She was at the kitchen window, wearing oversize sweats, her hair sexily unkempt. Her hands gripped a steaming mug of coffee as she stared out at the sparkling ocean view. She was so still, mesmerized by the beauty or just lost in thought. I wondered if I could sneak past her and leave without a word.

And then she turned. “ ’Morning, party girl.” There was an amused, mocking tone to her voice.

“’Morning,” I muttered, inching toward the front door. “I’m sorry about last night. I don’t normally drink. And I shouldn’t have smoked up.”

“Don’t worry, hon. We’ve all been there.” She walked toward the fancy espresso machine. “Coffee?”

My stomach churned. “No, thanks. I should go.”

“Okay,” she said breezily.

“Apologize to Max for me.”

“He’s out in the kayak. You have nothing to apologize for, but I’ll tell him when he gets back.”

I nodded and moved toward the door but stopped. There was something I had to ask.

“Last night . . . I thought I heard you scream.”

“Really?” she said, with a smirk. “You must have dreamed it. That pot was strong. I had crazy dreams all night.”

I had no choice but to believe her. And so I did.

7

For a few days, I was too ashamed to go to the pottery studio. I’d made a fool of myself, shown how immature and inexperienced I was. As I drove home after school one afternoon, not long after that crazy night, I felt a distinct sense of melancholy. My time with Freya had been the highlight of my mundane existence, and I’d ruined it. When I got home, I noticed the text messages. From her.

Are you coming today?

Is everything okay?

And then:

I miss you

A warmth spread through me as I read her words. I wasn’t used to being missed. When I’d spent the night in Freya’s guest room, my parents hadn’t even bothered to call me. Even though staying out all night was highly out of character, they had not panicked that I’d been in a car crash, mauled by a cougar, abducted by a pervert. That morning, when I’d finally shuffled into the house in my bedraggled state, my mom, my dad, and Gwen were having coffee in the kitchen.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” my mom said teasingly.

Gwen chimed in. “Uh-oh. The grad parties have begun!”

“Want some eggs?” my dad offered. “The amino acids will help your hangover.” He was a plumber by trade but considered himself something of an expert on the healing power of food.

My stomach churned. “No, thanks,” I grumbled. For my parents to think that my classmates would suddenly embrace me because the end of school was imminent just showed how clueless they were about my life. I hurried to my room.

But now, Freya was worrying about me, asking after my well-being, missing me. I was tempted to run out to my truck and drive directly to her studio, but it was getting late. So I texted back.