“Or fishing,” Graham said, and Dad let out a soft laugh.
“I guess it’s been a while since we’ve done that,” he said. “We didn’t have much luck last time.”
“Sure we did,” said Graham, feeling a prickle on the back of his neck. He half turned, and as the shadowy figures on a nearby blanket came into focus, he was surprised to see Ellie. He adjusted the phone in his hand, distracted. “We caught a ton, remember?”
Beside Ellie, her mom was saying something, making broad gestures with her hands, and Graham’s father continued to talk in his ear, reminiscing about their fishing trip while the fireworks exploded overhead.
But Graham was still watching Ellie, and it was as if a great quiet had fallen between them, as if there was nothing and nobody else around.
“We were just about to give up,” Dad was saying. “We didn’t catch a single thing until the last day.”
Graham had smiled. “That,” he’d said, his eyes still on Ellie, “is the only one that counts.”
From: [email protected]
Sent: Friday, July 5, 2013 8:18 AM
Subject: do over
Let’s try this again…
Would you like to have dinner with me at the Lobster Pot tonight?
He was already there when she arrived, waiting beneath the wooden sign. The evening had turned unexpectedly cool for early July, and he was wearing a long-sleeved button-down with khakis, his hair still damp from the shower. He hadn’t seen her yet, and so Ellie took her time, walking slowly, trying her best to memorize him, as if that alone would make it last.
Already the crews were breaking down the set from today’s shoot. Behind them, the fishing boats were coming in for the evening, and the clatter of lobster traps mixed with the scrape of metal as the trailers were loaded. There was still one more day of shooting, but Graham would be done in the morning, and Ellie knew he’d be flying back right afterward. By this time tomorrow night, the street would be cleared, the barriers gone, the trucks driven off, and it would be like the whole thing had never happened.
Earlier today, she’d walked down to the water to watch them filming along the pier. It was less exciting than she might have expected, mostly just a whole lot of starting and stopping as they played out the same moments over and over, each time seemingly the same as the last. Graham would say something to Olivia, palms up in a conciliatory gesture, and she would bow her head, then turn and walk away, leaving him standing on the edge of the dock again and again.
Ellie was too far away to hear what they were saying, but even from a distance, there was something striking about seeing Graham like that, all focus and intensity. It reminded her of that day on the beach, when she’d emerged from the grove to see him with new eyes, when Graham Larkin the movie star fell away, and all that was left was the boy with a smile that seemed intended only for her.
It was that way now too; he’d shed something of himself, become someone else entirely, even if only for the space of a moment. And Ellie could see for the first time just what it meant to be an actor, that it was more than red carpets and paparazzi, that it was a kind of art. And that he was good at it.
She stayed there for a long time, unable to pull herself away. A production assistant recognized her from the papers and waved a hand to invite her past the metal barricades, but Ellie just smiled and shook her head. She didn’t mind observing him from afar, was in fact steeling herself for that very thing. Tomorrow he’d be gone, and there would be no other choice but to see him in the same way everyone else did: in movies and magazines, online and in the newspapers.
Standing there among the rest of his fans, she felt something well up inside her, and she realized that she was saying good-bye. There would be other opportunities, of course, at dinner tonight and maybe even tomorrow before he left, a proper farewell where they would say all the usual things: We’ll keep in touch and I’ll miss you and Thanks for everything.
But this right here was Ellie’s version, and she stayed there long past the time she was supposed to be at Sprinkles, knowing that Quinn would cover for her. Last night, after the fireworks, they’d walked down to the beach together, emptying a bag of firecrackers onto the sand and then setting them off one at a time, the two of them watching as they pinwheeled out over the black water.
It was the same as it had been every year. It was better.
Now, as she approached the Lobster Pot and Graham turned around, Ellie’s heart picked up speed, and she realized she wasn’t ready to say good-bye after all. Not nearly. She was reminded of the words she’d written to him during their very first e-mail exchange: I’m not sure I’m quite finished saying hello yet. She felt that way again now, more than she ever imagined possible.
“You look nice,” he said, and she glanced down at her green sundress.
“It’s the same one I wore—”
“I know,” he said, interrupting her with a kiss on the cheek. He’d just shaved, and his skin was soft against hers. “It looks even nicer this time around.”
“Thanks,” she said, then waved at his shirt. “You look nice too.”
There was an awkward moment as they regarded each other. For all the hours they’d spent together, this was the first time they’d been on anything resembling a real date, and they were suddenly weighed down in the niceties, the things you say to people when you’re meeting them for dinner, as opposed to the things you say when you’re rescuing them from photographers or stealing lobster boats or just walking on a beach.
The door to the Lobster Pot swung open from the inside, and Joe appeared in the doorway. “You’re all set,” he said to Graham, then looked over their heads at the street, the people strolling by in the falling dusk. “Nobody for me to get rid of?”
Graham shrugged. “Guess not.”
“You must’ve scared them all away,” Joe said with barely concealed delight, then ushered them inside with a sweep of his arm.
Graham stepped in first, followed by Ellie, but they both paused just beside the coat rack that was shaped like a giant fishhook. Every single pair of eyes in the restaurant had snapped up at their entrance; forks were lowered and lobsters forgotten as they collectively stared at the pair by the door. Ellie’s first instinct was to duck behind the hostess stand, or to turn and walk back outside; after so much time spent worrying about this exact scenario, it was odd to stand here before a crowd of faces—some familiar, others not—and let herself be seen with Graham. But it was no longer a secret, this thing between them, and there was no longer a reason to hide.
Joe was motioning to their table, in the far corner, in an area he’d left otherwise open so that they’d have plenty of space to talk. But it wasn’t until Graham reached for her hand that she felt herself come unstuck, and she followed him to the back of the room, her eyes on the floor. At their table, Graham pulled out her chair and then sat down across from her, and Joe produced a matchbook from his pocket to light the candles, winking once at Ellie before leaving them on their own.