Back Start Here
Chapters (58)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. Finley
  5. 41.4489° N, 82.7080° W
  6. Willa
  7. Taylor
  8. Willa
  9. Taylor
  10. 41.4993° N, 81.6944° W
  11. Willa
  12. Taylor
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  14. Taylor
  15. 43.0962° N, 79.0377° W
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  17. Taylor
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  20. 43.4553° N, 76.5105° W
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  22. Taylor
  23. 41.0857° N, 73.8585° W
  24. Willa
  25. 40.7128° N, 74.0059° W
  26. Taylor
  27. Willa
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  29. Willa
  30. 39.3643° N, 74.4229° W
  31. Taylor
  32. Willa
  33. Taylor
  34. 36.8508° N, 76.2859° W
  35. Willa
  36. Taylor
  37. 36.5141° N, 75.8653° W
  38. Willa
  39. Taylor
  40. Willa
  41. Taylor
  42. Taylor
  43. Willa
  44. 31.4178° N, 81.2958° W
  45. Taylor
  46. Willa
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  48. 29.9012° N, 81.3124° W
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  50. 25.7255° N, 79.2968° W
  51. Taylor
  52. Willa
  53. Taylor
  54. 24.5465° N, 81.7975° W
  55. Willa
  56. Acknowledgments
  57. About the Author
  58. Copyright

She stops to reply in front of a live music venue. A signboard beside the front door advertises a band called the Freecoasters. Tonight only. Taylor could call it divine providence or the hand of fate—or even belief in the unbelievable—but her heart feels as light as her hair as she texts Wyatt back. I have an idea.

Once their plans are in place, Taylor returns to the marina. She’s walking up the dock when Willa spies her. She sits up to get a better look and her eyes bug out. “Oh my God, Taylor!” she cries. “You do look amazing. I had no idea you were planning to bleach it too.”

“I wasn’t,” Taylor admits, stepping aboard the boat. “But the stylist talked me into it.”

“That was such a good call. I love it.”

“Thank you. Me too.” Unable to help herself, Taylor runs her fingers through her hair again. “Anyway, there’s a show tonight at a live music club in town. We’re going.”

“I don’t know,” Willa says. “I’m exhausted and kinda just want to go check out the marina’s book exchange library.”

Taylor shakes her head. “Did I mention we’re going to see a band tonight? Because that’s what we’re doing. We’ll have not-Hurricane Tacos here first, and we only have to stay for one set.”

“God. Fine.” Willa sighs. “Did you pay the salon extra for the bossy attitude?”

Taylor laughs. “They threw it in for free.”

A couple of hours later, the girls are finished with dinner and dressed for a night out. Taylor is recycling the outfit she wore to the Sister Kismet concert and Willa’s wearing the red slip dress she bought at the thrift store in New York City. With her hair done up in a curly bun, she is absolutely beautiful, and if Wyatt’s mouth doesn’t hit the floor when he sees her, Taylor is going to kick his ass all the way back to North Carolina.

She snaps a photo of Willa as she perches on the seat of her old battered cruiser bike wearing her dress and heels. Everything about the picture is perfect. The composition. The juxtaposition of glamorous and shabby. The rosy quality of the fading light. As Taylor uploads it to their Instagram, she knows this one will be off-the-charts popular.