Superfan (Brooklyn #3)(54)

When I first stepped off that boat, Silas and I weren’t strangers, but we weren’t really a couple, either. We were some third category. Let’s call it, hungry for more.

But then came a rapid succession of hours on neutral ground, where the only work to be done was fitting into one another’s lives.

We’re quite good at it already. Each night we sleep like puzzle pieces fitted together—his arm flung over my waist, his knees bent into the crooks of mine.

And when the mornings arrive, we make slow love on the tousled bed, and then fit our morning routines together, too. We swap places beneath the showerhead, we pass the milk, we exchange tooth-brushed kisses and breakfast pastries.

There is no end to our ease and pleasure. We splash in the turquoise ocean. We share beach towels and spread sunscreen on each other’s backs.

It’s been way too easy to find our rhythm. And I don’t ever want the song to end.

But the time flies past at the speed of a movie montage. The ocean. The sparkling pool. Drinks at sunset and a nap in a hammock somewhere. At night, while frogs sing in the trees outside our window, Silas lays breathing beside me. It would be way too easy to get used to this.

No, too late. I’m already used to this.

It’s not just Silas, either. I grow accustomed to Heidi’s sunshine and Jason’s good-natured complaints. I don’t have to wonder why my life is such a mess, because I’m surrounded by happy people.

For three days, I’m not a pop star with a late record and relationship baggage. I’m just a girl on vacation who doesn’t need a bodyguard if I want to run to the snack bar for more bottled water and a plate full of cookies for the guys on the beach.

Now I understand why there’s an entire genre of music devoted to beaches and summer love. I’m a believer.

But then suddenly, it’s late on Saturday afternoon. We’ve all had enough sun, so we’re lounging around the cottage. I’m curled up on my favorite sofa cushion, flipping through a magazine of Heidi’s, while Silas, Leo, and Jason do pushups and sit-ups on the rug.

When Silas starts stretching out his limber body, I give up the pretense of reading and flip the magazine closed so I can watch. “Do you have to work out all summer to prepare for the season?”

“Yeah,” Jason grunts through yet another set of sit-ups. “But this extra set right here is just for vanity. Gotta keep the abs looking fine. Heidi? Come and hold down my feet. This is for you, babe.”

“Okay.” She comes over and plops herself on to his sneakers, while biting into a donut. “Feel the burn, honey,” she says, licking icing off her finger.

“That. Is. Just. Mean,” he says through gritted teeth as he curls his abs.

“What? You asked for my help.” She takes another bite and moans.

Silas claps his hands. “Five more, man. Then you get your own donut.”

“Use your anger,” Heidi coaches through a bite.

“Three…two…one…” Jason rises for the last time, reaches out and grabs the rest of the donut. It disappears into his craw a split second later.

Heidi only shrugs. “Good work. I have to fit into my dress right about now, anyway.”

“Is it already that time?” I glance at the clock. The wedding starts in ninety minutes.

“Yes! Primp time!” she says, rising. “What are you wearing?”

“Maybe you can help me decide before I jump in the shower.” I put the magazine aside and stand up. But all I really want to do is climb into Silas’s lap and pretend my trip isn’t almost over.

Heidi follows me into the bedroom, where I’ve hung three dresses. “Hmm,” she says, eyeing them one by one.

“Which one says, ‘tasteful, appreciative wedding-crasher’?” I ask.

“They all do. They’re very conservative. None of them says, ‘I’m a fabulous pop star on a private island living it up with my buff boyfriend.’”

“Dresses aren’t my thing. Most of the time I wear snarky T-shirts and jeans. I’m terrible at makeup. And I’m not really a pop star.”

Heidi cackles. “Millions of young women say otherwise.”

“I mean, I’m not like Taylor Swift. I don’t dance, or “Shake it Off,” or influence fashion. I’d rather sit on my stool and make a squinty face while I play my guitar and sing.”

Heidi ignores all of these objections. “We’ll go with this one.” She holds up the simplest dress, but it’s also the barest. Dove-grey, sleeveless, with a soft drape of fabric at the bosom. “I’ll handle the makeup. Silver, I think? With rosy highlights for that suntan, maybe. Do you have heels?”

“Two-inch sling-backs.” I wasn’t quite sure what shoes to wear to a beach wedding.

“Phew. So you’re not totally hopeless.”

“‘Not totally hopeless’ is exactly what I aim for.” That would make a good song title, actually…

“Focus, Delilah,” she says just as my mind wanders off in that direction. “Show me your accessories.”

“Hmm. I don’t remember if I brought any.” It’s Becky who usually thinks of these things. And I’ve been wearing only bathing suits, sundresses, and sunscreen for three days.

It’s been heavenly.