“Are you two together now?” one of the photographers asked with a wink, and Olivia raised her eyebrows and flashed him a cryptic smile.

The short walk felt endless. As they neared the end of the street, Graham was surprisingly relieved to see Harry, and he disentangled his arm from Olivia’s as the older man approached, beaming at the sight of them together.

“Come on,” he said, shepherding them back behind the metal barriers that separated the set from the rest of the street, leaving the snapping of the cameras behind. As they walked over to the trailers, he turned to them with a grin. “Have a good lunch?”

“It was practically gourmet,” Olivia said, rolling her eyes.

“I thought it was good,” said Graham, not sure why he was feeling defensive about the place.

“I’m sure you did,” she said, then turned to Harry. “By the time I got there, he was practically eating off the floor.”

“Someone knocked over a display of candy,” Graham explained. “I was just helping them clean up.”

“Probably didn’t hurt that she was hot,” Olivia said idly, then laughed. “I never realized you had a thing for gingers.”

Graham’s jaw was tight, and when he glanced over at Harry, he was surprised to see a dark look on his face. But it wasn’t directed at Olivia. It was directed at him.

“I better go,” he said abruptly, and Olivia glanced up from her phone. “Thanks for lunch.”

Harry followed him wordlessly to the trailer, a vein jumping near his temple. Inside, he let the door slam shut behind him, then folded his arms across his chest. “The same redhead?”

“What’s the big deal?” Graham asked, pulling out a chair. “I thought you’d be happy about my big date with Olivia. Trust me, she made sure there were plenty of pictures.”

“Look,” Harry said, grabbing his briefcase from the couch and rifling through it. “You know I just want you to be happy—”

Graham snorted.

“But you can’t be getting mixed up with that girl.”

“With Olivia?” he asked, playing dumb, and Harry threw him a look.

“With Ellie O’Neill.”

A jolt of surprise went through Graham at the sound of her name. “How do you know—”

“I did a little research,” he said, then held up both hands in defense. “It’s my job, okay?” He pulled a thick brown envelope from the suitcase. “I wasn’t going to bother you with this, since we’re only here a few more days anyway. But I can see you’re still hung up on her—”

“I’m not,” Graham said, much too quickly.

“—and clearly you’re not over whatever this thing was between you—”

“It wasn’t—”

“—but I wanted to make sure you at least had all the information,” Harry said, holding out the envelope, which Graham made no move to take. “It’s just not a good time to be getting involved with anything that might prove to be… messy. Not right now.”

“This is none of your business,” Graham said, glaring at him.

“It wouldn’t look good for you,” Harry said, as if he hadn’t heard him. “The papers would be all over it. This could be the kind of hit to your image that we really can’t afford.”

The envelope was still dangling there in his outstretched hand. When he realized Graham wasn’t going to take it, he finally let it drop on the table with a thud, then stood up.

“Trust me, it’s for your own good,” he said before crossing the trailer. A wedge of sunlight fell on the carpet when he opened the door, and then it was gone again, and Graham was alone.

He stared at the envelope, torn between ripping it open and throwing it away. He couldn’t imagine what Harry had discovered, had no idea what made him search in the first place. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

He found himself thinking back to his very first e-mail exchange with Ellie, the easy swapping of words, all those messages between them that had been about nothing, when it came right down to it, but that had still managed to feel like something. Like everything.

Until today, it had been weeks since they’d seen each other. And though Graham missed her, though he’d like nothing more than to knock on her door and take her in his arms again, it was more than that too. He was surprised to find how much he missed writing to her. For so many months, she’d been the person on the other end of all his musings, and now she was gone and his thoughts were left buzzing around inside his head like frantic fireflies in a jar. He hadn’t realized how much it could mean, having someone to talk to like that; he hadn’t realized that it could be a kind of lifeline, and that without it, there would be nobody to save you if you started to drown.

Graham touched the corner of the packet, sliding it closer. He suddenly understood how desperate he was for whatever was inside it, whatever scrap of knowledge about Ellie O’Neill was available to him, no matter what it was, or what it might mean.

The envelope stared back at him, enigmatic and official.

It looked like a secret.

It was probably a mistake.

But after a moment, he reached out and took it anyway.

From: EONeill22@hotmail.com

Sent: Wednesday, July 3, 2013 1:21 PM

To: thisisquinn@gmail.com

Subject: white flag

Any chance we can call a truce? I know you’re still upset with me, but I could really use a friend right now. (And not just any friend…)

It was too hot to do much of anything. Once they’d finished rearranging the window displays, Ellie pulled a stool over near the fan and sat there with her face pointed at the blades, but it did little more than move the warm air around the shop. The only customers who were brave enough to venture inside all day had left before making it too far past the doorway, the stuffiness of the place proving even less tolerable than the sun-baked streets outside.

Finally, around two o’clock, Mom stood up. “I feel like I’m sitting inside a furnace,” she said. “Let’s close up and get out of here.”

Ellie spoke into the fan, her words vibrating. “Where should we go?”

But she already knew the answer. They would go where they always went.

Half an hour later, they were on their way to the beach. Not the one in town where all the tourists went to sun themselves on the rocks like seals, or the kiddie beach with the lifeguards and the roped-off swimming areas, or even the sandy one by the fishing pier.

They went to the cove.

After hanging a sign on the door of the shop—FULLY COOKED; BACK TOMORROW—they’d stopped home to change into swimsuits, grab some towels, and pick up the dog, and now they were headed to the little spit of water not far from their house, a beach so private they’d come to think of it as their own. Ever since Ellie was little, this is where they’d escaped together, bringing sunblock and towels in the summer or cider and blankets in the winter. They’d spent countless afternoons wading in the surf, collecting rocks, and spying on the birds. It was their place, and until she’d met Graham here a couple of weeks ago, Ellie had never before invited anyone else. Not even Quinn.

Now, as they made their way down toward the water, she found herself scanning the layer of stones that cobbled the beach, wondering if it was possible to find more than one heart in a place like this. Mom was laying out the towels in their usual spot, and Bagel had gone crashing into the water, bold and brave and full of bravado, only to be chased right back out again by the most pathetic of waves.