I reluctantly swipe at the paper plastered to my shin and thrust it out to him. He looks up finally, and I shake the paper in his face, refusing to take (much) note of his darkly handsome features or stubble.

He can’t be more than a year or two older than I am. How on earth does he have stubble? Vada’s boyfriend Luke’s cheeks are baby smooth. Granted, Ben has a spectacular beard he uses wax on daily, but he’s in college.

As I get to the end of my list, it occurs to me it’s possible I need more friends.

“Thank you,” he says.

“You’re welcome.”

He turns back to his work, and I don’t move. After a minute, he looks back at me. “Can I help you?”

“No,” I answer automatically before shaking my head. “Actually, yes,” I say, feeling emboldened. “I came down here to sit on the edge.”

“I’m on the edge.”

“Right. I noticed,” I agree, plowing on. “But you’re drawing or writing or whatever and wouldn’t one of these”—I pat the large flat boulder beside me—“be a better surface?”

His black brows crease together. “I’m already here.”

“Yes. I know. I just had this sort of romantic idea. Sort of a ‘Keira Knightly in Pride and Prejudice standing on the edge of a cliff with the wind tearing at my dress’ situation”—I gesture at my cutoff overalls and Birks—“minus the dress, obviously, and I drove all night to get here … Well, okay, my best friend drove, but that’s beside the point … I’m like super in my feels right now after a pretty terrible day and…” I change direction. “Look. I’m doing this gap year thing?”

He shakes his head, chuckling low. “I’m not moving for your Instagram post.”

“My … what? No. That’s not…” I scoff, frustrated. “It’s this thing. I’m trying to find myself. My true self. And maybe pray? I just … really need that spot. Please? I don’t want to see anything but the waves of Lake Superior and…”

“Jesus, fine. Calm down.” The kid starts gathering his stuff and shoving it into his bag.

“Oh, you don’t have to completely leave. I’m not trying to kick you out.”

“No, you’re just trying to get me to vacate my spot so you can commune with the heavens or whatever. I get it. I don’t care. I’m done anyway.”

I bite my lip. “Now I feel bad.”

He pauses in his packing and levels me with a look, letting out a resigned huff that softens it somehow. His eyes are brown and fringed with thick lashes and unexpected kindness. “Don’t. It’s a good spot. I have to get to work anyway.”

“Okay. If you’re sure? Thank you. I owe you one,” I say, giving him a smile.