“Whoa,” Willa says softly. “That kind of brings that day at the sailing club into perspective. I mean, it’s still not okay that you called me trailer trash, but I couldn’t figure out why you were so mad at me when you didn’t even like sailing.”

“Oh, it gets weirder,” Taylor says. “I was also mad that Campbell chose you over Finley.”

Willa scratches behind Pumpkin’s ears. “That shouldn’t make sense, but I guess it does. You wanted Finley’s happiness, even if it wasn’t with you. And if she wanted Campbell . . .”

“Exactly.”

“Well, the bright side is that he never got the chance to break her heart,” Willa says wistfully. Then, “So how does Brady fit into the picture?”

“I loved him too.”

Willa’s eyebrows lift. “How . . . interesting.”

“I was going to tell you when we were in New York City, but kissing a girl was brand-new for me, and I just wanted to keep it private a little while longer.”

“I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.”

“It’s totally fine,” Taylor says. “I’m glad you know.”

“I know it’s not the same as being able to tell Finley,” Willa says. “She was your best friend.”

“It would have been unfair to dump my unrequited love on her, so this isn’t something I could have talked to her about. Thanks for listening.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I haven’t said anything to my parents yet, so . . .”

“Hey, what happens on the boat stays on the boat, okay?”

Taylor nods. “Agreed.”

Willa slides on her sunglasses and makes a locking motion over her lips. “Now, give me that tiller. We’ve got wild horses to see.”

36.5141° N, 75.8653° W

Get a little wild.

Willa

“THERE IS LITERALLY NO WAY we can get to Corolla in this boat,” Willa says as she studies the depth chart of Currituck Sound. “This whole bay is practically shallow enough to walk across without getting your hair wet; our keel would get stuck in the mud in a hot minute.”

Taylor strokes a bit of navy-blue polish on her big toe. “Is there a ferry?”

“Nope.”

“Could we take the dinghy?”

“We could, but it would probably be a two- or three-hour trip each way, and then we’d have to find a safe place to beach it,” Willa says. “There are other places in the Outer Banks where we could see wild horses, but this is really the only place where they’re not penned.”

“So how are we going to make this happen?”

Willa steps into her flip-flops. Her ruby polish has chipped down to tiny bits of color and she thinks maybe she should paint her own toenails. “I’m going to ask the people who work at the marina. Maybe someone will have a suggestion.”