Chapter 1

"Spring signals the return of various species of coastal wildlife to the New Jersey shore, the place they call their summer home."

From "What's Love Got to Do with It? The Dating and Mating Habits of North American Sea Life." A junior thesis by Lucy Giordano.

I open the window shade in my third-story attic bedroom anticipating my usual—somewhat obstructed—ocean view and instead get an eyeful of Connor Malloy, sans shirt, on the roof of his parents' bungalow. Better than a mocha latte with two shots of espresso and whipped cream, as far as early-morning eye-openers and guilty pleasures go. Or at least he used to be until last fall, the Big Mistake, and the big storm—the one that tore apart our island and briefly brought together a local smart girl like me and a summer player like him. Now the guilt outweighs the pleasure.

Hammer in hand, Connor takes a nail from his mouth and taps a shingle into place. I would know those arms and that profile anywhere. I spent enough summers studying both from behind my sunglasses as Connor loped down toward the water with either a surfboard or his latest bikini-clad conquest tucked under one arm.

He stands to survey his work, glances my way, and does a double take before I can duck out of sight. My heart freezes midbeat, and I forget to breathe.

Shit. I don't want him to think I was staring, and yet I so obviously was. I should move. Why don't I move? It's like touching a scorching-hot stove top and experiencing a delay before feeling the burn. Step away from the window, Luce. Step away. I'm wearing a worn-out Conserve NJ Wildlife tee and tie-dye shorts, and my dirty blond hair desperately needs some sun-kissed highlights. Do I really want this to be the first time he sees me in seven months?

Connor waves his hammer at me. Too late.

"Lucy Goosey! What up?" Relief bordering on giddiness sweeps over me when he shouts his usual greeting, and I release the breath I've been holding since October. "Long time, no see."

Yes, it has been, I want to yell back, especially if you haven't been breathing ! Maybe things are back to normal between us. I spent all winter wondering if they could or even should be. Stupidly, I thought what we shared that morning before the storm meant something. I've dissected and relived each second we were together so many times that it's like there's a permanent PowerPoint slideshow in my brain. I'd almost figured out how to shut it off. Did he even give me or what happened a second thought? Were three post-storm text messages all he needed to move on? It's not like we normally communicate during the winter months, but this year I thought...no, I expected him to call. Because he said he would. And like the naive genius that I am, I believed him.

I should just wave to Connor and get ready for work. I've waited too long for his attention, and right now he doesn't deserve mine. But somehow, I can't stop myself. I open the screen and poke my head out.

"Hey."

"Hey," he says with a heaviness that makes my mouth go dry.

"When'd you get down?" I ask.

It doesn't matter what direction you're coming from; in New Jersey, people who aren't from the coastal regions go "down the shore."

He shades his eyes with one hand. "Late last night. I'm helping my dad finish some repairs."

Repairs, cleanup, rebuilding: they've all become part of the lexicon around here. "Here" being the barrier islands off the coast of New Jersey. "How long are you here for?"

"Just for the three-day weekend," he says. "Wish it were longer. I wanted to blow off school on Tuesday, but I've got a game."

"It's almost...