Page 1 of The Best Wild Idea (Off-Limits #3)

Juliet

I’m panting by the time I trudge over the last sand-covered dune, emerging from a different spot than where I walked a few moments ago.

It’s our last night here, and I was the one who forgot the champagne back at the rental.

But now that I’ve retrieved it, the chilled bubbly will go perfectly with the heat of our bonfire — if I can figure out which direction I left the two guys I’m here with.

I look both ways, finally spotting the familiar broad-shouldered silhouettes. They’re sitting in a pair of Adirondack chairs, nearly hidden behind long strands of beach grass waving in the breeze.

They look like a postcard, their backs to me, facing out toward the water, and I grin, letting my feet sink into the sand while I watch them.

Grant and Silas stare out to the waves as they talk, bathed in a canvas of orange and rose gold hues.

The warmth of the day is slowly disappearing above us as light bounces and churns off the Atlantic surf.

Likely still frigid from the colder-than-usual spring we’ve had this year without a chance to warm yet beneath a summer sun.

Silas’ laugh carries with the breeze to me, followed by Grant’s. It’s the soundtrack of our last four years at Harvard together, and one I can’t imagine ending quite yet. But that’s why we’re here: to bookmark the end of one thing and the beginning of another.

It’s our first and probably only time staying at this Cape Cod bungalow. Grant’s parents had surprised the three of us with the reservation before we collected our diplomas in Cambridge outside Boston a few days ago.

I bite back a wave of nostalgia and absorb the moment I’m in now like a sponge. It’ll be our last time the three of us will be together for a while and I already miss everything about it, even though I’m still standing right here. Bottle in hand.

Silas says something I can’t hear in the wind while Grant nods and chuckles beside him. Then he reaches over to pat Grant on the shoulder. Grant returns the gesture so their arms stretch across the sand between them for a moment. They smile at each other, the wind whipping their hair.

My grin widens and I wonder when they’ll notice that I’m only a few yards behind them.

Both drop their arms and gaze at the sea, settling into the comfortable silence that comes with a friendship nearly as old as they are.

What will Grant do without his best friend after we all part ways? I already promised myself I wouldn’t cry again this weekend. But it feels like the end of an era before the final push of adulthood rushes in like the tide first thing tomorrow.

When we get back to Boston, Silas will use his father’s jet to take him to Amsterdam, where he’ll begin a solo backpacking trip through Europe.

He’ll start in Switzerland, then go wherever the wind blows him after that, I suppose.

He’s the only one of us who doesn’t have to worry about starting his career right after graduation.

I know his father would prefer that he take a different path, one that looks very similar to his own.

But much to Silas’ surprise, his dad hasn’t insisted on him starting work yet and has given Si at least a year to do what he wants. Maybe more, we’ll see.

Speaking of, Silas must feel me watching them because he suddenly turns around. His face lights up when he sees me and we grin at each other. I hold up the bottle I’ve just grabbed from the fridge at the house.

He nudges Grant’s shoulder, and Grant turns around then stands to move the third chair in the group closer to his side before I reach them.

The sand is deep and I kick off my sandals when I get there. It’s cold but soft and damp between my toes. I curl up in the chair and tuck my feet beneath me.

“A sight for sore eyes,” Si says, pointing at the champagne bottle. He stands to take it from me while I settle in next to Grant. “I was ready to send out a search party.”

Grant squeezes my knee and laughs. “I told him you were probably just enjoying some alone time — without this goon around to bother you.” He points at Silas.

I laugh and Silas smirks while unwrapping the neck of the bottle.

“Hardly,” he mumbles, but his voice carries off in the breeze. He’s about to start working the cork out when he turns to me. “Glasses?”

I gasp and cover my eyes. “Shit.”

They both chuckle.

“You forgot the glasses,” Grant confirms, already knowing my answer.

I lean over to kiss him. “You’re more than welcome to go grab some if you’d like, my love. I just got my cardio in for the day by running back there, thanks.” My hair flies around my head and a long strand catches between our lips.

When we break apart, Silas is facing the ocean, poised to push the cork out of the bottle with the neck pointed up toward the sky. He glances over his shoulder.

“Fuck it, Jules,” he says. “We don’t need glasses. You’re fine. Thanks for grabbing this. We’ll manage without.”

I smile then raise my brows at Grant as if to say, See? We don’t need ’em .

I’m on the verge of giving Grant a victory peck when the cork shoots out and we each give a little cheer. A decent volcano of fizz erupts but settles quickly enough, thank God. I’m not about to make the trek back to fetch another if this one spills any more.

Si hands the bottle to me without taking any for himself.

“You put the work in so you get the first sip,” he tells me. “But there’s a catch.”

I take the bottle from him and roll my eyes. “Isn’t there always a catch with you?”

Grant laughs in agreement. “Always.”

But Silas isn’t deterred. “This will be our last time together for a while, so—”

“A while? Just how long do you plan to be in Europe?” Grant interrupts.

He’s been trying to get an answer out of him for a few weeks.

The two have been attached at the hip since long before I met them in our freshman year.

The stretch of time starting tomorrow might be the longest they’ve ever been apart.

“Not sure. Six months? A year?” Si puts a hand on his hip. “You’re welcome to join me, you know.”

Grant’s face falls. He and I are driving back to Boston to get our careers started as soon as we leave.

Grant’s taken a small amount of seed money from his parents to fund the nonprofit he’s hell-bent on starting, and my parents don’t have the means to support a single month of me not working.

They’re supportive, but nowhere near as wealthy as Grant’s and Si’s families, so my new job in HR starts on Monday.

“What’s the catch?” I ask, hoping whatever game Silas wants to play will keep our spirits high.

“The catch is, you have to say your favorite memory that involves all three of us, and then follow it up with where you see yourself in five years before taking a drink.”

I groan but secretly enjoy the idea. I love when Silas gets a little sappy since it happens so rarely.

Grant nods, and I know he’s game because he’s always up for anything. It’s one of the many things I love about him.

“Do I have to go first?” I ask, searching my mind for the perfect memory out of the dozens that surface.

“No, I’ll go,” Grant offers, reaching toward my lap for the bottle. “I already know mine.”

I hand him the champagne while Silas and I go silent, waiting for Grant to woo us with his words. Grant holds the bottle out in front of him like he’s about to give a toast.

Silas subtly winks at me, grinning. We both adore Grant’s inner sap, never the one to shy away from a nostalgic moment like this.

“My favorite memory has to be meeting you,” he says, tipping the neck of the bottle in my direction.

I smile, remembering the day I met both of them.

Si shifts his gaze out toward the water.

“And in five years, I see myself getting engaged,” Grant adds.

My cheeks flush hot above my collar. I already know that’s our plan, but my stomach still does a little flip to hear him say it.

“I’ll also be running my nonprofit if I can get it off the ground. ”

“No worries on that, bro.” Silas turns to assure him. “It’ll be a success.”

“It’ll be more than a success by then,” I add. I squeeze Grant’s arm before tucking my hand back inside my sweater sleeve, trying not to shiver since the sun is well on its way to disappearing now.

Silas must notice because he kneels to grab some of the dry firewood we brought with us from the porch and begins arranging it inside the metal fire pit at our feet.

Grant takes a careful pull from the bottle, keeping the fizzy liquid from spilling over the top. Then he holds it out to Silas.

“Jules next,” Si directs, then lights one of the long matches before holding it at the base of the wood pyramid he’s just built. The kindling catches and a tiny flame appears inside the splintered pile. “Give it another minute and we’ll all be backing up from this thing.”

“I hope so,” I mumble, willing the flame to grow.

I take the bottle from Grant. It’s still cold from the fridge and a slight shiver races up my spine, but I’m not sure if it’s from the early evening air or the moment we’re here sharing.

“Okay.” I sigh, glancing between them. My eyes suddenly disobey the little pep talk I gave them earlier and I blink a few times, trying not to let any more emotion spring to the surface right now. “Ugh, why’d you have to pick this type of game, Si?”

I laugh through a frown, blinking a few more times in an effort to clear my nostalgia all the way out.

He grins before grabbing a stick to tend the flame. “Because I love to keep you guessing, Jules.”

“Always,” I assure him.

I force the rest of the emotional upheaval away, while using my toe to smush a rock deeper into the sand, thinking of what to say.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Grant encourages.

Silas tosses another bit of kindling into the metal pit.