Page 4

finn

. . .

Summer passes differently when you're in love with your best friend. Every moment becomes a snapshot preserved in amber, a fleeting treasure I want to hold onto forever.

"You think Mr. Henderson will actually put this up?

" Hazel asks, handing me another flyer from her canvas tote bag.

Her chestnut hair catches the sunlight as she tilts her head, those hazel eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Last year, he said ice cream festivals were 'frivolous nonsense for children and tourists. '"

I laugh, taking the colorful paper from her fingers, our hands brushing longer than necessary. "He also buys two pints of your salted caramel every week like clockwork. Trust me, he'll put it up."

We've been at this all morning, walking door to door through Starlight Bay's main street, convincing local businesses to display flyers for Hazel's second annual ice cream festival.

The event nearly killed her last year—eighteen flavors in three days with just her and two summer employees manning the shop—but it put Sweet Scoops on the map.

This year, she's determined to make it even bigger.

"That's twenty-seven businesses," Hazel announces proudly as we exit the hardware store. "Three more than last year."

"And we finished in record time," I add, checking my watch. "Which means..."

"Beach time!" she finishes, her face lighting up.

Thirty minutes later, we're stretched out on our usual spot at Lighthouse Cove.

Hazel's already slathered in sunscreen—a necessity for her fair skin—while I'm content to soak up the rays.

The beach is surprisingly empty for a Saturday in July, with just a few families scattered along the shoreline and a group of teenagers playing volleyball further down.

"We should take a trip," Hazel says suddenly, propping herself up on her elbows. She's wearing the blue bikini that makes my heart rate spike every time. "Before summer's over. Once the festival's done, I could close the shop for a few days."

I turn to look at her, trying not to be obvious about admiring the freckles dotting her shoulders. "Yeah? Where to?"

"I don't know. Somewhere, not too far. Cape Cod, maybe? Or that little beach town in Maine you're always talking about?"

"Bar Harbor," I supply, already imagining walking along the harbor with her, watching sunsets from Cadillac Mountain. Just the two of us. "That could be amazing."

She sits up fully now, excitement evident in her voice. "Should we see if Lloyd wants to come? Or Helen might fly in if I give her enough notice."

The fantasy in my head shifts, adding Lloyd's booming laugh and Helen's city-girl complaints about the lack of decent coffee. My chest tightens slightly.

"We could," I say carefully, brushing sand from my arm. "Or it could just be us. Might be simpler that way."

Hazel looks at me, a question in her eyes that I'm not brave enough to answer yet. "Just us?"

"Yeah," I manage, heart hammering against my ribs. "I mean, when was the last time we took a trip together, just the two of us?"

The moment hangs between us, heavy with possibility. I've been in love with Hazel Brown since I was twelve years old, and at twenty-eight, I'm still waiting for the right moment to tell her. Maybe that moment is finally approaching.

The silence stretches out, punctuated only by the rhythmic crash of waves and distant laughter from the volleyball game. Hazel's fingers trace patterns in the sand between us, and I find myself memorizing the gentle curve of her wrist, the way the afternoon light makes her skin glow.

"You're right," she says finally, and something in her voice makes my pulse quicken.

"It has been forever since it was just us.

" She pauses, then adds with that teasing smile I know so well, "Think you can handle being stuck with me for a whole weekend without Lloyd there to referee our arguments about the best pizza toppings? "

"I'll manage," I say, grinning back at her. "Besides, someone needs to be there to document your inevitable meltdown when you realize Maine lobster rolls aren't made with mayo."

"Excuse me?" She sits up straighter, mock outrage coloring her features. "That's not a meltdown. That's having standards. Mayo-based lobster salad is a crime against nature."

"See? This is exactly why we need Lloyd as a buffer."

She laughs and flops back down on her towel, but not before flicking sand in my direction. "You're terrible. And you're buying the first round of lobster rolls just for that comment."

"Deal." I settle back onto my elbows, watching her close her eyes against the sun. "So when were you thinking? After the festival wraps up?"

"Mmm," she hums contentedly. "Maybe the following weekend? Give me a few days to recover from the chaos." She turns her head toward me, eyes still closed. "Think you can get away from the office?"

"For you? I'd shut down the whole company if I had to."

The words slip out before I can stop them, too honest, too revealing.

Hazel's eyes flutter open, and for a heartbeat, I think I see something shift in her expression—surprise, maybe, or recognition.

But then a seagull swoops down near our feet, breaking the spell, and she sits up to shoo it away from her bag.

"Well, that's settled then," she says, but her voice sounds different somehow, softer. "Just you, me, and the Maine coast."

Just you and me. The phrase echoes in my head like a promise I'm not sure I'm ready to keep.