Open Road Summer(16)

I slide my head into the corner, my own laughter shaking the padded suitcase walls.

“Scrunch your legs up more,” Dee says through her laughter. “I wish you could see how hilarious this is.”

I fold my arms tightly against me, cast hard against my chest, and I shift so that my knee drops into the suitcase. My jeans hug my body in all the right places, but they’re not ideal for bending my legs.

“Am I all the way in?”

“Yes!” Dee’s voice is hard to understand through her honking and the suitcase’s insulated sides. “This is going to happen.”

She tugs at the zipper, leaving an open space at the top. I poke my head out the top to see Dee, doubled over in laughter. Maybe it’s funny because we’re so tired, so overwhelmed and desperate to laugh. But no matter the reason, I laugh so hard that it feels like a muscle spasm in my stomach. I couldn’t stop if my life depended on it. Dee’s all-out raucous laugh reminds me of being eleven again, of sleepovers where we woke her mom up with our giggling. Girls, Mrs. Montgomery would say, it’s time to quiet down and go to sleep, even though she seemed to be hiding a smile of her own.

“Get my camera, get my camera,” I say. Dee retrieves my camera from my bag, holding it with shaking hands. She steadies herself, taking a picture that I hope won’t be blurry.

I’m jolted by a rhythmic knock at the door, and Dee nearly drops my camera in surprise. I’m still too slaphappy to panic about my beloved camera’s well-being. For some reason, the chance that the hotel staff will see me zipped into a suitcase is even funnier to us. Dee unzips the suitcase enough that I can wriggle an arm free, and I keep tugging at it as she runs to answer the door. On her tiptoes, Dee peers out the peephole and then throws the door open with full-body enthusiasm.

The guy at the door looks a bit older than us, with light brown hair that curls slightly at his ears. If this is a hotel concierge, he’s the hottest one ever. Like, of all time. And here I sit, a barefoot jackass in an empty suitcase. I bolt up, fluffing my hair before he can see me.

“Hey, little lady,” the guy says, opening his arms to Dee. He’s familiar. I try to place him, but I’m too busy scrambling to my feet, tugging my sandals back on.

“Matt!” Dee wraps her arms around his neck, and he lifts her off the ground. Of course. Matt Finch. I didn’t even recognize him, all grown up. Standing up a bit straighter, I curse myself for being so uncool. When Matt sets her down, Dee says, “It is so nice to see a friendly face. Thank you for doing this.”

He shakes his head. “It’s a bunch of crap, what happened with that stupid picture.”

“Tell me about it.” She gestures back toward me, and Matt’s gaze follows. “This is my best friend, Reagan.”

When his eyes land on me, something about his expression changes—like he recognizes me from somewhere, too. I look back, appraising him quickly. He’s kind of beautiful, in an understated, comfortable-looking way—the kind of guy who doesn’t mind seeing a rom-com with you and gives you his hoodie when you’re cold.

“Hi,” he says, regaining his manners. “I’m Matt.”

I reach my noncasted arm to shake his hand, businesslike. After all, he could be the enemy—a rook in Lissa’s publicity game. “Nice to meet you.”

“Reagan’s hanging out with me all summer,” Dee says.

“Is that right?” Matt keeps his eyes on me. “Groupie, huh?”

“For Dee, maybe.” My tone is curt, even as I fight the urge to ogle him. He was cute when we were younger, but in a baby-faced way. Now he’s all strong jawline and broad shoulders, his white T-shirt pulled tight across the chest and looser at his waist.

He raises his eyebrows. “Point taken.”

His eyes are somewhere between gray and blue, and his hair is somewhere between brown and blond, and I am somewhere between hostile and attracted.

“She’s just kidding,” Dee says. “We listened to your new stuff online, and she loved it.”

I bite the insides of my cheeks. Dee has a habit of putting my cards on the table without my permission, and it drives me crazy. I would have preferred that he didn’t know I like his music.

“Is that right?” he asks, intrigued.

“It’s pretty good. I was surprised.”

“Ouch.” His mouth pulls into a half smile as he turns to Dee. “She tells it like it is, huh?”

Dee nods. “Reagan’s very honest.”

“So.” He crosses his arms as he surveys our room. “Did you guys want to grab dinner, or were you too busy zipping yourselves into suitcases?”


Dee laughs, but I feel the unfamiliar flush of embarrassment. Matt raises his eyebrows at me again, teasing me with a single look, and something about it shakes me. Maybe it’s because I got caught doing something weird or maybe I’m rusty after two months of living like a nun, barricaded in my room. Either way, Matt Finch has thrown me off my game within a minute of his arrival. At this rate—with heat still flooding my cheeks—it’s going to be a long summer.





Chapter Five

Raleigh to Savannah


Matt arrived on Monday, and, by Tuesday morning, pictures from our dinner popped up online. We sat on the patio of a local bistro, at Lissa’s request. Under a wide umbrella, Dee and I sat across from Peach and Matt, enjoying bottomless iced teas and Matt’s one-man show, Cheering Dee Up.