The room is enormous, complete with 180-degree views of the water and a white four-poster bed covered in a million pillows.
I crack the windows to let some fresh air in and to clear the warm stuffiness that lingers in this unused room, and then I strip the bed.
I’m almost finished with everything when the door swings open and footsteps indicate I’m no longer alone.
“Hello?” I call before exiting the Pottery Barn catalog-looking en suite.
“Hello …” an unfamiliar voice calls back.
I step out and find the girl standing in the middle of the room, an overstuffed Louis Vuitton duffel bag over her shoulder.
“I was just dropping off some towels,” I say, pointing behind me.
“I’m Ashlan,” she says, extending her hand.
Her formality catches me off guard, but I return her gesture. “Lila.”
“They told me you’re Ed and Junie’s granddaughter.”
“I am.” How the hell is she on a first-name basis with my grandparents?
“They’re the sweetest,” she says with a nostalgic smile. “So what do you think of the island so far? Big change from … L.A. is it?”
I nod. “I grew up mostly in Santa Monica. And yeah, it’s a big change, but so far so good …”
Ashlan takes a seat on the bed, running her hands along the white quilt. “I’ve been coming here for years. Practically my whole life. Rose Crossing’s like a second home to me.”
“Oh, yeah? Are you a friend of Whitley’s?” I have to ask.
She crosses her legs, her ankle bouncing a little. “I’m a friend of everyone’s. My mom grew up with Thayer’s mom and the twins’ mom. We were all born literally in the same season of the same year so we’ve been friends since before we could talk.” She laughs. “They always used to call us the quadruplets because we were inseparable and we were all the same size.”
I can’t help but think she’s trying to establish her place under the guise of sharing quaint stories with me. If I were to read between the lines here, I’m pretty sure she’d be saying, “I was here first, so don’t even think about taking my place.”
“That’s adorable,” I say, heading to the door. “Let me know if you need anything else, okay? It was nice meeting you.”
I leave The Caldecott and head to my grandparents’ cottage, where I find my grandma relaxing in her recliner as she pages through a Better Homes and Gardens magazine.
“Ashlan’s room is good to go,” I say as I step out of my shoes.
“Lovely girl,” Grandma says without looking up.
“She seems to think highly of you guys.” I take a seat on the yellow velvet sofa that must be at least thirty years old and tuck a throw pillow under my arm. “How long is she staying, do you know?”
“From what I understand, she’ll take the mail plane back to the mainland on Thursday. She’s doing a summer semester at Yale so she needs to get back. In the past, she’d stay at least until the Fourth of July.”
“She goes to Yale?”
Grandma flicks to a new page. “She does. From what I hear, she and Thayer are both studying pre-law.”
Half of me wants to ask if the two of them ever dated, but I know better than to raise any suspicions. If my line of questioning isn’t obvious enough, a question like that will seal the deal.
I kick my feet up on the sofa and sink into the worn cushions, staring at the bead board ceiling above and the wobbly bronze ceiling fan.
“Don’t get too comfortable, Lila. We’re polishing the silver at The Ainsworth this afternoon and your grandfather could use your help getting the groceries off the dock after four.”
The thought of possibly running into Thayer at his house makes my skin heat and my breath catch until I mentally shrug it off.
Ashlan is the epitome of the kind of girl Thayer would match perfectly with. She wears the same preppy clothes as him. Their mothers are best friends. They go to school together and even study the same subject. They have inside jokes, I’m sure, and summers upon summers of memories.
I can’t compete with any of that.
But again, it’s a moot point because nothing’s going to happen between us no matter how kind he is to me, no matter how hard I melt when he does something sweet, no matter how many times I think about kissing him …
It can’t and it won’t and that’s all there is to it.
The Ainsworth was quiet this afternoon. Apparently Mr. Bertram took all the “kids” out for a sail, and the sisters and their husbands are having an afternoon at the private beach.
It’s just Grandma and me and a quiet old house that smells faintly of flowers and ocean musk and bends and creaks in the wind.
“Lila, why don’t you go find your grandfather? It’s almost time for the grocery drop off,” my grandma says, a shiny fork in her hand. “I’ll finish up here and then I’ll meet you at The Bertram after. You can help me put everything away just before dinner.”