❝ who knew the summer isabel conklin got a glow up would bring this much angst? ❞
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where macedonia castillo, the famous authors daughter, is forced to befriend conrad fisher when he starts helpi...
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i walked slowly back to the boat, the morning sun enough to make me squint to see if conrad had beat me there.
i had just gotten lunch with dad, and was heading back to the boat. my father had left me just outside the restaurant, heading back to our beach house instead of the boat, knowing of my plans.
"be careful, macedonia." he pointed a loaded finger at me, "do we need to have the talk?"
instead of groaning, like how i usually would've, i turned to humor instead, "i'll be sure to name them cousins, after this place." my dads face only got sterner, but i let out a laugh that had been bubbling up inside, "ew dad, come on, i would never." i shook my head.
feelings for conrad fisher were one thing, anything beyond that i hadnt set my mind on yet.
"k, good." he smiled, waved, "have fun." i smiled back, trying not to blush, "also, could you have him check a spot for me on the boat? i noticed some discoloration and want to make sure its not a problem." my father told me exactly where it was, and i nodded, and headed for the boat.
a silhouette standing at the edge of the dock perfectly formed conrads body, and i smiled, not knowing if he was looking at me just yet.
a wave said he was.
"hey mace." he said again, and i got sudden dejavu. he met me in the middle of the dock, right next to my boat.
"hey, connie." i said it slowly, suddenly nervous to call him that again, now knowing he liked it. i didnt want to look at his reaction, so i just kept talking, putting a hand above my eyes as a sun block, "so my dad wanted you to check something for him." i stepped into the boat semi-gracefully, and offering him my hand, "can you come check?"
he smirked down at me, and slipped his hand into mine. it was soft, warm. just like his smile.
i didnt want to let go when we had gotten to the spot on the boat, but a small gasp left conrad's mouth and he crunched down beneath it.
"what? is it bad?" i said quietly, and he began to pick at the wood.
"yeah, its wood rot." he grunted, having a whole strip of wood break off and fall in his hands just by touching it.
"rot!?" i said, probably too loud.
"see how brittle it is on the inside?" he asked me, and i crouched down too, next to him, "this is bad. we have to pry off bits until we reach clean wood." his voice had begun to get stern, deeper, as if this was his boat.
he reached for another strip of wood, and it indeed fell off just as easily, but his fingers had gotten stuck with the rough splinters that jutted out of it, he winced harshly, cursing as he pulled his hand back.
