“Oh,” I say. “Yeah. Sure.” I almost add that I’ll come, too, but the way Lex is blushing clues me in that this is meant to be a private tour.

“You don’t mind, do you, Av?” Lex looks worried. Like he feels bad leaving me alone. But I’m used to being alone, so I shake my head and tell Lex that he should go with Jude. Because Jude is leaning against the door frame, grinning, all gorgeous curls and long eyelashes and flirty smiles. So, yeah. Of course Lex should go with him.

We promise to meet back up for lunch, and I decide to head out to the sea porch. I’ve been thinking about that green-striped awning since I saw it in the fog last night.

I try finding my way through the house, but the rooms and hallways are like a maze. After I get lost the third time, I give up and backtrack to the cafeteria so I can head out the side door and follow the stone path around to the back.

When I come around the corner of the farmhouse, I stop dead in my tracks. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to it all. That stunning view. Or the coolness of an ocean breeze in the middle of June. And the way the air smells here. Fresh, but with a little bit of a bite. Like salt and flowers and seaweed. And something that reminds me of the way clean, crisp sheets feel against your skin in the summertime.

I listen to the faraway song of the waves. Watch them breaking down at the beach in a line of white foam. Seagulls cry overhead, and colorful sailboats dart back and forth against the horizon. It’s perfect.

Magical.

So much more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen in Texas. It seems more like another planet than another state.

It’s more than just pretty, though. There’s also something about it that just feels right. In almost the same way that Lex feels right. Like this is where I belong. On these wide back steps with the lighthouse standing guard.

I let my eyes travel the distance to the water.

Green lawn.

Brown sand.

White foam.

Blue sea.

Then I look up. There’s something so familiar about that striped awning covering the huge porch.

I wait. Just in case. But no new memories come to me, so I take out my phone and return a few texts from Dad. I promise him I’m fine. Really. That everything is going great. Then I pull the script for Midnight Music out of my bag. It’s a dog-eared edition from when I first read it in ninth grade. I need to go over it again and make some notes before tonight.

But something stops me.