Ben flushes, fusses his fingers over the pool divider rope hanging next to my head. “Luke offered me a cut, and I need the money. I know it’s…I don’t enjoy the end part, at least. It’s Luke’s thing. We can get out of here if you want.”

I don’t need to be asked twice. I follow Ben out, and we walk side by side toward the front of the school. The afternoon’s blue sky is yielding to murky gray as we near dinnertime.

“You could have at least warned me about all the Maura content,” I rib him. “It’s a bit weird realizing my grandmother is on some kind of God level in this town. Like, I knew, but I didn’t know.”

“Wait until tomorrow night. The annual movie on the green is a real trip. The movie based on the bestseller your grandmother wrote, based on the real murder this town also celebrates, which was filmed in town.”

“Like a murder turducken.”

Ben guffaws—literally guffaws!—and there’s that torrent of butterflies pulsing through my body again. He thinks I’m funny.

He stops at the front steps, threads nervous fingers through his unruly blond hair. “We could go…if you want. I mean, it doesn’t have to be a date, it could be like a group thing.”

“Is there a group?” I ask, teasing him a bit.

“No, um, it’s just me. Unless you want to invite your grandmother.”

“How positively Victorian. Or Edwardian.”

“Where’s Gabriel when you need him? He’d know.”

“Oh?” I tilt my head in confusion. He’s the last person I expected Ben to bring up.

“He’s a local history buff. That’s why he hates our tour so much. Thinks it cheapens the town history, going into all the murders and Maura Weston stuff.”

“So he’s a nerd and a jock, all in one? Seaview contains multitudes.”

“Why, is that your type?” Ben plays at flexing an arm muscle.

“No, I’m more into blonds who awkwardly ask girls on dates after a murder tour to watch their grandmother’s movie adaptation in the public square.”

“Is that a yes, then?”

“Yes. Though we could make it a second date if you want. We could go grab dinner.” Suddenly, I am as bold as I am starving.

“Uh, that’s not going to work. If you blow off your welcome party, your grandmother will blow a gasket.”

“My what?”

“You didn’t know? Shit. It must be a surprise. Uh, act surprised, okay? Or Maura might kill me.”

I oscillate between appreciation that my grandmother would throw me a welcome party and rage that she didn’t tell me. I soften. How could she know I hate surprises? “Will I at least see you there?”

Ben stifles a laugh. “No, my grandfather and I are not invited.”

“Why? Is there something I need to know?”