“He doesn’t have to come in. I’m leaving. See.” I stepped around my grandpa and out onto the porch.

But Grandpa didn’t let go of the hand he’d been gripping in greeting. He pulled him inside. “Of course he does. He needs to meet your mother.”

I groaned. “Elliot. I’m sorry this is being made into a bigger deal than it is.”

“It’s fine,” he said with a smile.

My mom joined us in the entryway. “Hi, so great to meet you,” she said, giving Elliot a hug. “Thanks for taking my daughter out.”

“Yes, it is such a chore,” I said.

My mom playfully hit my arm. “You know what I meant.”

“Can we go now?” I didn’t need to be more embarrassed.

“Come see the living room first. People love to see the living room. It has a lot of Abby’s art. Her paintings are like windows to the world.” She talked while leading the way, and Elliot followed.

“Mom. I will get revenge for this. You might want to sleep with one eye open tonight.”

Elliot gave all the appropriate responses—turning a full circle to take it all in, oohing and aahing at the right times. My mom beamed.

“We could just stay here tonight,” I said, sitting on the couch. “I’m cool with that.”

My mom put up her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’m just proud. Get out of here, you two. And great to meet you, Elliot.”

“You too.”

He smiled at me as we walked outside.

“I’m sorry about that. She likes to brag.”

“I can see why.”

Not sure what to say to that, I just shrugged.

Elliot drove a Jeep with no doors. After climbing in and driving up the street, I began to question my clothing choice. The wind whipping through the cab made it so I had to hold my sundress down.

“Sorry,” Elliot said, noticing my challenge. “I should’ve put the doors on. I was trying to be cool.”

I laughed.

He reached into the back seat and produced a blanket. “Want to put this over your legs?”

“Yes, please.” It helped a lot.

“You look really nice, by the way.”

“Thank you.” I occupied myself with the blanket on my lap, tugging down the sides so it wrapped fully around both legs.

“You really are an amazing painter,” he said after a few minutes of silence.

“I’m . . . thank you,” I decided to go with. I didn’t want to have to explain how professionals saw me—underdeveloped.

“Is that what you want to do after high school? Some sort of art school?”

“Yes . . . I think.” That’s what I’d wanted to do since I was eight. That’s what I’d wanted to do until Mr. Wallace put it in my head that I might not be good enough. Now I was worried that I wouldn’t make it at art school. That everyone would be better than me. That I wouldn’t even get into the winter program, let alone art school after I graduated. “What about you?”

“Yes, me too.”

“You too what?”

“I want to go to art school.”

“What? You paint?” He had my full attention now.

“No. Well, I mean, I paint a little, but I sculpt more.”

He was an artist. Hadn’t I told Cooper less than a month ago that my relationship goals included dating an artist? “How come we haven’t had any art classes together?”

“I do private lessons,” he said in a mumble, as if he didn’t want to admit that.

“Oh, Mr. Private Lessons, excuse me,” I teased.

“I know. It sounds so pretentious.”

“I was just kidding. That’s great. It’s not like we have sculpting teachers at our high school. I’d love to see your stuff sometime.”

“Sure. That would be great. I’d like another artist’s opinion.”

“Not sure my opinion amounts to much, but I do love art.”

“You’re the most talented artist at our school. Your opinion would mean a lot.”

“You’ve seen my art at school?” I asked, surprised. I hadn’t seen any of his art.

“I visit the art room a lot. You’re good.”

“Now you’re just throwing flattery around haphazardly. You have to be careful with that. It can get away from you.” I suddenly remembered something Rachel had said what felt like ages ago now at the movie on the beach. “Wait, did you ask my friend Rachel about my art once at Starbucks.”

“She told you.”

I nodded. He was mystery boy. She had said I should ask him out and here I was on a date with him. Not only did he appreciate my art but he was an artist. It was like all my relationship goals in one. Was it fate?

“You okay?” he asked.

“What? Yes.” I looked to my right, away from Elliot, trying to clear my head when I saw something. “He’s still there.”

“What?” Elliot asked, understandably confused.

I pointed. “That man chained himself to a tree. He’s been there for like four days.”

“Why?” Elliot asked.

“I guess some housing development wants to tear it down. He’s trying to save it.” There was a big bulldozer parked to the right of the tree that hadn’t been there last time. Nobody was inside of it. It sat there like a reminder or a warning of what was about to happen. “Do you think he’s eaten anything? Or is he starving himself as a statement too?”

“I have no idea. I hope he’s eaten something.”

“I don’t know that I’ve ever been that passionate about . . . well, anything,” I said.

“You can’t think of anything you’d chain yourself to in order to save?”

“My family, of course. My friends . . . maybe.” I added that last word with a smile. “But nothing that couldn’t talk.”

“I guess I can’t think of anything either,” Elliot said. “Although . . .”

“What? You thought of something?” I asked when he didn’t finish.

“If I say it, I’m going to sound pretentious twice in one night.”

“Now you have to say it.”

“There’s this sculpture I did. It took me months, and I poured my soul into it. If someone told me they were going to destroy it, I might pull out a chain. Not sure if I’d follow through to the bitter end, but I’d call their bluff for sure.”

He’d sculpted something he was that passionate about? I let my mind travel through all the paintings I had ever done. Sure, I’d be sad if someone wanted to destroy them, but . . . like Mr. Wallace had been happy to point out, apparently I’d never poured my heart into a piece.

“See. Pretentious,” he said, and I realized I hadn’t responded.

“No. Not at all. That’s cool. Now I really want to see your stuff.”

“Now I’ve set your expectations way higher than they should be.” He smiled my way and then turned onto Lacey’s street, which was already full of cars. I looked up and down the road until I found Cooper’s car, parked on the other side. I immediately relaxed. Cooper was here, and my date was proving to be very interesting. Maybe I’d actually enjoy this night more than a night on the pier watching fireworks. Maybe this would be my new thing. We parked the car and walked up the hedge-lined path.