“No, but Pete does. He’s pretty good.”
I remember the callouses on his fingertips.
We’re traveling along a dirt road now, passing a couple of individual trailers until we get to a driveway that branches off and heads straight toward the water. Massive trees shade the yard from the setting sun and in th
e dusky light I can make out a large house.
“This is your house?” I ask, pulling the car to a stop.
“Richard’s.” The house has a sweeping staircase, reminiscent of a southern plantation, and enormous columns. I’m still staring when my door opens and I see Justin holding it open for me.
“This is beautiful.” The water behind it is from the waterway and I can see a dock. Lights flicker on as the sun sets lower around the property. “No wonder you crash here.”
“You want a tour?” he asks and I nod, following him past the car.
“Can we go out there?” I point to the dock. I feel dirty and gross, still in my bathing suit and cover-up—unacceptable for visiting someone’s home.
“Sure,” he says and I feel his fingers slip between mine. I consider removing them, but on second thought I don’t, because there’s no reason. No reason to fight this moment or the guy in it.
Justin leads me through the side yard and down a stone-lined path. We pass a patio and outdoor fireplace and I stop, staring at the house from the side facing the water. “Hey, this is the house we saw from the boat the other day? That’s the tree house.” I point to the huge tree with branches over the water, “You talked about hanging a swing under.”
“Yeah, Richard won’t let me put a swing up there. I’m not sure why.”
“Maybe because you aren’t eight?”
“Some may disagree,” he says, smiling devilishly. “Don’t worry; I plan on wearing him down. Eventually.”
We’re at the edge of the dock now and Justin leans against the rail, facing the water. His shirt is dirty with grease from the boat and his navy blue board shorts skim the edge of his knees. He’s cute and funny and I want to know more about him.
“So why do you live here?”
He looks out at the water and I feel his thumb graze over my hand. He says, “He took me in when I was fifteen. After both of my parents split.”
“Split? Like broke up?”
“Left. My dad left when I was a kid. My mom stuck around for a while longer but in the end, she bolted, too. Bobby wasn’t mature enough to handle me on his own so Richard let me stay here.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. That must’ve been really hard.”
He lifts his shoulders as though it’s no big deal. “It is what it is, and Richard has been great. He helped me get in school and gave me the job at the marina. Plus, I get to live in my awesome cottage.”
The sun has completely dropped into the horizon and the sky darkens. I tighten my grip on his hand and take a breath. “My dad left when I was eight. After my mother’s fourth book. He didn’t want to be the husband of Julia Barnes, author.”
Justin tilts his head. “Do you still see him?”
“Not really,” I say. “He has a new wife and two kids. The last I heard from him was when he sent me a check for graduation.”
He snorts. “What jerks.”
“Guys are kind of like that,” I say.
He cuts his eyes at me and frowns. “Not all guys.” He means it—or so he thinks, and maybe it’s true, but in my recent experience, guys kind of suck.
“I should go,” I tell him and I try to tug my hand from his but he holds tight. As we walk back the crickets start chirping, making a low hum against the small waves coming from the water. The vibe between us is awkward, so I ask, “Hey, what did you mean by an awesome cottage?”
This earns me a smile and he points past the patio, on the other side of the fireplace chimney. I see it: a small carriage house. “That’s it.”
“You live there?”