THE GIRLS HELPED me get ready for the “party” Tuesday night. My parents thought I was staying at Zara’s house for a school project—and I was—just not until after I met with Beckett.

It would just be him and me, but the girls and I gathered driftwood for a bonfire that would burn for hours if needed. We set a cooler with drinks nearby and even got out a couple of canvas chairs and blankets so Beckett and I wouldn’t have to lie on the sand or sit on hard, warped stumps.

Nervous didn’t even come close to describing the jitters spreading to every single part of my body. Soon, it would be just Beckett and me, and I’d have no one telling me which move to make next. This would be different than our encounters at the bakery—I’d asked Beckett to come. And he’d said yes.

“Are you sure I can do this?” I asked them.

“Of course,” Jordan said. “He’s coming; that’s half the battle.”

“Exactly,” Zara agreed. “And remember what he said on the recording? He’s done dating girls like Merritt. Now is your chance to show him what he needs.”

Callie reached out and adjusted my curls so they fell easily over my shoulder. “You look amazing.”

Ginger nodded. “He’d be crazy not to fall for you.”

People had complimented me before in my life. Sometimes it was off the cuff or on the followed a self-deprecating comment. Whether it came from my mom or a friend, I just had a hard time believing it, no matter how desperately I wanted to. I knew what I was, and I knew what I wasn’t. But I still thanked Callie. Her words came from a kind place.

Jordan looked over the setup. “Do you need anything else?”

“About a million times more confidence that this isn’t going to be a terrible disaster?” I only half-joked.

Ginger laughed. “See? Funny. He’ll love that.”

“Exactly,” Zara said. “He won’t even know what hit him.”

Light from Callie’s phone illuminated her face. “He should be here soon. We better go,” Callie said. “But chat us if you need anything. And tell us everything after.”

I gave her a soft smile. “I will.”

They walked away, the sand softly swishing under their feet. I stared at the waves, flicking my phone case away from the phone and letting it slap back until Zara’s car started up and pulled away.

With a sigh, I sat in one of the chairs with my feet extended toward the fire. This close to the ocean, it was cold at night—the saltwater chill easily seeped through my clothes and cooled me to the bone.

Or maybe that was the sinking feeling in my gut that told me Beckett wouldn’t come. That Merritt was right and I was just a charity case for him. Just the thought made me shiver.

But then footsteps sounded in the sand, and I looked over my shoulder to see Beckett walking easily toward me, his arms swinging at his sides.

He smiled an easy smile and lifted a hand. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I breathed, even though I knew he couldn’t hear me. Still, he came closer and sat in the chair next to me.

“One beach party,” I said as I spread my arms wide. “Since you had to skip the last one to come after me.”

His smile crackled brighter than the fire. “I think we had more fun than them anyway.”

My stomach swooped. I knew I had. I just hadn’t expected him to feel that way. Or say those words.

“So,” he said. “Where we left off. I was going to ask you if you wanted a drink.”

“You were?”

He nodded, then gestured toward the cooler. “Would you like a drink?” I giggled. I couldn’t help myself. “Yes, please.”

“Let’s see. We have…” He opened the cooler lid and scanned the contents. First, he pulled out a red sports drink and then a blue one. “Cherry daquiri or blueberry mule.”

I laughed. “Daquiri me.”

He handed it over, and we were silent for a moment as we twisted the caps open and drank.

“Honestly,” I said, “I’m not really sure what to do now. I haven’t been to many parties.”

Only one to be exact, and I’d left that one early. But I didn’t tell him that.

He smiled. “It’s easy. Just drink some cheap beer from a keg, make an ass of yourself, go home, fall asleep, then wake up regretting what you did the night before.”

“And you’re speaking from experience?”

He capped his drink and wedged it in the sand. “Oh, no, of course not.

This is all theoretical.”

I laughed. “Well, theoretically, what should we do now?”

“One step ahead of you.” He had his phone out and music blended with the crash of the surf. It had a nice beat with something that sounded like steel drums in the background.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“I haven’t heard it before. It’s like a cool version ‘Under the Sea.’” “It’s indie.”

I listened to the song for a minute, my heart racing out of tempo. “What about now?”

“If we’re going off last time, I think you still owe me a truth, Cupcake.”

A groan escaped my lips as I remembered the horrible event that led to one of the best nights ever. “What did you ask again?”

“I think it was most embarrassing date.”

“Oh.” I looked down at the drink in my hands, almost wishing the ground could swallow me up as easily as I did my birth control pills at night. “I haven’t been on a date.”

His mouth fell open, almost comically. “What? Really?” My cheeks warmed. “Why do you look so surprised?”

He sat back, masking his expression. “I just…I don’t know why no one’s asked you out.”

I shook my head, so not wanting to go there. Self-deprecating why- would-guys-like-a-girl-like-me talk was definitely not sexy, even if it was accurate. “I guess that means I really do get a pass?”

“This time,” he agreed. “And I think it’s a dumb game anyway.”

“You do?”

He nodded. “Why don’t we just talk? I liked when we did that at the bakery.”

I didn’t need the fire. His words warmed me up way more effectively. I looked down at my hands folded over the blanket in my lap. “I liked that too.”

“I have a question for you,” he said. “Where would you go if you could go anywhere in the world?”

I glanced toward the stars that dotted the sky. “The Vatican. I want to see the Sistine Chapel.”

“Really? Anywhere in the world and you want to look at ancient paintings?”

With a shrug, I said, “I could go to a touristy place and take a selfie, or I could see thousands of years in a single second. That art, the amount of people who have seen it and been moved by it—it’s more amazing than anything I could imagine.”

“When you put it like that…” He nodded appreciatively. “I can see why.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His smile softened, making my insides do the same. “I like older art anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“Back then they accepted things as they were, found beauty in the everyday.”

“Aside from painting things that didn’t exist,” I teased.

With a laugh, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. I found myself leaning closer too. “Think about the paintings,” he said. “They weren’t these airbrushed models holding themselves to ridiculous standards. The women were real.”

My heart fluttered. I’d never thought of ancient art like that, and the fact that Beckett had thought so much about it made me like him even more. But it got me thinking. “What’s your favorite thing you’ve ever taken a photo of?”

His hazel eyes caught mine, dark in the fire, and all the energy there transferred to me as he said, “You.”

My heart hammered like it was trying to leap out of my chest and touch his words where they hung between us, sizzling over the fire.

“Me?”

He nodded. “Your lips.” His fingers twitched in his lap like he wished he could touch them. I wished he would.

“Yeah?”

“They’re stunning.”

I absentmindedly brushed my finger over my mouth, each nerve ending sensitive, longing to feel his lips on mine. What if my first kiss was with Beckett Langley? With this strong, thoughtful guy sitting across from me?

“What’s your favorite thing you’ve ever painted?” he asked, breaking the tension.

With nervous tingles spreading through my chest, I made a decision. Wordlessly, I took my phone and thumbed to the watercolor I’d painted of us and extended it to him.

“Is that…” He left his question hanging, and I answered it with a nod. Us. Kissing. Doing what everyone thought was impossible.

His lips pressed together, and for a second I was afraid he’d sneer at me, walk away, share what an embarrassment I’d made of myself with the entire school. But he didn’t do any of those things.

Instead, he shifted from his chair and got to his knees in the sand. Soon, he was kneeling in front of me, his eyes level with my own. He was coming closer. His breath smelled sweet, like he’d sampled something from the bakery.

I closed my eyes, waiting for the magic of his lips to mine, but was greeted with a ringing instead.

His phone was ringing.

Beckett swore under his breath, but I sat back, catching my own. His thumb slid over the screen, and he held the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

He was quiet for a moment before saying, “Now?”

I didn’t quite understand the sinking in my chest. Why it hurt so bad that he’d probably have to leave.

Beckett’s eyes turned to me, glittering in the firelight, and his lips turned down. “I’ll be there,” he said roughly into the speaker. “Bye.”

I tried to hide the unexplainable breaking in my chest as he dimmed his phone screen and put it in his pocket.

“My dad’s plans changed, and he’s coming home tonight,” he explained. “And he wants you there.” My voice was seconds from cracking.

Beckett nodded. “I’m so sorry.”

Faking a smile was harder than it had ever been before as I said, “It’s fine. Between half the party last week and half the party tonight, you’ve gotten in a full one without the hangover.”

His chuckle sounded low and got lost in the crash of the waves. “Let me help you clean up at least.”

I shook my head. “Go see your dad. I’ve got this.” I stood and started folding my blanket, desperate for something to do with my hands. Somewhere to direct my gaze.

His fingers stalled on mine, and I dared myself to look into his eyes. They were shining, magic sparking there. “Thank you for…the best party.” He trailed the tips of his fingers over my cheek and tucked a loose piece of hair behind my ear. “Cupcake.”

My bones immediately turned to mush. It was a miracle I remained standing as he turned and walked away, pausing at the edge of the sand to give me a final wave before driving away in his Mercedes.

After his taillights had faded around city streets, I bent to begin folding our chairs and blankets. The events of the evening still whirred through my mind. Had Beckett Langley been about to kiss me? And even better, had he been disappointed when he couldn’t?

My heart contorted itself in all sorts of unbearable positions at that thought. So much rode on whether or not Beckett liked me—the homecoming dance, finally putting Merritt in her place, my friendship with the other girls—but most of all, my heart. I wanted to believe that girls like me could have happily ever afters with guys like him.