Amelia Saylor has sworn off of commitment until she finds the person who exceeds every expectation she's created for herself. But her plans to spend her summer surfing, stargazing, and living vicariously through romance books take a turn when JJ May...
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Amelia wakes up on the pull-out at the Chateau, nearly falling off the edge with JJ sprawled out next to her.
It's a lot cooler than usual, courtesy of the rain from the storm the previous night healing the house from the harshness of the usual beaming sun.
She tries to tear her eyes away when she sees him without a shirt, arms stretched out over a pillow, his hair brushing over his eyes slightly. Amelia's always thought he looks so tranquil while sleeping. Like nothing could wake him up and ruin the peace he's experiencing.
As he slept, he softly snored, barely any sound coming out of his mouth, only enough for her to hear, causing a small smile to spread on her face.
Then she remembers it isn't nice to stare.
She hears John B mumbling to himself, the clinking sounds of cans being kicked across the floor immediately follow.
There's an angry flip of the light switch followed by more cans being kicked.
"No service. No power. Great."
He sighs, frustrated, not being able to bring himself to look outside at the damage the hurricane caused.
No power on the cut means it would be a while until it gets fixed. The figure eight is always first priority, even with all their generators. It's unfair and it took Amelia a while to get used to after moving back to her mom's house, but she ended up finding a sort of appreciation in it.
Barely any of their favorite activities involved power, anyway.
Amelia rubs her eyes, sitting up on her elbows. All her muscles still sore from the previous night of surfing and being thrown from wave to wave. She winces at the pressure being put on her achy arms but gets up anyway. The bed creaks underneath her and JJ stirs in his sleep, one of the arms that was on the pillow coming down to rub his eyes.
She takes one look outside and gasps. Agatha did a number on the marsh, not to mention the outside of the Chateau. There's driftwood spread all throughout the front yard, covered in mud and trash. A tree crashed through the screen around the porch. Their boat looks even worse than normal, the already scratched up paint being chipped off more from the lone branches.
But the birds are still outside chirping, finally making their way back to the big tree in front, and there's no longer clouds covering every inch of the sky.
A slow, soft drizzle is still falling from above, only being disrupted every few minutes by a crack of thunder.
It looks depressing, Amelia concludes, but this has always been her favorite kind of weather.
Every night during a storm when she and the rest of the pogues were younger, they'd all huddle outside on the soggy hammock together, letting the drops free fall all around them and they would just talk.
