One thing you should know about me is that I'm known for being notoriously early. Being late has always stressed me out, and there's nothing I hate more than having people wait on me. That is why I feel incredibly guilty as I run down to the dock Cleveland asked me to meet him at. I'd been doing fine with my timing, I'd left early, so I grabbed a coffee and muffin on the way, with still enough time to spare.

    Then Isla called me.

     She's the only person I can talk to about everything right now. She knows about Conrad, the kiss and how different everything feels because of it. She knows about the fight between Belly and I and how betrayed my sister feels. And while she doesn't think I should be putting Belly ahead of what I want and figuring out what the hell happened with Conrad, she's been nothing but the greatest, most supportive best friend.
  
    I wish it was the fourth of July already, so I could hug her and not have to go through all of this alone.

    We got so caught up in our conversation I didn't notice how long we'd been talking or how much time had passed; before I knew it, it was almost time for me to be meeting up with Cleveland and our "sailing expert." I spot Cleveland sitting on a boat as I rush over, "I am so sorry I'm late," I apologize to him, catching my breath from running. It's a good thing I'm not writing a book about an athlete. I'm way too out of shape to get immersed in that world, "my best friend called, and I lost track of time. It won't happen again."

    "Florence, it's okay," Cleveland chuckles, shaking his head, "Conrad isn't here yet. I'd figured you two would be carpooling together?"

    "W-What?" I stammer the journal that's tucked under my arm clattering onto the wooden dock. I guess I should have seen it coming. The only person that mom knows who sails is Conrad. Still, why didn't she and Susannah tell us? It makes no sense.

    Before Cleveland could say anything else, the sound of someone approaching, their shoes making noise on the dock as they rush over, cuts us off. I turn around, my eyes connecting with his. Like me, he seems shocked, his eyes darting between Cleveland and I for a second. Then, I can see it all click. The "writing mentor" his mom helped find for me. Of course, it was Cleveland. "Hi," he breathes, awkwardly messing with his hair.

    Conrad moves forward, grabbing the notebook I'd completely forgotten about off the ground, "Thanks," I take the book from him, my fingers brush against his, and a shot of electricity shoots up my arm.

    "Alright," Cleveland clears his throat, holding up ropes. Conrad and I both turn to look at him. Cleveland is smirking, glancing between the two of us with a raised brow. A part of me wants to run and say that I don't need the help that much. But then I think about my novel, I need the help, and I don't know the first thing about sailing; I can't leave. Besides, it's not like Conrad and I are alone. There's no way he can ask me about what's going on with Belly here. "Should we get started?"

     It's hard to focus on the rope in my hands with Conrad sitting beside me. The breeze blows through his hair, and his hands move quickly, tying knots on the rope. All I can think about is the way my fingers brushed through his hair the other night, messing it up or the way his hands held onto my hips, sending shots of electricity up my spine. "did you understand that metaphor, or are you just as lost as me, Florence?" Cleveland speaking to me breaks me away from Conrad, my eyes landing on the older man instead.

    I hadn't heard a word Conrad said, my mind too focused on his close proximity, the way his knee brushed against mine whenever he moved, "daydreaming?" Conrad asks, not daring to look at me. I nearly choke on air before he explains to Cleveland, "when we were kids, she used to space out all the time, planning out the stories in her head."

    Right, that was the daydreaming Conrad was referring to. "So, you've always been a storyteller," Cleveland nods his head in approval, "I was like that as a kid. Still can be sometimes."

    "I guess so," I shrug, my eyes glancing at the rope in my hand.

     "She's being modest," Conrad tells Cleveland. He seems relaxed out here, even with the awkward tension floating between us, "she's been telling stories our whole lives. When we were younger, she'd sneak into the younger kids' rooms and tell them the most elaborate bedtime stories. Our moms always complained about them being tired the next morning, and it was solely because Florence kept them awake."

    It's not like I'd forgotten the memory, but somehow, it shocks me that Conrad remembers it. Little things that I did forever ago that didn't even involve him. I guess I assumed that when our friendship ended, he pushed that all away, forgetting the small moments from our childhood that never left me. I think Conrad shocks himself by being so talkative because he doesn't say anything else, his awkward demeanour returning.

    I don't know what's going on with us. One minute he can barely look at me, and the next, he's kissing me. I fear if I knew, it'd only make things worse with Belly. Sure, it's driving me crazy not knowing what he's thinking, even more than usual; but Belly's my sister. I can't hurt her any more than I already have.

    "So," Cleveland carries on the conversation, once again, he's eying both of us suspiciously, "they're doing this, um, segment with me for the Good Morning Massachusetts show this afternoon. And uh, do you think you could come early and help me prep?" He asks Conrad, scratching at his grey beard, "you know, I do not want to get cancelled by the sailing community."

    Conrad laughs, and the sound makes me feel weak, "Yeah, I'd be happy to." He nods. I hadn't seen Conrad look this relaxed since getting here, I couldn't tell what had changed his extreme case of moodiness, but I was glad for it even if things were still awkward between us.

    "Great," Cleveland holds the rope up in his hands, "I look forward to sounding like I know what I'm talking about."

    "It's rabbits and trees, man," Conrad reassured him. This must have been a reference to something he'd said when I was spaced out cause Cleveland laughs, "all right, let's get back to it."

    We spend the rest of our morning on the boat, tying knots. Conrad and I don't speak, and I focus on Cleveland's hands tying knots rather than the ones that cause my mind to wander. You shouldn't be this distracted by him in the first place, Florence. I mentally scold myself whenever my mind begins to wander. He pushed you away and started ignoring you with no explanation. Things are different now, though, and I wish I could sort things out with my sister so I figure out what the hell is going on.

This was supposed to be longer, but my days super busy... so I decided to cut the chapter in half and post what I had written, otherwise there would've been no chapter today lol
Hope you enjoyed!!