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To those of us who experienced childhood through books and stories. I’m glad we never grew up.
This dedication 🥹
I’m a people pleaser through and through. And saying yes is my not-so-hidden love language.
Her eyes. Blue, like the color of Never Harbor’s ocean. Vast and unpredictable. Calm but somehow deeper than they seem. Pretty.
I’m of the firm belief that collecting books and reading books are separate hobbies anyway.
I know Wendy wouldn’t be looking at me like this if we weren’t talking about Sam. But sometimes, adults can play pretend too. And I pretend that smile is just for me.
“About Jill?” he asks. My heart stumbles in place, freezing me to the ground. “Yeah. How’d you know?” Jasper shrugs. “I listen.”
Me making her laugh? That’s a different, wonderful kind of high.
But then she pauses, staring at the one extra pickle inside. Wendy’s eyes slide over to me. “You packed two for me?”
“You said you liked them,” I answer. “I do.” “Then, why wouldn’t I do something simple if you like it?”
I love reading during the summer. It’s the only time I can fully disappear into a story without the subconscious stresses of coming up with lesson plans or answering emails or dealing with people.
Same!
Wendy is bright sunshine with wonder and adventure.
I kissed Jasper. No, he kissed me. Actually, I climbed that man like a tree.
“You said your ladder was broken. I wanted to take a look.” “You did?”
“God, you’re like my star in the sky, Wendy.”
“My North Star. Always showing me the direction I should travel. I’ve never met someone like you before.”
Any additional hour together feels like a secret souvenir from a vacation we can’t have, a memento from a different Never Harbor.
“Are you going?” I ask. “Yes.” “Then, I’ll be there.”
“I don’t want friendship.” My breath catches in my throat. “You don’t?” “No.” He sighs. “Wendy, I want you.”
“I would like to read your story.” Her once-teasing expression falls. “Really?” “Of course. How can I tell everyone to read it if I haven’t read it myself?”
I’m starting to wonder what type of man I truly am. Am I the hermit in the seaside shack? The man rattled by grief and nightmares? The overbearing dad? The terrible flirt? Or am I the man Wendy sees?
And if I’m not that man, I wonder if I could be.
“Yeah. I think I kinda like your name with mine,”
“Are the flowers too much?” he asks. “Depends. What are they for?” “Nothing in particular,” he says, and the exhale that follows is so sweet. “Just felt right.”
“Is this a date?” I tease. Without hesitation, he answers, “I don’t take anyone out to sea, except you.”
“You’re the first person who makes me feel like I’m going to be okay.”
“Never is a long time.” I sigh. “Not long enough.”
I don’t know what our endgame is here, but there’s no option that doesn’t include me falling harder than I already have.
She provides sunshine in the darkness of a world I once thought had abandoned me.
“You’re my dad now, right, Cap?”
Home. That’s what it feels like when Jasper Davies kisses me
“And why are we talking about this again?” I ask through a grin. “Because I don’t know how to tell you that I love you.”
“I love you, Wendy Darling. You know I’m not great at talking, so that’s all I’ve got. I love you. And I hope it’s enough.”
“Yes. Home, baby. To me.” “At the cottage?” “Yes. Home,” he clarifies
“For my—Wendy, you are my family. Whether or not you date any of my sons is neither here nor there.
Because I’d choose him every time. In any reality. In any fantasy. In every fairy tale.
“You hand-bound my book?” He nods.
With Wendy, life simply feels like an awfully big adventure.
