“You heard, right?” she’d asked eventually, and he nodded. “I guess everyone knows about us now.”
Beside her, a slow smile had bloomed across Graham’s face, and he crooked a finger into the darkness. “That guy?” he asked, pointing at a random man dragging a cooler across the lawn. He scanned the crowd for more. “And her?” he said, nodding at a pregnant woman before shifting his gaze to an elderly man with a cane. “And him?”
Ellie laughed. “Yes,” she said with mock exasperation. “Probably him too.”
Graham leaned toward her, so that their faces were only inches apart. “So that means we can do this now?” he asked, and then he kissed her, a kiss that seemed to go on forever.
She grinned as they finally broke apart. “I guess so.”
“That’s not such bad news then.”
“No, I guess not, when you put it that way.”
“As long as you’re okay,” he added, and she nodded.
“I am,” she said. “You?”
“I’m great,” he said. “Strange, isn’t it?”
She’d smiled. “Not a bit.”
Now he was leaning across the table, his face framed by the nautical map on the wall behind him, looking at her with concern.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Really. Though I still haven’t read any of the articles. I’m just operating under the assumption that every teen girl in the country probably wants to kill me. But it could have been a lot worse.”
“How’s that?”
“Your scandalous behavior managed to overshadow all the stuff about my dad,” she said, picking up her menu and smiling at him over the top of it. “Imagine that.”
“So that means your mom’s okay with everything?”
“She will be,” Ellie said. “We both will.”
Graham nodded. “I’m glad.”
“She took it better than expected. If you’d asked me yesterday, I would’ve guessed I’d be locked in my room tonight.”
He waved this away. “I’d have come to rescue you,” he told her. “I might not have a white horse, but I do have a very portly pig.”
“How romantic,” Ellie said, and Graham straightened his menu.
“So what’s good here?” he asked. “I didn’t end up staying for dinner last time. There was this girl I had to go find…”
“So this is kind of like take two?”
“No,” he said, suddenly serious. “This is definitely a first.”
Ellie looked down at the menu in her hands, but her stomach had dropped. They’d known each other for only a few weeks, but it felt like they’d already said good-bye so many times, and she wasn’t sure she had it in her to do it again.
She laid the menu aside. “I know this is awful,” she said, “but I’m actually not that hungry.”
To her surprise, Graham nodded. “I was sort of hoping you’d say that.”
“You were?”
He nodded again. “I think we should skip right to dessert,” he said with an enormous smile, the kind that started in his eyes and lit up his entire face. “I think I’ll have a whoopie pie.”
Ellie rolled her eyes. “Very funny.”
“I’m serious.”
“I’ve been coming to this place since I was a kid,” she said, reaching for the menu. “Trust me, they don’t have them here.”
Graham was leaning back in his chair, looking pleased with himself. “You think you know this place better than me?”
“I know I do,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously. “Unless…”
It had been a long time since she’d actually looked at the menu before ordering, but she opened it now, and the tiny print swam before her in the dimly lit room. She pulled a votive candle closer, the pool of wax sloshing in the little glass holder.
“Unless what?”
“Unless you did something,” she said. “Which would explain why you’re acting so weird.” She sat back in her chair and folded her arms. “Now I’m thinking maybe you worked something out with Joe…”
“Me?” he asked in his best innocent tone. “Do you really think that in between filming a movie and traipsing around the state of Maine with you I’ve had time to figure out where to get whoopie pies, then make sure to have them here on this particular night, on the off chance that you were still speaking to me after everything that happened, and would agree to have dinner here together?”
Ellie looked at him levelly. “Yes.”
“Wanna bet?”
“Definitely,” she said. “But I’m betting on you.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Meaning?”
“I think you did do all that,” she said. “I think I’m about to have my first-ever whoopie pie.”
“Even though it’s not on the menu?”
She nodded, though a little less certainly. “Even though it’s not on the menu.”
“Okay,” he said, putting his elbows on the table and giving her a long look. “Then I’ll bet you a thousand dollars.”
For a moment, Ellie didn’t move. She simply stared at him, her eyes wide.
“Deal?”
“No,” she said, her voice hoarse. She set the menu back on the table in front of her, shaking her head. “Graham…”
He was still smiling. “It’s just a bet.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” he said quietly, the candlelight flickering against his face.
She knew what he was doing; of course she did. And all of a sudden, she understood that it had happened, all of it; that he’d figured out a place to buy whoopie pies, had them sent to the Lobster Pot; he must have talked it all out with Joe ahead of time, orchestrated the whole thing so that she’d bet the right way. And he’d done it all for her.
Her heart was loud in her ears as she looked at him across the table, and she didn’t notice that Joe was at her side again until he cleared his throat.
“And what will we be having?” he asked, ready with a pen and a notepad. But neither of them answered. Graham was still focused on Ellie.
“Deal?” he said again, and she found the word no was lodged in her throat so that all she could do was blink back at him. Taking this as a sign, he turned back to Joe, beaming. “I think we’re gonna skip right to dessert.”
“Of course,” Joe said, and Ellie saw his mustache twitch. “Anything in particular?”
Graham could hardly contain his enthusiasm. “We’ll have two whoopie pies,” he said a bit too loudly, and all Ellie could do was watch with slightly widened eyes as Joe bobbed his head, snapped his notepad shut, and whisked the menus away from them.
When he was gone, Graham turned back to Ellie. “Well, look at that,” he said with an expression of mock despair. “I guess I must have lost.”
She shook her head. “You’re a horrible actor.”
“Hey,” he said, but he was grinning. “I’m just trying to be a good sport.”
“Graham,” Ellie said, looking down at her plate. “I can’t.”
“You can’t eat a whoopie pie?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t, actually,” he said. “I have the money. You need the money. It’s as simple as that.”
“I can’t let you do that,” she said, shaking her head.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “Throw in a poem and we’ve got a deal.”
She looked at him blankly.
“At the end of the course, I want one of your poems.”
“I don’t write poetry,” she said. “I just like to read it.”
“Okay,” he said cheerfully. “Then I’ll take one by a dead guy. In one of those frames. How’s that?”
“Graham,” she said, her voice cracking. “This isn’t your problem.”
“It’s about you,” he said with a little smile, as if that were reason enough, as if that explained everything.
She felt a rush of gratitude then, a slow yielding of the most stubborn parts of her. No matter how hard she tried to steer her thoughts e
lsewhere, they kept circling back to the pictures she’d seen of Harvard, the redbrick buildings and leafy sidewalks, the classrooms where she’d learn about her favorite poets. It was easy, in a way, to imagine herself there, and she could feel herself giving in to the pull of it.
“And a bet’s a bet,” Graham was saying, “so it’s only fair.”
Once again, Joe arrived at the table, but this time, he was carrying two plates. On each one, there were three whoopie pies stacked in artistic fashion, and Ellie sat up in her chair to get a better view. They were like oversize Oreos, two enormous chocolate cookies sandwiched on either side of a layer of thick white frosting. As Joe set a plate down in front of each of them, Ellie tried to imagine the lengths to which Graham must have gone to get them here. He’d made her a promise, and he’d delivered. Just as he said he would.
“So,” Joe asked. “Who won the bet?”
“She did,” Graham said, and Joe gave Ellie’s shoulder a little squeeze before heading back toward the kitchen. When he was gone, she glanced up again.
“Graham,” she said, and he looked back at her with such intensity that she felt her breath catch in her throat.
“It’s already done,” he said. “I had it all arranged this morning.”
“You did?”
“I did,” he said. “You’re going to Harvard.”
She smiled. “For a couple of weeks anyway.”
“At least to start.”
“Thank you,” she said, feeling that the words weren’t big enough to contain all that she really wanted to say. But it seemed to her right then that he understood, and that somehow, it was enough.
“Now eat,” he said, picking up one of his whoopie pies. “You can’t properly call yourself a Mainer until you’ve at least sampled the state treat.”
Afterward, they stepped out of the restaurant and into the darkened street together. It wasn’t yet nine, but the sidewalks were mostly empty, everyone still worn out from last night’s celebration. Even so, it was unexpectedly thrilling, being out in public together, and when Graham extended his hand, Ellie took it in hers, and they began to walk.
“I bet you’ll be happy to get back to Middle-of-Everything, California,” she said as they wove across the green.
“Maybe a little,” he said. “But I’ll miss Middle-of-Nowhere, Maine.”
“Maybe you’ll come back one day,” she said, looking at him sideways. She half expected him to make some kind of joke, but he seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding, his face serious.
“Maybe,” he said. They passed the spot where they’d been sitting last night, watching each other as if there were nothing else around them, no exploding lights or booming music. “Or maybe we’ll see each other somewhere else.”
“Any chance your world tour is taking you to Boston?”
“It would probably help if I actually checked my schedule,” he said. “But it’s possible.”
“I’m sure there’s plenty of trouble we could get into down there.”
Graham grinned. “I’ve always wanted to steal a swan boat.”
“And we’ll write,” Ellie said, without looking over at him.
“And we’ll write,” he agreed.
“Just don’t screw up my e-mail address.”
“That,” he said, still smiling, “doesn’t sound like me at all.”
They continued to walk, passing place after familiar place as if to rewind the past weeks: the spot near the gazebo where they’d stood after Graham chased her in only his swim trunks, the shuttered window of the deli where she’d spilled the candy, the place where she’d seen him on that very first day, looking distant and surprisingly sad, a sorrow so deep that it seemed to hold her there, just watching him.
That was gone now, that look in his eyes.
It had been replaced by something lighter, something more peaceful.
Their destination was never discussed, but even so, there was an understanding between them, no less certain for being unspoken, and when they reached the grove of trees that led down to the beach—not just any beach, but their beach—they veered toward it together. At the entrance, Graham hesitated. But only for a moment, and then Ellie tugged gently on his hand, leading him across the threshold where the road turned to trees, and then the trees to stones, and then, finally, the stones disappeared into the water.
Ellie felt her heart swell at the sight of the ocean, the reflection of the moon streaked across it like the wake of a boat. The wind carried the scent of it, briny and thick, and the stars were bright overhead. They kicked off their sandals and walked down to the water, standing at the edge of the surf, which was black as the sky.
“I love this,” Ellie said, wiggling her toes, and Graham smiled.
“I know,” he said. “It was on your list.”
In the dark, it was hard to find the rock where they’d sat the other day, the one that jutted out over the water, flat and wide and level, as if it were meant for this alone. They dangled their legs over the side, the bottoms of their feet catching the spray from the waves, looking out over the moon and the navy expanse of water, the wash of stars in the ink-stained sky.
“So what now?” Ellie asked, and Graham looked over at her. She held her breath, waiting for him to say what they both knew to be true: that he would leave tomorrow. That they would have to say good-bye.
“Now,” he said, taking her hand. “Now, we wait.”
“For what?”
“Tomorrow.”
She gave him a sideways glance, and he grinned.
“It’s not as scary if you see it coming.”
“That’s true,” Ellie said with a smile. They fell silent again, and after a moment, she turned to look at him. “Are we really waiting here till tomorrow?”
Graham didn’t shift his gaze from the water. He looked completely untroubled, sitting there with the breeze ruffling the hair on his forehead.
“You said you always sleep through the sunrises,” he told her. “This way, there’s no chance you’ll miss it.”
She laughed. “You’re serious?”
He nodded.
“But you have to work in the morning.”
“So do you,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, but I don’t have to look pretty.”
“You’ll look pretty anyway,” he said, pulling her over to him. There was a chill in the air, and she was grateful to be in his arms, listening to his steady breaths.
“It’s a long time,” she said, “till the sun comes up.”
“About eight hours.”
“I guess when you put it that way, it almost doesn’t seem like long enough.”
“Think you can stay awake?”
She nodded against his chest. “You?”
“Yes,” he promised.
But already her eyelids felt heavy, the waves a kind of lullaby. She blinked a few times, thinking of the hours ahead of them on this rock that felt like an island, small enough for only the two of them, but large enough to keep the rest of the world at bay.
When she yawned, Graham gave her a little nudge so that her eyes flickered open again. “I’m awake,” she murmured, though she wasn’t, not really.
Together, they waited for the sky to flip over like the turning of a page, the bone-colored moon giving way to a brilliant sun, the promise of a new day, and Ellie was surprised to find herself thinking of the little town in France, the one with all the miracles. She could only hope that in a place filled with so many wonders, it would have still been possible to appreciate something as remarkable and ordinary as all this.
“Salutations,” he said, and she smiled.
“Good morning.”
“Yeah,” he said. “It really is.”
Many thanks to JENNIFER JOEL, ELIZABETH BEWLEY, STEPHANIE THWAITES, HANNAH SHEPPARD, BINKY URBAN, MEGAN TINGLEY, PAM GRUBER, LIZ CASAL, SAM EADES, JOSIE FREEDMAN, CATHERINE SAUNDERS, CLAY EZELL, JENNIFER HERSHEY, RYAN DOHERTY, and everyone at LBYR, ICM, Headline, Curtis Brown
, and Random House. And, of course, to my family: MOM, DAD, KELLY, and ERROL.
Also by Jennifer E. Smith:
The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight
The Storm Makers
You Are Here
The Comeback Season
Contents
Welcome
Dedication
Prologue
PART I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
PART II
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Acknowledgments
Also by Jennifer E. Smith
Copyright
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Jennifer E. Smith Inc.
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