She shifted a little and looped her hands around her drawn-up knees. “I never felt so sad about something in my life.”

His arm slipped away, but he stayed close, his shoulder almost touching hers. He stared out at the horizon. The rearing waves boomed and shattered against the rocks. “Yeah,” he said. “It sucks.”

She dried her face on her sleeve. She’d done what her sisters called the “ugly cry”—the one that contorted her face and made it all red and blotchy. But Will didn’t seem to notice, and she didn’t care.

“When your mom died, it must have felt ten times worse,” she said.

He didn’t say anything for several moments. “Sad is sad.”

She nodded, resting her chin on her knees. “I wish we could have them both back. I wish we could have them forever.”

Something happened the day Wendell died. Something between Caroline and Will. They were the same together, running around, riding their bikes, spending long, lazy days at the beach, listening to music, and laughing at nothing. But that morning, when he found her alone and so sad, a seismic shift occurred. It felt as if she and Will knew each other in a different way.

They never discussed that moment together, but she thought about it constantly.

She went to bed each night thinking of him, and he was her first thought on waking in the morning. Every vision she had of her life included him. He talked about living at Water’s Edge when he grew up, and she considered what that might be like, instead of Milan or Hong Kong.

She constantly pictured what he was doing at any given moment. She noticed things like the way he rolled his sleeves back when he wore his work uniform at the ice cream parlor. Or how he whistled tunelessly between his teeth when he was doing something like waxing his surfboard. Each time she saw him, she got butterflies in her stomach.

She didn’t understand the feelings inside her. It was an entirely unfamiliar set of emotions, ones she didn’t even have a name for. Not happiness or sadness, but a wild combination of everything and more. He seemed like somebody she had known all her life, and at the same time, he seemed like someone completely new to her.

It was all so confusing that she kept her thoughts entirely to herself. If she said something, he’d probably look at her with a quirked brow and tell her she was nuts.

On the last night of summer, after the Rotary picnic, she found him helping with the cleanup detail. Sunset had deepened into twilight, and the almost-full moon was on the rise. Will was hauling one of the recycling bins on a hand truck toward the beach parking lot.

“Hey,” she said, falling in step with him. A flock of butterflies stirred in her stomach.

“Hey.”

“So you’re flying home tomorrow,” she said unnecessarily.

“I am.” He slid the bin off the hand truck and lined it up with the other ones. “Leaving first thing in the morning for the airport.”

“Okay, then.” She glanced around the parking lot. People were heading to their cars, parents carrying sleepy toddlers, kids dragging their beach toys and towels. “Is your dad giving you a ride home tonight?”

Will shook his head quickly. “I have my bike.”

“Me too,” she said. “Hey, we could ride as far as my house together. I mean, if that’s—”

“Sure,” he said. “Good idea. Let’s go.”

The moon, fully risen now, illuminated the deserted road, augmenting the light from their bike headlamps. Invisible frogs sang and fell silent in a constant chorus from the marshes. The ride to her house seemed way too fast, and even though she talked the whole time, she felt as if there was so much more to say. They stopped at the end of her driveway, marked by the homemade mailbox embedded with shells and sea glass.

She stopped there and got off her bike, and he did the same. Normally, Wendell would notice and come running down the drive, barking his fool head off. The silence now was a painful reminder of just how gone he was.

“Guess I’ll see you when you come back next summer, right?” she asked Will, unclipping her helmet and hanging it on the handlebar. Her stomach was in knots. She already missed him.

“Right,” he said. “I love coming here. Wish I could stay year-round.”

“It’s really different in the winter. Super dark. Storms nearly every day.”

He hesitated, staring down at her, the moonlight soft on his face. “I can handle storms,” he said quietly. Then he, too, took off his bike helmet.

She couldn’t stop staring at his mouth. “Okay,” she said, her voice soft with uncertainty.

“Okay,” he repeated. “Guess it’s goodbye for now.” Then his hand touched hers and took hold. His other hand brushed the hair from her cheek.

She was startled into motionless shock. In a flash of movement, he bent and touched his lips to hers. It was brief and sweet and a bit clumsy, the way their heads didn’t quite tilt at the same time. And the fireworks inside nearly knocked her over.

“Bye,” he said, taking a step back. He took another step back and stumbled a little, then laughed at himself. “See you next year.”

She was too dumbstruck to reply, so she just stood there like a statue as he put his helmet on and rode away into the night. She watched until the shadows swallowed him and the glow from his headlight disappeared.

Then she floated to the house, not feeling the ground beneath her feet.

Will Jensen had kissed her.

Will Jensen had kissed her.

Will Jensen had kissed her.

The world would never be the same.

And in that moment she knew, she just knew, that he would always be a part of her life, no matter what. They would always be friends, sharing everything, even if they were apart when he went away during the school year. He promised he would always come back, every summer. Their friendship would never change. Nothing—and no one—would come between them.

Chapter 17

At the start of the school year, while Caroline was fidgeting in church and contemplating the perils of the next grade, a miracle occurred. Not that kind of miracle, but the kind that made going back to school bearable.

Oceanside Congregational Church got a new pastor. He wasn’t the miracle, either. His daughter, Sierra, was. Caroline took one look at Sierra Moore and knew they were going to be best friends. They were the same age, and according to the church bulletin that had arrived in the mail with a story about the new pastor and his family, Sierra was in her grade.

When Sierra and her parents stood to be introduced to the congregation, a palpable murmur rippled like a gust of fresh air through the rows of pews. Sierra was what Caroline’s sisters would call drop-dead gorgeous. She had incredible red hair, pale skin, and ruby red lips. She had poise, too, regarding the sanctuary with a calm gaze and a slight smile. She was really tall, too, with model-perfect proportions—narrow hips and straight posture—and an actual sense of style. This was rare among the girls Caroline knew. Most of them stuck to cheap, trendy stuff from the discount stores. By contrast, Sierra was wearing a designer dress, low-heeled sandals that matched her belt—but not too perfectly—and a touch of makeup. Makeup. In church. It was like seeing a unicorn—thrilling and rare.

They were going to be best friends. Caroline just knew it.

She wasted no time getting to know the new girl. The moment services ended, she made a beeline to Sierra’s side. Mr. and Mrs. Moore were standing near the coffee service, greeting parishioners like a pair of royals, which in a small town they kind of were. Sierra stood slightly apart, one hand resting on a perfect little clutch bag on a gold chain, the other holding a bottle of water. A few of the boys were already edging close, checking her out, but in that dorky boy way, shoving and punching one another and snickering. Like that was going to impress her.

“I’m Caroline,” she said, elbowing past Kevin Pilcher, who was rolling up his shirt to demonstrate an armpit fart. “Don’t mind those guys. They’re idiots. I’m not. And we’re going to be in the same grade. Probably even the same homeroom—M through Z. I really like your outfit.” Stop babbling, Caroline told herself. Take a breath.

Sierra’s gaze was guarded for about two seconds. Then she smiled. “Thanks. I like yours, too. That’s a really cool skirt.”

Caroline stood up a little straighter. “I made it.”

A frown quirked Sierra’s brow. “You mean, like, you sewed it?”

“Yep. I sew all the time, all kinds of things, mostly my own designs.”

“No way.”

“Way.”

“That is seriously impressive. I love clothes so much, but I wouldn’t know the first thing about making them.”

“I’m still learning myself. Maybe one of these days we could design something together.”

Sierra beamed, her expression brighter than the sun. “How about we do everything together?”