Isla Talbot | Present

My name is Isla Talbot, and I'm a recovering nobody.

Three years ago, I had puffy hair, braces, and social anxiety. Today, I have loose, frizz-free waves, straight teeth, and imposter syndrome.

Like, terrible imposter syndrome. I've been conversing with an attractive man for ten minutes, and I've already pinched myself three times to confirm I'm not dreaming. My mental jury's still out on if he's speaking to me because of a dare.

Dane freezes, hotdog in hand, as he lifts the tube of mystery meat to his mouth. "This doesn't offend you, does it?" he asks, eyeing my veggie burger with trepidation.

If I were offended by every omnivore I met, I'd be perpetually tearful, angry, and exhausted. "Not at all," I reply, smiling.

"You sure? I could swap it out for one of those." He tilts his head towards my meal. "It doesn't look so bad."

"If you want me to make you a burger, you'll need to be more enthusiastic than that," I say in my flirtiest voice.

Dane tosses his head back as he chuckles loudly. He has a great laugh, the contagious, carefree kind that would sound right at home on a vintage sitcom's laugh track. More than a couple pairs of eyes find us, and I roll my shoulders back in defiance.

I say funny things sometimes. No need to look on in such disbelief.

"I see you met Isla," James calls. He extricates his hand from his girlfriend's grasp, leaving her in a conversation with a group of their friends to join us.

"I have," Dane replies, not taking his radiantly amber eyes off me.

Bingo.

The amused grin drops off James' face. I lift my shoulders in a subtle shrug, telling him that I'm sorry but not actually sorry. James has been like a brother to me since his family moved into the house next door when we were five. As for my relationship with his twin, who's currently staring daggers in my direction, that's more complicated... Hence why James wants to extinguish this Dane-flame before it has the chance to spark.

I shuffle a little closer to Dane.

"Why didn't you tell me she's a vegan?" Dane asks James in mock disappointment.

I guarantee he would have picked the hotdog anyway. They always do.

James scrunches his brows. "Isla isn't a crazy vegan. She hangs out with me and Parker all the time," he says, gesturing towards his brother. "She's used to it by now."

"I promise I'm not a preachy vegan," I add, peeking up at him through my eyelashes.

Dane's reaction to finding out that I'm a vegan—I only told him because he asked when he noticed the veggie burger—is typical. All of a sudden, people become suspicious that I'm about to douse them in fake blood or pull up a traumatizing video about factory farms, so I generally keep my dislike for animal products on the down-low. In reality, the extent of my vegan scheming is Sunday meal-prep.

Dane nods, but he still hasn't bitten his hotdog, so I add, "I wouldn't have come to a cookout if I were bothered by other people eating meat."

That seems to settle him down enough. The three of us stand in a triangle, chowing down on our late lunches, while the surrounding chatter of neighbors and sizzling meat carries through the almost-summer air. Every Memorial Day Weekend, the Cedar Avenue neighbors gather in someone's backyard and grill up a storm. This year, the Flahertys, James' family, are hosting, so he and Parker, also known as PJ, invited a dozen or so of their closest friends. I planned to skip the event, but their dad Evan offered me a ride into the city after it wraps up, and I need a ride.

Evan worked some nepotism magic and scored internships for his sons and me at his father's real estate company. For the next ten weeks, James, Parker, and I will be East Hudson Real Estate interns living and working in Manhattan. A few days ago, movers brought our belongings to the three-bedroom apartment that's going to be our home this summer.

My feelings are about as jumbled as a bag of trail mix. I'm mostly grateful. Not only did this English major find paid employment; she's also residing in New York City for free. Thanks to Evan, I'm going to live my dream this summer.

But I'd be lying if I didn't say the apartment situation doesn't make me slightly queasy. Two and a half months in close quarters with Parker means I'll be forced to witness many a one-night stand traveling through. My stomach twists into a pretzel at the mere thought.

The pretzel loosens a bit when I remind myself that the Flaherty brothers don't have to be the only roommates with visitors. Having my own bedroom and living somewhere that isn't my mom's house or my college dorm means I can bring guys home if I want.

I want.

And Dane seems like a great contender.

"You go to Rutgers with James and Parker?" I ask him.

He nods and swallows a bite of hotdog. I award him internal points for waiting to finish chewing before he answers my question. PJ talks with food in his mouth half the time. It's disgusting.

"Yeah, I do. I'm majoring in music education, so James and I have a lot of the same classes."

He's studying to become a music teacher? That might just be the most wholesome profession on the planet. More points to Dane.

"Do you play any instruments?" I ask.

I think it's an appropriate question. I'm still learning how to socialize. In high school, I was the chubby, ugly, awkward loser. I fixed myself up senior year, and I've had two years of college to allow my self-esteem to recover, but social skills take a long time to develop. Becoming pretty meant everyone suddenly wanted to talk to me, but it very much did not mean I automatically knew how to talk to them.

"I do," he replies, smiling. Good socializing, Isla. "Guitar and piano. What's your major?"

"English. I'm not sure what I want to do with it yet. Maybe publishing."

"And blogging," James chimes in, elbowing me.

"That too," I acknowledge. I run a foodie blog called Isla's Vegan Island. Twice a week, I post vegan recipes, product reviews, and commentary about animal rights. My dream is to make it a full-time career, but I know how rare those types of big breaks are.

"You're a blogger? That's awesome."

A couple heads, PJ's included, turn towards Dane's exclamation.

"Kinda," I reply, giggling for emphasis.

"Not kinda," James scoffs. "She has, like, a thousand subscribers."

Fifteen hundred, actually.

"Damn. Can I be number 1,001?" Dane asks.

"I'll text you the link. Here." I hand him my phone like the smooth little vixen I'm not.

James glares at me when Dane's eyes move to my phone. I smile innocently. Not my fault his friend is attracted to me.

"I can't wait to read it," Dane says, handing my phone back.

James stares up at the sky, silently requesting divine intervention. It comes in the form of Ariana, his girlfriend, who tugs him over to chat with his mom.

"Doing anything fun this summer?" Dane asks me, stepping closer. At this proximity, I can see a spattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. They're cute, softening his angular features.

Stop staring, Isla. "Um, mostly just work. I'm interning in the city with Evan and Parker. What about you?"

"We'll be neighbors. I'm living in the city too—well, on my sister's couch." His cheeks flush. "I'm going to be a camp counselor."

Dane will be rich by mid-July. Camp counselors in Manhattan rake in the tips caring for all those Wall Street kids. "Ooh, that's fun. What kind of camp?"

Dane launches into a description about the summer program for musically gifted students where he's teaching. His enthusiasm is as contagious as his laugh. As we joke about all the rich kids he's going to meet, I feel eyes boring into my temple.

Not just any eyes. PJ's eyes.

It's going to be a long summer.