only his hands shake where they rest on my lower back. He opens his eyes, and they’re bright as they stare into mine.
“Cameron?”
“I love you.”
I blink. My face goes completely slack. I must look like the world’s biggest idiot. I can’t find my voice—not that I have any idea what I would say if I could speak. The sounds of the marina—gulls screeching in the distance, water lapping against the hulls of boats—all fade away, replaced by only the sound of my heart beating in my eardrums, erratic and too fast. I start to back out of Cameron’s arms, but he holds me tight.
“It’s okay,” he says, breaking through the pounding in my ears. “You don’t have to say it back or anything. I don’t expect…” He clears his throat. “You just need to know. I had to tell you.”
“How long?” My voice is barely a whisper.
“I don’t think it’s possible to put a time line to love. Once it’s there, it’s like there’s never been anything else. Time bends, and suddenly I knew that I’ve always loved you.” He rushes to talk over my interjection. “And I have. In one way or another, since
I moved in next door, since that first summer together, I’ve loved you. Both of you. But this right now? It built up slowly over the past week, but it also came out of nowhere just a few minutes ago. I can’t explain it, Anna. I just know that I love you, and if I didn’t tell you right now, I’d be kicking myself for missing the opportunity.”
Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes, and my whole body seems heavier. He’s staring at me so candidly, everything written on his face.
“Thank you,” I whisper. It’s the stupidest thing I can say—a horrible way to follow up an “I love you”—but it seems to be exactly what he needs to hear. A smile lights up his face, the toothy, crooked smile I’ve always loved, and his eyes nearly disappear into it. And I do love that smile. I may not be ready to find out if I love all of him, but this is a start. I inch his head to mine and kiss him, right on the smile that melts my heart.
Chapter 26
The alarm clock blares next to my head, jolting me out of my dream. I swat at it until it stops then snuggle back into Cameron’s embrace. He’s warm against my back, and his arms flex just slightly, wrapping me tight. His lips rest on my neck.
“Anna,” he whispers, his breath tickling the baby hairs behind my ear.
“Ugh.”
“Anna, we have to get up.”
“No, we don’t.” I tug the covers up around my neck, holding the comforter to my cheek. “Too warm. Need sleep.”
“We’re going to miss it.”
“’sokay.”
Cameron groans. “Anna,” he says again, soft and low. “This was your idea.” He kisses me, just behind the ear, then trails his lips slowly along my jaw, leaving a blazing path of heat everywhere they touch. I refuse to give in.
“It’s time to get up.” He brushes my hair off my shoulder and presses his lips there. Something jumps and rolls, deep in my gut. When he turns me, I don’t resist, instead rolling to my back, eyes still closed. Cameron slips over me, holding his weight on his forearms, pressing down on me just enough to make me want more. I squirm under him.
“Wake up.” He kisses each of my eyelids, one of my temples. Presses his lips to my chin then the hollow of my throat. My back arches.
Someone Else's Summer Page 16