told him yes, that sounded great, but then she realized that she didn’t want to have to introduce him to any of the Tuttles—and especially not Jessica. Lara’s desire for secrecy made her feel deceptive, which was a sentiment she did not enjoy. After all, she considered herself a generally honest and trustworthy person. And , that annoying little voice in her head reminded her , being sneaky is precisely the opposite of your summer goal. “I want to stop keepingsecrets from people I love,” she’d said, and Greer had written it down in her terrible handwriting and then hidden the paper in her massive purse.
On the other end of the line, Marco cleared his throat. “Hello? Am I on hold again?”
Lara thought of his dark, laughing eyes, and his strong, tan shoulders. She remembered how he’d made her laugh that day at Ahoy with his silly pun about Chile. Drew isn’t your boyfriend anymore , she reminded herself. He chose camp over you.
She took a deep breath. “How about I meet you at the pier?”
“Perfect,” Marco said.
They agreed to find each other at the far end, near where the old men fished, and Marco assured her that she didn’t need to bring anything but her pretty self. So Lara quickly slipped out of her tank top and cutoffs and put on a vintage sundress in a white and kelly green print, which she complemented with yellow flats and a big pair of white-framed sunglasses. She glanced at herself in the mirror as she nervously fluffed her short, black bob. She looked…what was the word? Gamine. A little Audrey Hepburn-ish, with a dash of flower child. The blue necklace Drew had given her for Christmas glittered in the hollow of her clavicle. (She liked it too much not to wear it just because she and its original purchaser were no longer speaking.)
She took one of the house bicycles and peddled slowly down the winding road to the pier, hoping the cool, salty breeze would ease the jitteriness she felt. As she passed by one of the picturesque white lighthouses that dotted the Maine coastline, she told herself that she wasn’t necessarily going on a date. Because she didn’t think she was quite ready for that yet. What she was ready for, though, was a big sandwich and a bag of chips, because it was nearly six o’clock and she was starving. Something about the ocean air made her ravenous.
Marco was leaning over the railing at the far end of the weathered pier, gazing down into the blue-green water. She went up to him and, striking up her courage, touched his shoulder warmly. He turned around, offering her a wide and welcoming smile.
“You look beautiful,” he said, and she ducked her head in happy embarrassment. He pointed to the row of old men who lined up along the pier’s edge, clutching fishing poles. “So I thought we could just grab one of the fish that these old dudes catch and fry him up down on the beach,” he said. “What do you think?”
She stared at him. Was he being serious? She really didn’t want to watch him gut some poor fish for her dinner.
But Marco reached out and laid his hand on her shoulder. “I’m kidding,” he reassured her, still smiling. “I brought Caprese sandwiches, deviled eggs, and a salad of mizuna greens and olives.”
“Whew!” Lara breathed. “I was worried there for a minute.” She loved the mozzarella, basil, and tomato of a Caprese sandwich, and though she wasn’t sure what mizuna greens were, she was prepared to like them.
Marco turned and led her back along the pier the way she’d come, holding the picnic basket in one hand and wheeling her bike chivalrously with the other. She locked the old Schwinn to a rack near the parking lot, and then they navigated down along giant dark rocks until they found themselves on the pebbly beach.
“I considered getting takeout from Ahoy Grill,” Marco admitted, “but then I decided you’d probably had your share of the blue plate special over there.”
Lara nodded vigorously. “It’s hardly even
On the other end of the line, Marco cleared his throat. “Hello? Am I on hold again?”
Lara thought of his dark, laughing eyes, and his strong, tan shoulders. She remembered how he’d made her laugh that day at Ahoy with his silly pun about Chile. Drew isn’t your boyfriend anymore , she reminded herself. He chose camp over you.
She took a deep breath. “How about I meet you at the pier?”
“Perfect,” Marco said.
They agreed to find each other at the far end, near where the old men fished, and Marco assured her that she didn’t need to bring anything but her pretty self. So Lara quickly slipped out of her tank top and cutoffs and put on a vintage sundress in a white and kelly green print, which she complemented with yellow flats and a big pair of white-framed sunglasses. She glanced at herself in the mirror as she nervously fluffed her short, black bob. She looked…what was the word? Gamine. A little Audrey Hepburn-ish, with a dash of flower child. The blue necklace Drew had given her for Christmas glittered in the hollow of her clavicle. (She liked it too much not to wear it just because she and its original purchaser were no longer speaking.)
She took one of the house bicycles and peddled slowly down the winding road to the pier, hoping the cool, salty breeze would ease the jitteriness she felt. As she passed by one of the picturesque white lighthouses that dotted the Maine coastline, she told herself that she wasn’t necessarily going on a date. Because she didn’t think she was quite ready for that yet. What she was ready for, though, was a big sandwich and a bag of chips, because it was nearly six o’clock and she was starving. Something about the ocean air made her ravenous.
Marco was leaning over the railing at the far end of the weathered pier, gazing down into the blue-green water. She went up to him and, striking up her courage, touched his shoulder warmly. He turned around, offering her a wide and welcoming smile.
“You look beautiful,” he said, and she ducked her head in happy embarrassment. He pointed to the row of old men who lined up along the pier’s edge, clutching fishing poles. “So I thought we could just grab one of the fish that these old dudes catch and fry him up down on the beach,” he said. “What do you think?”
She stared at him. Was he being serious? She really didn’t want to watch him gut some poor fish for her dinner.
But Marco reached out and laid his hand on her shoulder. “I’m kidding,” he reassured her, still smiling. “I brought Caprese sandwiches, deviled eggs, and a salad of mizuna greens and olives.”
“Whew!” Lara breathed. “I was worried there for a minute.” She loved the mozzarella, basil, and tomato of a Caprese sandwich, and though she wasn’t sure what mizuna greens were, she was prepared to like them.
Marco turned and led her back along the pier the way she’d come, holding the picnic basket in one hand and wheeling her bike chivalrously with the other. She locked the old Schwinn to a rack near the parking lot, and then they navigated down along giant dark rocks until they found themselves on the pebbly beach.
“I considered getting takeout from Ahoy Grill,” Marco admitted, “but then I decided you’d probably had your share of the blue plate special over there.”
Lara nodded vigorously. “It’s hardly even
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