“Then why are you out here?” she whispered. “And he’s down there?”
Not yet, anyway. End of scene.
And before Belly could say the thing she’d been holding in her chest since she was ten years old— It’s always been you, it’s always been you, why can’t you see it’s always been you —Conrad Fisher walked back into the dark house and closed the door softly behind him. book 3 the summer i turned pretty
Jeremiah was on the other side of the fire, his arm slung around a girl from Lacrosse camp. He was telling a story—something about a capsized sailboat—and every few seconds he’d glance over at Belly. Not long glances. Quick ones. Checking.
Because that’s what you did at Cousins Beach. You showed up. You stayed. And you tried not to drown in the space between what you wanted and what you couldn’t have. “Then why are you out here
He stepped closer. Close enough that she could smell his sweatshirt—salt, cedar, something underneath that was just Conrad . His hand hovered near her arm but didn’t touch.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” Belly said. And before Belly could say the thing she’d
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, squared her shoulders, and walked back down to the fire.
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