The Boiling Point | ✔️

34 | r i f t

My head snapped up. "Hm?"

She looked at me so closely it seemed like she was reading words etched on my face. "Is everything good with you?"

"Sure, why wouldn't it be?" I answered lightly, dropping my gaze to the ball I had been rolling for so long it had started melting in my palm.

"I don't know, you just seem kind of distant lately... down."

I forced a smile that actually pained my mouth muscles. "I'm good. Just thinking about culinary school, leaving home..."

Leaving Drew.

A genuine smile graced her lips in return. "Since when do those things get you down? You've been ready to leave the nest as soon as you hatched."

I managed to get a small laugh out. "I guess now that it's around the corner, I'm not feeling as ready as I thought."

"You know what it is? Rose-colored glasses," she said, picking out another piece of dough. "Once you're out of here, I bet we're gonna have to convince you to come back for Thanksgiving."

"Probably," I agreed, wiping my hands on my apron.

Ella rounded the kitchen island, tucking her dark chocolate hair behind her ears, laying that big sisterly look on me. "But if you ever feel homesick, you know I'm just a call away, Sun. Night or day. Always."

I had to stop my face from breaking. I was so desperate to pour my soul out to her. If it had been any other situation, any other boy, I would have unloaded my pain and she would have scooped it up and lightened the load.

But I took the opportunity and I hugged her, because that's the only comfort I could get. And it felt cruel. Her hugging me back under those false pretenses, unknowingly consoling me over something that would destroy her if she found out.

But I couldn't stand the sadness, and I needed my sister to get through it. I needed to be selfish.

Soon after, my family took their annual trip to The Hamptons with Drew's family. We had neighboring beach houses for five years at that point, and the trip had become a tradition to close out our last weeks of summer break. Swimming and sunsets, barbecues and bonfires, art galleries and farmers markets. It was always a good time. Even being in such close company with Drew was getting easier. But I still had my moments.

He gave me another new experience on that trip. The strange phenomenon of standing right next to someone, brushing arms, feeling the heat of their skin - and still missing them so incredibly deeply that you could have been standing on different continents.

On a day where the weather was too perfect for everyone not to be on the beach, I walked out of the rolling ocean, wringing the salty water from my hair as I skimmed over the sand.

Mom and Ella were lying on towels catching the last of the afternoon rays. Dad was sitting in a camper chair doing a crossword puzzle. Drew's parents were jogging into the sea for a dip. And Drew was in an energetic volleyball game with his cousins who were visiting from New York for a few days.

He was shirtless and sweaty and I couldn't help staring. The fluttering in my stomach, the aching pressure pooling in my pit, between my legs, it was all too common when I looked at him. When I knew how every inch of his solid body felt. When I knew what those hands could do to me.

He sensed the hole I was burning into him, turning and sending a shockwave through me. I tore my eyes from his, gathered my things, and headed back to the house to take a cold shower. When I came out of my en-suite bathroom, Drew was walking up to the door I was about to close.

He loosely folded his arms and leaned against the frame. I had never seen such a smug look on him before, but I had a hunch as to why he was so pleased with himself.