Untouched A Cedar Cove Novella

like this.”
    “You didn’t have to come.” I reply, already annoyed by her whining. Ever since the car pulled up, she’s done nothing but bitch about the house (too small), the town (too dead), and the “like, criminal” lack of AC and decent cell reception.
    Carina flips back her glossy blonde hair and rolls her eyes. “Please, mom practically begged. You know what she’s like, it’s so pathetic.”
    “Now, now,” my dad’s voice comes, amused, as he strolls out onto the porch, carrying a bottle of wine. He’s wearing a rumpled Oxford shirt, open at the neck, and a pair of his threadbare corduroy pants. “I’m sure your mother has a whole program of fascinating activities planned. She wouldn’t drag us out here for no good reason now, would she?”
    Carina giggles at the sarcasm in his voice, but I just feel a twist of betrayal. He always does this, cutting her down, making snide, witty comments about her when she’s not around. Carina doesn’t seem to realize, and I’ve long since given up trying to defend her, so I look away, out at the ocean horizon.
    Dad pulls up a rocker and opens the wine. “Jeanette?” he calls, without getting up. “Glasses, if you will.”
    “I can get them,” I start to get to my feet, but he waves me back, and a moment later, mom appears with two wine-glasses. She passes them over, out of breath.
    “Dinner will be ready in just a second,” she tells him, waiting for approval, but he just pours wine into one of the glasses and holds it out to me.
    “Honey?” My mom speaks up, looking concerned. “Do you think we should…?”
    “They serve wine to children all the time in Europe,” Dad replies dismissively.
    “It’s OK,” I interrupt quickly. “I don’t want it.”
    Carina rolls her eyes again and snatches the glass. “Honestly, mom. Grow up. I drink all the time at college.” She takes a long sip.
    Mom gives a nervous laugh. “You’re right, sweetie, of course.” She pauses another moment in the doorway, then heads back into the kitchen.
    I watch dad pour himself a glass—all the way to the brim—then set the bottle down. Not on the table, but on the stool beside his chair. Within reach.
    Suddenly, I feel an ache in my chest so strong, I have to move. Get up, get away, do something.
    I leap up. “I’m going to take a walk.”
    “Where?” Carina snorts.
    “Just down the beach.” I pull on my battered Converse sneakers and grab my camera from beside my chair. “I’m not hungry, so don’t hold dinner for me. I’ll be back later.”
    Carina shrugs, and dad barely looks up from his book, so I quickly head down the steps to the beach and stride away. The expanse of sand is cool and empty; I put my hands in my pockets and hunch my shoulders against the ocean breeze. I dig my feet into the sand with every step, feeling the burn in my thighs, and focusing everything I have on the mantra running through my mind.
    It’s just the summer. Your last summer. You can make it.
    I walk a mile along the beach at least, lost in thought until I see the faint flicker of a campfire further down the shore. A couple of trucks are pulled up on the sand, tailgates down, and people are gathered nearby, dark outlines against the pink-streaked sunset sky.
    I head closer, curious. As I approach, I hear music playing, a song I love. ‘Use Somebody’ by the Kings of Leon. The party is around my age or older, couples and groups drinking beer, hanging out. It looks like a fun time, but I hesitate on the edge of the crowd. I’m not the kind of girl who can just march into a group of strangers and make friends. Besides, I’ve still got this heavy ache in my chest, all these thoughts whirling in my mind.
    Then my heart skips. I see him. Emerson. He’s over by one of the trucks, drinking beer, laughing at something one of the other guys has said. He’s wearing jeans and a dark hoodie, but even in the fading light, I can recognize those broad shoulders and the angle of his jaw; the dark hair curling at the nape of his neck.
    I remember what Emerson’s hair felt like under my fingertips. A shiver runs through me.
    He looks up.
    I freeze, unable to look away. The music drifts out into the night, wistful chords on the wind. About wanting someone, feeling so apart from the rest of the world. The moment stretches between us, unbearably tense. Part of me wants to turn and run back to the house, but the other part… It wants to run right to him. Into his arms.
    Then he