Summer I Turned Pretty | Book 3 The

Jeremiah was on the other side of the fire, his arm slung around a girl from Lacrosse camp. He was telling a story—something about a capsized sailboat—and every few seconds he’d glance over at Belly. Not long glances. Quick ones. Checking.

He stepped closer. Close enough that she could smell his sweatshirt—salt, cedar, something underneath that was just Conrad . His hand hovered near her arm but didn’t touch. book 3 the summer i turned pretty

The waves crashed. Somewhere down the beach, someone started singing along to a song that was too old for them. Jeremiah was on the other side of the

He let go.