Travis (Pelion Lake) by Mia Sheridan

Gage and I chatted as he showed me to the bar, set up in a wide-open space on the second floor, where chandeliers shimmered, and heavy drapery adorned individual balconies that flanked the space. “Wow,” I murmured as Gage handed me a flute of champagne.

“So where are you from, Haven, and how long will you be staying in Pelion?”

“I’m from California, and I’m only here for the summer. My brother—who I’m traveling with—and I both took seasonal jobs at the club. We’ll leave once the season has ended.” Why on earth did I just say all of that in such a flat, practiced way? Was I so used to every aspect of my life being so temporary? Thankfully, Gage didn’t seem put off by it.

We’d wandered out of the grand room and into a hallway. Gage opened a door and led me outside on to a larger balcony featuring benches and potted trees adorned in twinkle lights. Something flowery and lovely met my nose, drifting from somewhere close by.

I wondered vaguely where Travis might be and who he’d gone to find.

Gage gestured to a bench where I sat down and then he joined me. It felt private and intimate and my heart picked up speed. “Tell me about yourself, Haven.”

A small jolt of panic flared in my stomach. What a terrible question. For anyone really, but especially for me. I swayed, feeling slightly woozy. What angle should I take? How could I tell someone—anyone really, but especially Gage Buchanan—about myself without revealing anything much at all? My pulse jumped. And how would I do that without sounding like the most boring human on earth? I remembered teachers going around the room asking that question when I was in school, recalling the way dread would sit heavy on my shoulders as my turn approached, my cheeks hot, head ringing. But Gage was only being nice. Kind. Because he was both of those things.

Of course, Travis would know what to say. Travis would have the perfect strategic answer that would convey just the right thing to pique Gage’s interest. And why was I thinking of Travis? Travis was the last person I should be thinking about right now. I fidgeted slightly, feeling suddenly strange and off-balance, nervous, and twitchy. All over the place.

I took a breath, placed my palms on the cool stone of the bench, and smiled. “Well,” I said slowly, “I’m adventurous. It seemed like the adventure of a lifetime to get in my car, and just start driving, see where life took us, you know? Seize the day, that’s my motto.” My voice fizzled out toward the end of my statement, squashing the enthusiasm I’d intended on conveying. The adventurous spirit. Look at me! I do wild things like hop in my car and just start driving! Like summer flings! I’ve never actually experienced one of those but I’d like to! How about you? I almost groaned at the pathetic, scattered nature of my thoughts, but managed to hold it back, rallying and again, taking a deep breath and smiling.

I was never nervous like this with Travis. Talking to Travis was fun. And easy. It just flowed. I felt like myself, not this anxious, babbling idiot.

That’s because Travis is your friend and Gage is your crush.

“What else?” he asked, and I swore I saw a hint of amusement in his eyes as though he was enjoying something. But what I wasn’t sure, because I certainly wasn’t being enjoyable. “What else? Oh. Um. I’m sort of a health nut—which you probably already knew.” I frowned, second-guessing my choice of wording. “Not a nut. I’m not a fanatic or anything, and my other motto is to each their own, so if you wanted to . . . oh, eat something laden with chemicals and carcinogens, I would say, have at it.” I blinked, laying my hand on his arm and leaning in a little. “Not that I want you to eat chemicals and carcinogens. Because your health might suffer, and you are the picture of health.”

His lip twitched. “Health is important to me too.”

“Clearly, yes.” I reached out and gave his bicep a small squeeze, my hand falling immediately, heat flooding my cheeks.

Oh my God. You actually just did that. Stop now, Haven. Stop touching him. And stop talking immediately. Immediately!

“And I love possums,” I added.

Gage’s face went blank. “Did you say, possums?”

I bobbed my head. “Mm-hmm. They’re, ah . . . they get a bum rap. They look sort of scary, and they hiss out of fear, but they’re not violent.”

“No,” he agreed, seeming stupefied. “What else do you like about possums?” he asked, almost hesitantly.

What else, what else? My mind searched to recall possum facts I’d learned less than an hour before. Oh! Right. “My favorite, of course,” I said, because it was really their greatest achievement, “is the way they um, eat up to five thousand ticks a year. Just think of all the Lyme disease they prevent. Little heroes, honestly. They should get more credit.”

That’s when I noticed Gage Buchanan was trying not to laugh, his lips trembling and his eyes squinting. I peered at him more closely, a sinking feeling in my gut. “Do . . . do you like possums?”

He did laugh then, his eyes twinkling. It wasn’t an unkind laugh, but it was a laugh. “I don’t not like possums,” he said. “But I can’t say I’ve ever given them a lot of thought. You’ve convinced me though. I should. Little heroes. I like that.”

Oh. My. God. If laughs could sound limp, mine did.

I was going to murder Travis Hale.