The Private Serials Box Set(65)

But I shook it off and turned back to Ryan. “A smoothie sounds great.”



I ordered some raspberry concoction that probably undid all the calories I’d worked off on my run, but it tasted fan-f*cking-tastic. Ryan was more responsible and had gotten a spinach, kale, coconut smoothie with a protein powder boost. Watching them pour it into his cup had made me gag. He smiled at me, though, and held up his Styrofoam cup for me to tap mine against.

“To falling in the sand,” he said, his eyes twinkling with a smile on his face.

“To getting back up after you’ve fallen,” I responded, thumping my cup against his. Ryan took a deep suck off his straw and I watched the green sludge make its way up and into his mouth, and I couldn’t help the grimace that stretched over my face. “Does it taste as terrible as it looks?”

He shook his head. “It’s not that bad.” He shrugged. “I’ve had worse.” Just then, I heard a beep coming from his pocket and he shifted as he reached inside and grabbed his phone. He didn’t bring it to his ear, but tapped away at the screen, so I assumed he was texting someone.

“Sister drama, again?”

“Huh?” he asked, looking up at me. “Oh, no,” he laughed. “Boyfriend drama.”

“Oh,” I said instinctively. “Oh!” Then his words dawned on me. It suddenly made perfect sense to me why there’d been no flirty vibes from him. This realization made me feel exponentially better about spending time with him. I did not need a man to complicate my life. “He’s not a runner?”

Ryan laughed loudly at my question. “No. No, he’s not a runner. He’s in great shape, but he’d rather do something extreme like snowboard or rock climb. Running on the serene beaches of Hawaii isn’t really his idea of a good way to spend time outside. Plus,” he said just before he took another sip of his torture drink, “Chance lives on the mainland.”

“The mainland?”

“Yeah. You know, that big chunk of earth where the other forty-nine states are located?”

“Ah ha. The mainland. Right.” I sipped on my blissful raspberry smoothie. “Doesn’t it suck being so far away from him?”

“Yes, but business calls. I’ve only been here for a few weeks and I’m hoping I can go home soon.”

“Where’s home?” I asked, feeling more comfortable with him by the minute.

“All over, actually. I have hideouts everywhere,” he said, not looking at me, but instead staring at his cup. “How long have you lived here?”

“A month or two. I’m a transplant.”

“What made you uproot?”

I stared at Ryan for a moment, trying to figure out why I got the feeling he already knew the answer to his question. “Needed a change in scenery and I’d never been here before.”

He nodded but didn’t say anything in response.

“I have to head home,” I said as I stood. Ryan’s eyes followed me, but he made no move to stand.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

We both just looked at each other, neither one of us saying anything, and I found myself wishing I could read his mind.

“See you then.”



That night, Becky surprised me by not coming home until late, and although she didn’t owe me an explanation, I was curious as to what had kept her out.

She walked in looking frustrated, sighing loudly as she dropped her purse onto the couch then plopping down next to it. I put my book down on my lap and looked over to her.

“You okay?”

She sighed again, then looked over at me. “Things just aren’t going as they were supposed to. My plan is unraveling.”

“What plan?” I’d never heard her talk about a plan.

She didn’t answer right away, but I sat patiently waiting for her to open up to me.

“There are things in my life that I regret. I’ve made mistakes. Part of coming out here was to make up for some of those mistakes. But, I also wanted this to be a new start, a new beginning. And I keep trucking along, doing what I think is right, but I also feel like nothing is happening the way it’s supposed to.” She sighed loudly again. “I’m tempted to throw the towel in.” She looked over at me and her eyes went from frustrated to sad. “There are just things I want to make right, but it’s not panning out the way I wanted to.”

“What is it you want to make right?”

She paused, swallowed, and then stood up. She walked from the couch and went into the kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing a can of soda. “It’s not important, Lena. It’s not my place to say anyway.”

“Yeah, but if you’re upset about something then you should be able to talk about it with someone.”

She was looking down at her soda, using her finger to flick the tab on it, refusing to meet my eyes.

“I have been talking to someone, trust me. It’s just…” She took another drink, draining the soda in one long draw. Then she tossed the can in the recycling bin under the sink. “I can’t talk to you about it.”

Before I could even formulate a response, she headed down the hall and disappeared into her room. I heard the door shut and I just gaped at the spot in the kitchen she’d just vacated, mouth wide open in shock. Becky had never, not once, been that short with me. She didn’t seem angry, but she did seem upset. Frustrated. And it seemed as though part of her frustration was with me. And I had no idea what in the world had gone wrong.