Even within the relatively protected water of the pier, Whiskey Tango Foxtrot bobs and pitches on the waves, and the wind sends all the boats in slow 360s around their moorings. Willa worries that the drifting boat will crash against the pier, but her priority is making sure her own boat stays safe. She spends the entire night standing watch, keeping the engine running in case she needs to cut the mooring line and motor away. She takes shelter from the weather only in tiny increments, only to get more coffee.

The rain stops at around four in the morning.

The wind takes another hour to taper off.

By the time the sun rises, the only sign of the storm is the loose boat, thumping against the pier. Willa kills the engine, peels off her wet gear, and falls into her bunk. She’s nearly unconscious when Taylor’s phone vibrates with an incoming text. We’re on our way.

Willa groans. She just wants to sleep, but now she has to bail the rainwater from the dinghy and row ashore. As she pulls the oars through the water, she can see them—Taylor, Campbell, and Campbell’s date—and Willa is tempted to row back to the boat, motor out of New York, and leave the Nicholsons standing right where they are. Instead, she tosses a line to Cam and climbs out of the dinghy.

“The weather radar was nearly purple last night!” Taylor throws her arms around Willa. “You . . . you are a big damn hero!”

She doesn’t know how to respond to this strange new Taylor. Or how to act in front of Campbell and the girl clutching his hand. Willa has never believed that heartbreak is a physical phenomenon, but now, as she stands in the place where her head and her heart intersect, the pain is breathtakingly real. She masks it with a joke. “Throwing myself directly in the path of an oncoming thunderstorm was the only way I could get rid of Jonathen with an e.”

Taylor laughs. “You mean Mr. Ironic Mustache?”

“There was no irony there,” Willa says. “Did you find a place to stay, or did you party all night?”

“We shared a room at a hostel near the Donut Shop.” Taylor gestures at Campbell and the girl, forcing Willa to acknowledge them.

“This is Kaia,” he says. “We went to Cornell together.”

He is either completely oblivious or intentionally cruel. Either way, Willa doesn’t want to know this girl’s name. She doesn’t want to know anything about her. She wishes she could rewind time and stop herself from kissing Campbell Nicholson at that fraternity party, but the only direction she can go now is forward. Willa curls her hands into fists to keep from slapping the smug little grin from his face, then turns to Taylor. “So, what are we doing today?”

“We were thinking about getting something to eat and then—”