By the time the fifth student finishes, I’ve met my limit. I nudge Celia out of her reverie. “I’m ready to go,” I begin to say, but stop myself before I get the words out. The woman ascending the stairs to the stage has caught my eye, and all thoughts of leaving disappear. Something about the way she moves is captivating—the wiggle of her hips suggests an undercurrent of sexuality, and her back is straight with confidence.

Then she turns toward the audience, and my breathe catches. Even here, twelve rows away, I can tell she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Her dark brown hair falls just so around her face, accentuating sharp cheekbones. Her eyes are dark. Her short dress reveals long, lean legs. The modest cleavage of her outfit can’t hide perfectly plump tits.

There’s something else—something about her carriage that makes me sit up and take notice. And she hasn’t even spoken yet.

“What?” Celia whispers, responding to the jab I’d given her. Or perhaps to the way I gasped at the sight of the angel before us.

“Nothing. Never mind.” Our conversation was in conjunction with the introduction and I missed what the presenter’s name is or what she’s meant to talk about. I can’t move my eyes for even a moment to check the program.

I’m mesmerized. Truly mesmerized.

She takes her place at the podium and begins her presentation, and I half expect my attraction to her to fade the minute her mouth opens. The opposite occurs. The sound of her voice sends a jolt through me, and I straighten in my seat. Her tone and demeanor ooze passion and authority, and also a touch of caution. For several minutes, I barely focus on her words. I’m too beguiled by her mere presence—by her smile, by her body language, by the way she furrows her brow when she refers to her notes.

And there’s an air about her that I’m drawn to immediately. I sense that she’s been downtrodden, but not broken. That she’s known pain but emerged whole and strong. I scoff at myself—how can I know that from a few minutes of business talk? I can’t. But I also can’t shake the feeling that it’s true. It attracts me more than anything else about her.

When I finally do catch her speech, I’m further impressed. Her topic is simple—print marketing in a digital age—but she’s approached it with brilliant practicality, and I’m sure that every exec in the room is going to pursue her at the meet and greet after.

I make it a point to find her first. This, precious, precious, gem.

“Alayna Withers,” Celia says quietly at my side.

“What?” I shake myself from the presenter long enough to see Celia reading from the portfolio folder.

She nods toward the stage. “Her name is Alayna Withers.”

I bristle, irritated that Celia has noticed my interest. At the same time, a surge of gratification spreads across my chest. I have her name! It’s a small thing and unfortunately everyone in the room has it as well. But I cling to it, this one bit of information I have about her. I say it quietly to myself. Let the sound of it settle in my ears. Let the texture of it swirl on my tongue.

The room is still dim, the stage the only place illuminated, but I feel the cloak of darkness around me start to dissipate.

Suddenly, I see light.

Before

“Your serve is terrible,” I shouted to Mirabelle. Overall, my sister had gotten better since last summer. The private lessons she’d had throughout the year had strengthened both her backhand and her volley. Not that I planned on giving her the satisfaction of telling her I’d noticed.

Mirabelle’s eyes sparkled as she bounced the tennis ball in front of her. “My serve is fine. I’m winning, aren’t I?”

She’d won the first match because I’d gone easy on her. I hadn’t expected her to be as good as she was. “Only because I’m paying more attention to your god-awful posture than to the ball.”

Her lips curved up. “That’s your problem. You’re easily distracted.” She tossed the ball up, but instead of swinging at it, she let her racket fall to her side and her attention shot elsewhere. “Oh, hey. I didn’t see you there.”

I followed Mirabelle’s gaze and found Celia leaning against the side wall of our private court.

Well, what do you know?

I wasn’t sure yet if I was glad to see her or not, but when she grinned, I returned her smile easily. I hadn’t known she was in the Hamptons, but I wasn’t surprised to see her. Of course, she’d stop by. Even if our mothers weren’t the best of friends, Celia would find a reason to see me.

“I was enjoying your game,” she said to my little sister, but her eyes never left me. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Yeah, well, it’s over now. Huds, we can play later.” Mirabelle stomped to my side of the court where she left her racket cover and began packing up.

“Mirabelle,” I said, low, with a hint of warning. I knew she didn’t care for Celia, but she didn’t need to be nasty.

She ignored me. Giving me a final scowl, she said, “Enjoy the rest of the day with your girlfriend.” Then she took off through the opening in the hedges toward the main house.

“I’m not his girlfriend,” Celia shouted after her. Then she turned to me, a fist on her hips. “Why didn’t you correct her?”

I tilted my head to the side, waiting for my neck to pop. Honestly, I was surprised that Celia had corrected Mirabelle. I would have thought she’d be happy about the title. As for me, I preferred to let people believe what they wanted to believe. It made life far more interesting.

But my fascination with human behavior was one I kept to myself, so instead I said, “Mirabelle’s a hopeless romantic. She’ll form her own opinion no matter what I say.”

Celia looked back after Mirabelle for a moment then walked toward me as I wiped sweat off my forehead with a towel. “She still doesn’t like me.” Disappointment was evident in her voice.

“Sorry,” I said. I suspected that only-child Celia had always sought after Mirabelle as a surrogate sister. Our families were certainly entwined enough to make a bond between them seem inevitable. For some reason, it hadn’t happened. Why was that? Curiosity tugged at my subconscious, but I forced it away. I would ponder that further at another time.

Celia didn’t appear to think there was anything worth pondering. “She’s fourteen. I get it. I wish it were different, but I understand.”

“She needs to learn some manners.”

“And you need to learn to relax. I’m fine. I don’t have to be her friend. I’m your friend.” She peered up at me with doubt in her eyes. “At least, I think we’re still friends. It’s been nine months since I left for San Francisco and not a single peep from you. What’s up with that?”

I shrugged as if my neglect had been accidental. It wasn’t in the least. Before Celia left for college, she’d made it clear that she was interested in more than friendship. I was not. I’d decided it was best not to lead her on. Not because I cared about how she felt, but because her infatuation was a hassle. I’d ignored her phone calls and deleted her few emails without so much as skimming them.

Yes, I was an asshole. This wasn’t news to me.

Now, though, I was surprised at how good it felt to see her. Not in any romantic way, but in a familiar way. She was family. She was home.

I scratched along my jaw, deciding not to answer her question outright. Against my better judgment, I extended an invitation instead. “Millie should have lunch ready soon. I can grab a shower and then we can catch up over sandwiches.”

Celia frowned. “Actually, I can’t today. I only got away for a few minutes.”

I raised an inquisitive brow. Why would she stop by if she couldn’t stay?

She didn’t expound. Instead, she asked, “Will you be here all summer?”

For as long as I could remember, both of our families spent the summer in the Hamptons. It seemed strange to think she’d assume differently. But I supposed, being older, things changed. I had already been thinking it was time to get a place of my own. I didn’t need to spend all my time off from school with my parents. This would likely be my last season at Mabel Shores.