All The Summers Between Us | TSITP

Ghosts Of Summer.

The sunlight on her face was perfect. Warm, golden, endless. Lydia lay stretched on a towel, eyes half-closed, the sound of pool waves and laughter echoing faintly over the backyard.

"Comfortable?"

She cracked on eye open just in time for cold droplets to scatter across her chest. Conrad stood over her, dripping wet, his grin lazy and satisfied.

"Conrad!" she squealed, shoving at his arm as she sat up. "You're such an ass."

He shrugged, shaking his head again until more water sprayed her skin. "You looked bored."

Jeremiah's voice carried from the porch. "Okay, we get it—you two are into each other!"

Susannah, reclined under her sun hat, only smiled brighter. "Don't tease them. They're perfect together."

Lydia groaned, hiding her burning cheeks behind her hand. Conrad, unbothered, only tilted his head toward her. He leaned down, close enough that she could smell the chlorine in his hair, his fingers brushing lightly against the small silver infinity necklace at her neck. The necklace he'd given her just because.

Her chest tightened, breath catching as he tilted closer—

"Lydia. Earth to Lydia."

She blinked, and the beach dissolved.

No Conrad. No Susannah. No Cousins. Just the dim hum of the espresso machine and the clatter of cups behind the counter. Her co-worker Jamie snapped his fingers at her, grinning.

"You've been staring at the same foam for, like, five minutes," he said. "Shift's over, daydreamer."

Heat rose to her face. She untied her apron, forcing a small laugh. "Sorry. Long day."

Jamie raised an eyebrow but didn't press. "Go home before I start charging you rent."

Lydia slipped out of the coffee shop into the evening air. But the sunlight from her memory lingered, warm against her skin, even as the real street around her was all neon signs and cracked pavement.

————

Belly twirled a strand of hair around her finger, staring out the library window as sunlight poured across the quad. Her notebook was open, the page blank except for a single half-scribbled sentence.

Are you actually over him?

The words weren't hers. They belonged to Jeremiah, his voice still clear in her head.

It had been late summer, just weeks after everything at the ball. They'd been sitting on the Fisher porch steps, the ocean air sticky and restless. Belly had pulled her knees up to her chest, her mind far away, when Jeremiah's voice cut through.

"Be honest with me," he said. His arm was stretched across the step behind her, his expression soft but searching. "Are you actually over Conrad? Or did you just see him with Lydia and... decide to go for me instead?"

The question had landed heavy, heavier than Belly expected. She'd opened her mouth, closed it again, trying to untangle what was true and what wasn't.

Jeremiah's eyes flicked toward her, nervous. "I just need to know, Bells. Because if it's about him, I can't—" he broke off, shaking his head. "I need to know it's about me."

Her chest ached with the weight of it, and before she could answer, Susannah had called them in for dinner.

The moment had stayed, unspoken but alive, waiting.

"Conklin."

Belly jumped, blinking hard. The porch, Jeremiah, the sticky summer air—all of it evaporated. She was back in the present, in her classroom, the sharp smell of dry-erase markers in her nose. Her professor was frowning at her from the front.

"You with us?"

"Yeah," Belly said quickly, cheeks burning. She sat up straighter, scribbling something down in her notebook just to look busy.

But Jeremiah's voice lingered anyway, threading under every sound in the room.

Are you actually over Conrad?