by Marta Brown
I raise my eyebrow, trying to follow her logic, but fail to make a connection. “Because why?”
“Because, silly, it means our luggage was the last ones put on the plane so they should be the first ones off. See,” she says, giving me a nudge, “sometimes going with the flow works to your advantage.”
“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” I offer halfheartedly as the plane touches down and we begin our taxi to the gate, because for her, it probably does.
“Okay, I’m making a run for it as soon as that door opens so I’m gonna say goodbye right now,” she says, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Tell Grandma and Pop I can’t wait to see them when I get back next week. And tell Megan I can’t wait to party our asses off now that I’m finally legal.”
“Like that’s ever stopped you?”
“True.” She laughs, releasing me from her hug. She pulls her backpack from underneath the chair in front of her, grabs her passport and cruise ticket out, and then slings it over her shoulder. “Tell Oliver to make sure you have some fun while I’m gone. Just because you’re working at the restaurant doesn’t mean you’re not on summer vacation. So, at least try to have fun, okay? Just don’t do anything I would do. No. Scratch that,” she says as a devil-may-care smile spreads across her face. “Try to do everything I would do and then some.”
My own face must betray my thoughts because she narrows her eyes at me, replacing her grin with a grimace. “Katie, I’m serious. This is your last summer before college starts and you have to start worrying about what you want to do with the rest of your life—even though, knowing you, you probably already know what you want to do—which just proves my point, you need to go out and have some fun.”
I roll my eyes at my sister, even though she’s right. I’ve definitely spent more time thinking about how many hours I need to work at the restaurant to make enough money for the laptop I want, than I have about actually having fun this summer. “Okay, fine. I promise to have some fun,” I say to pacify her since her idea of fun, and my idea of fun, are completely different.
“Not good enough.” She puts her hands on her hips and starts to stand, ready to be the first one off the plane. “Promise me you’ll stay out late, kiss random boys, and skinny dip in the ocean at a minimum while I’m gone.”
“Jess,” I laugh, “you’re only going to be gone on your cruise for a week. So, I don’t think promising to do all of those things is reasonable… let alone possible.”
“Are you kidding?” She snorts. “I could knock that list out in one night.”
Shaking my head, because I bet she could, I give her another hug as the plane comes to a soft stop at our gate. “I’ll try, okay?”
“Good.” She grabs the book from my lap, the one with the cute couple running hand in hand along the beach together on the cover and wiggles it in my face. “Because you just might find an even more epic summer romance than the ones in the books you packed.”
Yeah, right, maybe if I were her.
“Don’t you have a boat to catch?” I joke, snatching my book back and clutching it to my chest. “And someone else to torture?”
Jessica breaks into a fit of laughter. “Fine. I’m going. I’m going,” she says, pressing a kiss to my smiling cheek before rushing off the plane ahead of everyone and disappearing in a blur.
Sitting quietly in my cushy, leather, first-class seat, I allow the other passengers to deplane while I finish up the last chapter of my book—because seriously—who needs to kiss a bunch of random boys, when I have two dozen perfectly good book boyfriends packed away in my suitcase? Silly Jess.
Almost thirty minutes, and one perfect, happily ever after ending later, I start to make my way to the baggage claim when my cell phone vibrates in my back pocket. The sudden sensation jolts not only my body but also my memory. Crap. I never texted Grandma to let her know we made the flight. Or that it was going to be delayed.
I pull out my phone and scan the text from Jess, breathing a sigh of relief she made the boat, before starting to dial Grandma’s number when I see Oliver pacing back and forth at my baggage claim. I hit the end call button and slip it back into the pocket of my jeans—which I’m beginning to regret wearing each time the automatic sliding doors to the outside open and I’m hit with a wall of hot, muggy air.
What I’m also hit with is how hot Oliver looks. I mean stop-me-dead-in-my-tracks-and-take-a-double-look hot. Despite the fact he’s always been good looking, this last year has obviously been extra good to him. His sandy-blond hair, tan skin, and broad shoulders are all somehow, blonder, tanner, and broader.
I glance down at my plain blue T-shirt, my baggy boyfriend jeans, and my navy Keds and shrug. It is what it is. And it’s just Ollie. Not like he’d ever look at me like that, anyway—even if I wasn’t wearing my comfy travel clothes.
“Oliver,” I call out, waving.
His head snaps up and a smile breaks across his face. “Hey there, Latey-Katie,” Oliver teases, earning him an elbow to his side before I wrap my arms around his waist and give him a hug hello. “I saw your sister barrel through here like twenty-five minutes ago. I was starting to get worried.”
“By the way you were just pacing, I can tell,” I tease him back as I let go. “I was actually finishing up a book I started earlier while the plane let out. Sorry.”
“Some things never change.” Oliver laughs before shoving his hands in his pockets and walking towards the luggage carousel, looking like he’s had one too many iced coffees or something.
“Hey, what are best friends for, if not for being consistent, right?” I smile, expecting one of Oliver’s witty comebacks, but instead, he blanches.
“Uh, yeah. I guess so,” he says, not sounding so sure before pointing at the baggage claim carousel. “So, which one is yours?”
I glance at the sea of bags riding the big, oval track around and around, expecting to find mine easily considering the obnoxious shade of pink my sister picked out, but I’m surprised to see that Jessica and I were not the only ones on our flight with the same suitcases.
“It looks exactly like that one,” I point to the pink-and-white polka dot monstrosity, “but mine has a sticker on the front right-hand corner.”
Oliver glances at the digital reader board above the carousel, and then back at the bags. “Are you sure that’s not yours? I’ve been here a while and that’s the only pink one I’ve seen except for Jessica’s when she ran by rolling it behind her.”
I slip past a few of the other passengers to get a better look. “Nope, definitely not mine. No sticker.” I point as it cruises by again, the bags littering the conveyor belt starting to thin, as do their owners, until there is just one black suitcase and one bright pink-and-white polka dot suitcase riding around the circle alone.
I peek around like I’m about to steal someone else’s luggage when Oliver snags the bag and sets it at my feet with a thud. “See, I told you it’s yours.”
“How do you know? It has no sticker.”
“Because it weighs about a thousand pounds, which I’m pretty certain, since you know, some things never change, must be full of books.” Oliver’s brows rise up knowingly, and it makes me laugh.
“Hey, what are best friends for, if not for being consistent?” I joke again, and this time, Oliver actually laughs. The easy, warm one I’m used to.
“I’m sure the sticker just wore off from riding around on that carousel for so long while you were off reading your book. See,” he says, still smiling as he plops the case flat on the ground and unzips it to show me my bag full of shoes.
What the—?
“Hell?” Oliver says, stealing the word right out of my mouth as he hovers over the suitcase full of high heels, sundresses, and bikinis. “You get a new wardrobe or something?”
No. This can’t be happening.
Whipping the phone from my back pocket, I dial Jessica’s number faster than the frantic tapping of my foot against the ground. Praying her ringer isn’t off, or
worse, she can’t hear the damn thing ring over the noise of the boat’s engines preparing to set sail in the first place.
“Please answer. Please answer. Please answer,” I repeat over and over until the distinct chime of her voice mail blares in my ear.
“Damn it.” I blow out a shaky breath, trying to slow my escalating heart rate so I can leave a semi-coherent message, but the air is too thick and my chest is too tight, and what’s the point, anyway? If she can’t hear her ringer, she’s not going to be able to hear a voice mail notification either.
I hit end call and then do the next best thing. Shoot her a text in hopes the phone is at least in her hand or her pocket and she can feel it vibrate.
Please answer. Please answer. Please answer, I repeat again, only this time silently, as I stare at the phone gripped in my sweaty palm and wait.
And wait. And wait. And wait. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.
“What am I going to do?” I finally say when it’s clear she’s not calling back, unsure if I’m talking to Oliver or to myself at this point. But by the way my mind is scrambling, I’m most likely talking to myself like a crazy person. Regardless, Oliver answers.
“Uh… wear Jess’ clothes?”
I let out a humorless laugh because me in Jessica’s clothes is in and of itself a joke. “Oliver, I’m serious.” I run my hands through my long, blonde hair, wrap it into a bun at the nape of my neck, and tuck the ends into themselves to secure it.
Oliver zips the suitcase closed and stands it back on its wheels, pulling the long handle out in order to roll it. “I was too.” He shrugs. “You guys are practically twins.”
This time, I don’t bother with a forced laugh, rolled eyes, or an incredulous stare. Twins? Really?
While we might have the same hair and wear the same size clothes, we are definitely not twins. That would require me to have all the self-confidence in the world, and Jessica to never have been out on a real date.
Nope. Definitely not twins.
My eyes start to well up but before a single tear can roll, Oliver grabs my hand and breaks into a full-on run, towing me along. “What are we doing?” I ask, trying not to trip as we weave in and out of people coming and going from the airport in all directions.
“We’re getting your suitcase,” he says matter-of-factly, like Jessica isn’t about to set sail on a weeklong cruise to Mexico and back.
“Ollie, I’m not so sure we can,” I admit as he tugs me out of the airport and into the heat, the feeling of defeat heavier than the humid afternoon air. “Jess was lucky to make it to the boat in time because of our delay, and that was almost an hour ago. There’s no way we’re ever going to make it.”
“You’re right.” His grip is firm and his voice steady and sure. “That is—if we don’t try,” he says, reminding me that it’s not over until it’s over, sending a renewed jolt of energy zipping through me.
Despite having little time to spare, I can’t help but jerk him to a halt, wrap my arms around his waist, and hug him. “You know you’re the best friend a girl could have, right?”
His lips press into a hard line—like I’ve somehow insulted him—before he softens them into the familiar smile I know and love. “Yep. That’s me. Best friend forever. Now come on. We have a boat to catch.”
Running through the densely packed parking garage, I spot his sister’s car and rush to the passenger side as Oliver tosses my bag—or well, technically Jessica’s bag—into the trunk with a thud. I whip open the door and start to sit down but stop short before I crush the bouquet of red roses sitting on the passenger seat.
As if one tiny butterfly were flitting around in my stomach, a small flutter of hope rushes from my middle out until my cheeks are pink and hot.
Are these… for me?
I let the thought linger only long enough for the blare of a car horn to blast me out of my ridiculous thought and back into the real world. Like Oliver would ever buy me roses.
Maybe Jessica’s right. I need to stop reading so many romance novels.
Picking them up off the seat and sitting down, I bury my nose in them anyway. Despite being wilted from the stifling air trapped inside the car, they’re beautiful—wrapped in brown paper, with small sprigs of baby’s breath tucked between the long stems, and a white silk ribbon tied around the base.
Oliver opens the driver’s side door and slips in when a look of recognition fills his face. “Oh… those,” he stammers, his cheeks flaming redder than the roses themselves.
“Are beautiful. I’ll have to tell Megan whoever got her these is a keeper.”
Oliver scrubs his hands across his face before buckling up and starting the engine. “Yeah, a real Romeo,” he says, every word dripping with sarcasm.
“But then again…” I stick my nose into the fragrant bunch again after buckling my own seatbelt. “I’ve never had anyone buy me flowers before, so who knows, maybe he’s not,” I offer since it sounds like Oliver isn’t a fan of the guy.
Letting out a long, low sigh, Oliver shoots me a half smile as I continue to admire the flowers. “Someone should—you know—get you flowers someday. You’re the kind of girl flowers were made for,” he says, pulling out of the parking garage and onto the road leading to the port before coming to a dead standstill. Much like my heart.
With one last sniff, I set the flowers onto the backseat and give Oliver a smile. “Thanks. That was probably the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me. Too bad it was from my best friend and not an actual guy.” I lean across the center console and nudge Ollie with my elbow. “I mean—a guy who could actually like me, like me. Right?”
“Oh, yeah, right,” Oliver agrees, wrenching his hands on the steering wheel as the light changes from green and back to red before more than a handful of cars can make it through the intersection.
“This is crazy.” I blow out a short breath and pull my head out of the clouds. Dreaming about big, romantic gestures, or fantasizing about a hero sweeping me off my feet, isn’t going to do me any good if my feet—or body at this point—is naked because my sister grabbed the wrong stupid suitcase. Well, at least not the kind of hero I’m looking for. “We are never going to make it in time.”
“Not going this way, we’re not,” Ollie says, throwing the car into reverse, cutting the wheel hard to the left, and punching the gas. “Hold on.”
I grip the handle above the passenger side window as Oliver whips the car backwards out of the traffic jam and into an alleyway just off the main road. “Now what?” I ask as a wall of cars fills in our now-vacant spot on the road.
“We’re taking a shortcut.” He smiles before jamming his foot on the gas pedal and sending the car barreling down the narrow alleyway backwards.
Pinching my eyes closed and trusting Ollie, my smile can’t be contained when we finally come out on the opposite side and the road running parallel to our original route is wide open. We jet through the side streets while a dizzying swirl of graffiti, small shopping centers, and single family homes fly by until Oliver cuts a hard right and the Dolphin Expressway opens up in front of us.
“My hero!” I shout as I glance at the clock on my phone and realize his little shortcut just bought us an actual chance of catching Jess and getting back my suitcase. “I swear I could kiss you right now.”
Oliver’s face goes blank for a beat before a devil of a smile ghosts his lips. “In that case.” He presses his foot on the gas, and I break out in a fit of laughter as the force of the sudden acceleration pushes my head back against the seat. “Very funny.”
“Hey, I might just be your best guy friend, but I’m still a guy, you know,” he says, giving me a quick wink and a crooked smile.
The simple teasing gesture sends a flutter low in my belly and a blush to my cheeks, which I hide by turning away from his gaze. Because while he is ‘just my best guy friend,’ to be fair, I’m still a girl, too. And winks cause flutters. It’s science.
As we speed down the Dolphin Expressway, I unro
ll the window with butterflies in my stomach and a smile on my lips. I take a deep breath of warm, salty air as we approach the Port of Miami with hope in my heart.
Hope we’re not too late.
And hope that this summer might just be my best summer yet.
Chapter 4
Oliver
Zooming past cars on the expressway, the hope on Katie’s face drives me forward. I steady my eyes on the road and my grip on the steering wheel, bound and determined to make it to the boat in time to get her suitcase. I will be her hero.
Unlike the idiot I was at the airport when I chickened out of giving her the damn roses in a big, grand gesture type of moment. But after nearly pacing a ditch in the tiled floor at baggage claim during the hour and a half wait, thanks to her plane being late, I managed to talk myself out of it with every ‘what if’ I could come up with. What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if she laughs in my face? What if she’s already seeing someone? What if I’m being a total pussy?
That one is easy to answer. I am.
I grip the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turn whiter than the sand lining the swath of ocean to our right as I mentally kick myself for not telling her the roses were for her instead of letting her believe the roses were my sister’s.
With a deep breath, I exit the expressway and steel myself. As soon as she has her suitcase back, I’m telling her. I’m telling her I’ve been crazy about her for years. And that if last year taught me anything, it’s life is too short and things can change too fast. And more than anything, I don’t want to be just her best guy friend. I want to be her everything.
Because she’s mine.
“Oliver, I see it,” Katie shouts, pulling me out of my head while pointing to a massive cruise liner with a huge, red smokestack on the top shaped like a whale’s tail. The twelve-story-tall ship dwarfs the other boats lining the port. “You did it. I can’t believe you really did it.” She turns in her seat, wraps her arms around my neck, and plants a kiss on my cheek as I pull the car into the closest spot I can find to the dock and slam it into park.
