Her groan filled the locker room. “Ugh. Yes, they did. They all kept going on and on about you.” The amount of irritation behind her tone amused me, as if her family liking me was the worst part of her week.

“Ahh, I see. You’re scared to catch a case of the Becketts.”

She was quiet for a moment. “The what?”

It just hit me, she didn’t know my last name. “Beckett. My last name is Beckett.”

A zipper closing echoed through the room. “Huh,” she said.

She was probably thinking the same thing I was: how odd it was that we didn’t even know each other's last names.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

Turning to face her was like a punch to the gut. This girl was always drop-dead gorgeous, but seeing her in white ski pants and an insulated pink Patagonia jacket with her braids slightly disheveled was like a dream come true. Her cheeks were slightly flushed from peeling off and putting on tight layers. I reminded myself to follow the moves Cooper told me about.

“I, um.” Jesus, what is wrong with me? “GOGGLES.”

She cocks her head to the side, confused. “Huh?”

I reached beside her to grab the beanie and reflective goggles from the bench. I shot back up so fast I nearly smacked her in the face. I held the beanie above her and hesitated, giving her a beat to deny me. Instead, she reluctantly tilted her head forward, and I placed the black beanie over her blonde braids. She adjusted it where she wanted it then looked at the goggles in my hand. I handed them to her and let her put them on herself.

Olive turned to a mirror so she could see better. “So, what’s the plan?” She asked me in the reflection.

Welp. “I didn’t really have a plan, I thought we could just wing it.”

She swiftly turned from the mirror to look at me as though I had grown a second head. “We can’t just wing it.” I looked from her to the wall and then back to her in confusion. “What if they ask you my favorite color? Or what movies I like? Or what my go-to order at Chick-fil-A is?”

I smiled down at her. “Then I would say maybe you should’ve played twenty questions with me on the plane.”

Olive smacked my arm but even that gesture made my stomach feel all messy.

“I’m serious! We need to set some ground rules.” Her stern expression reminded me of a toddler getting mad because her mom told her no.

“Well, go on. What are the ground rules?” I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall of lockers.

She tapped her foot like she was making a mental list.