“So, um . . . ,” she began, changing the subject. “Big plans for tomorrow?”

“Farm stand in the morning, beach in the afternoon. Want to come?”

“I have to work.”

“Maybe another time.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” The lie killed her appetite for ice cream, and for a split second she hated Finley Donoghue. Then she hated herself. She opened the truck door. “Thanks again for helping with Finley. I really—”

Campbell cut her off with a kiss. His mouth was soft and tasted like vanilla ice cream, and she really wanted to kiss him back. Instead, she pulled away.

“This . . . can’t happen.”

“Willa.”

“I won’t hurt Finley like that. Not when she’s sick. Not ever.”

She ran up the stairs to her apartment and went straight to her room, but the memory of kissing Cam kept her awake all night. In the morning, her phone chimed with a text from Finley. Tell me last night wasn’t a dream. Campbell was in my bedroom, right?

Yep, Willa responded, her face burning with betrayal. It was real.

“Willa.” Cam reaches for her now, his fingertips on her hip as he takes a step closer. She has tried so hard to stay away from him. Out of respect for Finley’s feelings. And because there’s no room in Willa’s future for a guy like him. But even now she still wants him. Fire rushes through her veins, and when he licks his lower lip, she leans in. Then the boat sways and Campbell steps back.

“Cam?” Taylor comes into the cabin carrying her cat, Pumpkin, and her eyes narrow when she sees Willa. “What are you doing here?”

“Same thing as you, I guess.”

This day has been circled on their calendars for two years, ever since Finley suggested they pool their money to buy a cheap sailboat and spend their post-graduation summer sailing from Sandusky to Key West.

“There’s no such thing as a cheap sailboat,” Willa pointed out at the time, but Finley waved her hand like Obi-Wan Kenobi and said the right boat would appear when they needed it.

Like magic, Taylor’s dad was taking a shortcut on a back road in Lorain County when he spotted an old Mirage 25 sitting in someone’s barn. The paint had faded to a chalky yellow and the name was almost completely worn away, but the hull was sound. And the price was cheap, relatively speaking. Willa’s share took a considerable bite out of her college savings, but she paid it because she knew it would be worth it. Like sailing to Kelleys in an eight-foot dinghy.