Loads. Tons. Truckfuls of pissed.

But we were just friends, right? So trucks full or not, I couldn’t really tell him ‘No, don’t go.’ Could I?

He looked into my eyes, his so full of . . . something. And as I looked up at him, the fireworks began. Big, and bright, loud and sparkly, over the ocean and over our heads. But he didn’t look away, just looked into my eyes. Did he want me to tell him, ‘No, don’t go’?

No, don’t go, I thought. But I said, “I can’t answer that, Lucas.”

“I think you just did.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” I replied.

“What?” he asked, leaning down to hear me over the high school band, now playing “Yankee Doodle Dandy” as loud as it was off-key.

“I said, I just don’t want you to get hurt!” I yelled, putting my mouth right next to his ear.

“I won’t!” he yelled back, our faces right next to each other now, the space between us filled with tension, a sudden sense of urgency, and John Philip Sousa.

“Do you want—I mean, are you sure about that?” I stammered, trying to say what I wanted to know without actually tipping my hand.

Stay with me.

His gaze settled on my lips. Which I licked.

“Maybe I should—”

Say it! Yes, say it! I thought.

“Lucas! Come on!” I heard from behind me.

And as the cymbals crashed, he made his decision. “Call you tomorrow?” he asked, and I nodded. He kissed my cheek, which burned like icy fire, and then he was gone. With Little Miss Mattress Giant. And I was still on the beach, holding a pink bear, with cold feet, whispering, No, don’t go.

When the last starbursts had left the sky, I realized now I was the one without a ride home. Sophia and Neil were kind enough to drive me home, and during the ride I got to hear all about how often Lucas and Julie used to fight and break up, only to make up again. I also had to listen to Sophia plot the demise of Julie, if indeed she was back to stay. And I further had to listen to Sophia tell me how much she now liked me, and felt like I would be a great choice for her cousin. If, in fact, he was still available.

Neil tried to keep the conversation away from Sophia’s plotting ways. He asked questions about Our Gang, and mentioned that they had some friends in San Francisco who were getting married and were thinking about adopting a shelter dog. I told him that when they were ready, I’d be glad to have them come down and meet my dogs.

When they dropped me off and it was just me and the quiet mountains, I was glad to be alone.

Alone. This is what I’d wanted, right? To be on my own, doing it my way, just like Frank said. Tied to no one, answering only to myself, depending on no one. Just me and Sammy Davis Jr. I got ready for bed alone, I turned out the lights alone, I plodded in circles alone, restless. Not ready to end this day. Alone.

I was still alone on the back patio, Sinatra on the hi-fi, hastily made mai tai in hand, a little teary and a little bleary, when I got a text from Lucas.

If you’re awake, can you come to the front door?

I stood in the doorway, hiding my lower half behind the door, as my lower half was currently clad in nothing but panties and air. He was standing on the porch leaning against the post, looking weary and beautiful. His eyes seemed bluer than normal, perhaps due to the contrasting red that lingered there. Caused by whiskey, or tears?

“Hi,” he said, sounding exhausted.

“What are you doing here, Lucas?” I asked, resting my temple against the door.

“Can I come in?”

“I’m not wearing pants.”

“I’ll risk it,” he replied, the left corner of his mouth lifting. I opened the door further, and his eyes roamed over my choice of pajamas. “Is that my—”

“Shirt, yes, it is.” I shrugged, attempting nonchalance. “You left it here one day after we were out kayaking, and I never got it back to you.”

It would be hard to get it back to him, since I’d been sleeping in it most nights since. An old chambray work shirt, it was soft and broken in, smelling of salt and sun and . . . oh, hell . . . Lucas. If I cared to examine what it meant, that I chose to surround myself with his scent every night, one might draw a conclusion that I was unwilling to face quite yet. Especially since that conclusion left me on a beach, without a ride home, while he went off with his ex.

But, yeah, it was just a shirt.

He let his eyes linger on my bare legs.

“Can I come in?” he asked when his eyes finally met mine again.

“Sure,” I replied, holding the door open.

He heard the Sinatra and let “That Old Black Magic” pull him out to the patio, where he knew I’d been.

“Cocktails? This late?”

“Couldn’t sleep; I figured one of these should do the trick.” I held up my tiki tumbler, then took another long pull. “So?” I tried to keep the bitterness out of my voice, but it wasn’t hard to tell that I carried a grudge from earlier. He’d hurt me.

“I’m sorry I left you tonight. That was a bad idea.”

“Bad because you left me? Or bad because you left me and went off with her?”

“Is there a difference?”

“There is.” I sighed, settling back into my patio chair, crossing my legs. Once more, his eyes flickered to my skin. Once more, I observed this, and filed it away.

“So, what happened?” I asked, hating myself for wanting to know. But I did. Something was beginning to simmer, deep and low and barely there, but beginning to peek out around the sad. Anger? Jealousy? Fear?

“In a nutshell, she told me she wants to come home. It seems that Mattress Giant doesn’t pay too well.”

“She’s only been there a little while; it takes time to build an acting career. Is she taking classes? Does she have an agent? She shouldn’t give up so easily; she needs to be patient,” I rambled, convincing no one that my concern for her career was the only reason that I thought she should stay far, far away.

“Julie isn’t really known for her patience.”

“Tons of my old pageant friends went to LA and tried their hand at acting. She should stick it out awhile longer. She should . . .” My voice trailed off, because Lucas was just shaking his head.

“I was surprised to see her tonight. I can’t deny that it messed with my head a bit. I haven’t seen her since our wedding day. Christ, how weird does that sound?”

“Not that weird,” I managed.