“There are none. Sorry.”

“Did you even try to flirt with him?” she asks, sitting back up. “It doesn’t take much for Samson to put his mouth on a girl. If it has boobs and it’s breathing, it’s good enough for him.”

My stomach catapults to the floor with that comment. “Is that supposed to make me want him more? Because it doesn’t.”

“I’m exaggerating,” she says. “He’s hot and he’s rich, so girls just tend to throw themselves at him and sometimes he catches them. What guy wouldn’t?”

“I don’t throw myself at people. I avoid people.”

“But you went to his house.”

I raise an eyebrow, but say nothing.

Sara smiles, like that’s enough for her to work with. “Maybe we should go on a double date tomorrow night.”

I don’t want to encourage her, but I’m also not sure I’m opposed to that idea.

“I take your silence as a yes,” she says.

I laugh. Then I groan and cover my face with my hands. “Ugh. This is all so confusing.” I drop my arms and slide down until I’m staring up at her ceiling. “I feel like I’m giving it too much thought. I’m trying to think of all the reasons why it isn’t a good idea.”

“Name a few,” Sara suggests.

“I’m not good at relationships.”

“Neither is Samson.”

“I’m leaving in August.”

“So is Samson.”

“What if it hurts when we end things?”

“It probably will.”

“Then why would I want to subject myself to that?”

“Because most of the time, the fun you have that leads to the pain is worth the pain.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had fun.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” she says. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

I turn my head and look at Sara. She’s on her side, her head held up by her hand. “I’ve never had feelings for anyone before. If that happens, how bad is it going to hurt when summer is over?”

Sara shakes her head. “Stop it. You’re thinking too far ahead. Summers are for thinking about today and today only. Not tomorrow. Not yesterday. Today. So what do you want right now?”

“Right now?” I ask.

“Yes. What do you want right now?”

“Another bowl of ice cream.”

Sara sits up and grins. “Dammit, I love having a sister.”

And I love that Sara didn’t even flinch when I mentioned ice cream. Maybe I’m not as bad for her as I thought. I might not be as bubbly and as happy as she is, but knowing she’s starting to enjoy food and doesn’t seem as worried about her weight as she did when I arrived makes me think I might actually have something to offer in this friendship.

This is a new feeling—the idea that maybe I’m worth having around.

THIRTEEN

The alarm on my phone goes off before the sun is even up.

I should probably cancel the damn thing, but there’s something exciting about watching the sunrise and getting a possible glimpse of Samson while it happens.

I crawl out of bed wearing the T-shirt I slept in last night. I pull on a pair of shorts just in case Samson is awake and on his balcony outside.

I’ve been awake for ten seconds and I’ve already thought of him twice. Denying him last night doesn’t seem to be working out for me.

I unlock my balcony door and slide it open.

Then I scream.

“Shh,” Samson says, laughing. “It’s just me.”

He’s sitting on the wicker outdoor couch with his legs propped up in front of him on the railing. I press my hand to my chest and blow out a calming breath.

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” he says casually.

“How did you even get over here?”

“I jumped.” He holds up his arm, showing me his elbow. It’s smeared with blood. “It was farther than it looked from my railing, but I made it.”

“Are you insane?”

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t have fallen very far if I didn’t make it. I would have just landed on the balcony roof below us.”

That’s true. He wouldn’t have fallen to the ground because of the way this house sits, but still. There’s about three feet with nothing below him when he’s in the air between houses.

I sit down next to him. The seat is meant for two, but it’s still small, so our sides touch. I think that was his goal, though, or he would have chosen any of the single chairs on the balcony.

I lean my head against the back of the chair. I end up somehow leaning even more into him than I had intended, and my head is now resting against his upper arm, but it doesn’t feel unnatural.

We’re both staring out over the water at the small sliver of sun peeking up at the world.

We spend the next several minutes in silence, watching the sunrise together. I have to say, it feels better watching it with Samson on my balcony than when he’s on his own.

Samson rests his chin on top of my head. It’s a tiny move, but even that slight and silent display of affection feels like an explosion somehow. I don’t know how everything inside of me can feel so loud while this part of the world is still asleep.

The sun is three quarters of the way visible now. The bottom half still looks like it’s dipped in the sea.

“I need to leave; I’m helping a guy repair a dune crossing on the island. We want to get it done before it gets too hot. What are your plans?”

“I’ll probably go back to bed and sleep until noon. I think Sara wants to go to the beach after that.”

He moves his arm from the back of the chair. My eyes crawl up his body as he stands. Before he leaves, he looks down at me and says, “Did you tell Sara we kissed?”

“No. Is it something we’re trying to hide from them?”

“No,” he says. “I was just curious if you told her. Didn’t know if Marcos was going to bring it up today. I wanted our stories to align.”

“I didn’t tell her.”

He nods and heads toward the railing, but then turns back again. “I don’t care if you tell her. That’s not why I asked.”

“Stop worrying about my feelings, Samson.”

He pushes the hair back from his forehead. “I can’t help it.” He walks backward, slowly.

“What are you doing? Are you about to jump again?”

“It’s not that far. I’ll make it.”

I roll my eyes. “Everyone is still asleep. Just go downstairs and use the front door before you break your arm.”

He looks at the blood covering his elbow. “Yeah, maybe I should.”

I stand up and walk into my bedroom with him. We’re heading for the door when he pauses and looks at the picture of Mother Teresa on my dresser.

“Are you Catholic?” he asks.

“No. Just oddly sentimental.”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for sentimental.”

“That’s why I prefaced it with oddly.”

He laughs and follows me out the door. When we make it to the bottom of the stairs, we both pause.