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68

“It’s never too early,” he says cryptically.

Before I can respond, his phone rings. He glances at the screen and then at me. “I have to take this real quick, okay?”

“Sure,” I tell him.

As long as it’s not Tilly, I don’t care whom he talks to. That’s a lie. If this has anything to do with Boston, which I think it does, I’m scared. I’m scared to find out which job he’s going to take and how fast he’ll be gone. Because I know Boston is what he wants. I just don’t know what that means for us. Or if there will even be an us once he accepts.

West’s gone for about fifteen minutes, and by then, I’ve finished most of my drink.

He stands next to my chair and holds out his hand. “Let’s go in the water.”

His tone isn’t good. Another phone call and another side of West.

This time, not caring what response I get, I ask, “Is everything okay?” I need the truth from him, no matter what.

“We’ll talk in the water.”

I take his hand and let him lead me across the sand.

The second the water touches our toe
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