Page 33

Amelia kept her focus on the group, doing her best to appear calm, but inside, she was anything but. Tara’s laughter echoed in her ears, her clumsy attempts at the clapping game unexpectedly amusing.

But all Amelia could think about was the way Tara had looked in the bathroom, and the way Amelia seemed to change in that single moment.

She forced herself out of the memory and back into the present.

The sounds around her—laughter, clinking glasses, the steady rhythm of the guitar—felt strangely distant, as though they were reaching her through a pane of glass. The faces around her seemed blurry. Only Tara remained sharp, her every movement pulling at Amelia’s attention, her voice cutting through the haze with each remark, each smile.

Amelia wasn’t sure why it was so hard to focus, why everything felt suddenly off-kilter. She tried to engage, offering a smile here, a comment there, but reality felt oddly hazy, distant even. Everything except her.

And then it happened.

Tara turned, caught Amelia’s eye, and smiled. Amelia panicked and snapped her gaze away. She didn’t notice the skipping rope lying innocently on the ground, patiently waiting for the child who had lost it. Amelia’s feet, however, found it just fine.

For a brief, glorious moment, she teetered like a newborn foal, arms flailing. It seemed possible she might still right herself. And then—of course—gravity stepped in.

Amelia lurched forward and collided with a table stacked with pitchers of lemonade. The impact sent one of the pitchers soaring through the air like a slow-motion catapult, and the crowd collectively held their breath, watching the trajectory of the rogue pitcher. The pitcher arced beautifully before drenching an unsuspecting Solomon in bright yellow liquid.

Amelia stood frozen, her hand gripping the edge of the now-empty table, as lemonade dripped dramatically off Solomon’s bulbous nose.

‘Oh no,’ she whispered, horrified, her voice barely audible over the awkward silence.

‘Hell’s teeth!’ Solomon raged.

‘I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to!’ Amelia stammered, her face burning as she tried to apologise to the dripping man.

The entire island was watching her.

‘I’m such an idiot,’ she muttered, though the words came out more like a squeak. She tried to step back, but her foot landed squarely on the cursed skipping rope again, sending her stumbling backwards.

But she never reached the ground. Amelia looked up to see whose arms she was in, only to see Tara. She had caught her just in time, saving her from what would have been a much more dramatic fall (and probably another table destroyed). Her arms encompassed Amelia with the sort of ease that could only make things worse.

‘Got you,’ Tara murmured, her voice steady and warm, close enough to make Amelia’s pulse do something entirely unhelpful.

Amelia swallowed. ‘I—thank you,’ she whispered, avoiding Tara’s eyes.

Tara didn’t let go immediately. Her fingers lingered on Amelia’s skin, and for a split second, Amelia thought she might just pull her closer. A terrible fantasy gripped Amelia. She stood quickly, practically jumping out of Tara’s grasp.

The crowd behind her erupted into a series of amused chuckles. ‘Next time, aim for the plants, Amelia. At least they’d appreciate the watering!’ a voice called, and the laughter rose even higher. Amelia heard Tara’s distinct laugh join in.

Amelia started walking, her head down, her face burning so hot she could have fried an egg on it. Every step away from the gathering felt like it took an eternity, her mortification hanging over her like a storm cloud.

The voices behind her faded as she moved further away, but Amelia didn’t slow her pace. She needed distance—from the crowd, from Tara, from the whole embarrassing mess she’d just created.

But Tara had jogged up to walk beside her. ‘Amelia, it’s OK,’ Tara said gently.

‘I need a minute, for heaven's sake,’ Amelia snapped.

Tara didn’t say anything. She simply stopped walking. Amelia didn’t. But no matter how far she went, it didn’t seem to matter—she was still stuck with the feeling of Tara’s eyes on her.