"Damnit!" Olivia bent her knee, eyeing the large, scraped patch of skin already turning a nasty shade of purple. Blood trickled down her skin, mixing with the top of her sock to colour the fabric a light shade of pink. The wheels of her black and orange Hano Annex spun noisily in the air. Her handlebars had landed in a patch of dry dirt.

"Ya gotta learn to jump those curbs, Pope!" The average height teen, head shaved, called - feet on the ground as he stood, straddling his own bike.

"I fucking know how to jump a fucking curb, asshole!" She slammed her hand against the rough concrete, grimacing at the pain that shot through her bones.

"It's not the sidewalk's fault."

"Shut the fuck up, Harrison." She felt her cheeks burning. It was bad enough that she had wiped out, but to wipe out in front of the guys? That was unacceptable.

"Jesus, Pope. Lighten up." Harrison dropped his weight to his seat, feet still planted firmly on the ground. Olivia shook her head, shifting her eyes toward the grey and white bird flying overhead - anything to distract from the tears that were hot and heavy in her eyes. All she could think about was a seven year old girl, pigtails and overalls, begging to ride with the boys but being turned down because she was a girl. Then a fifteen year old invited along for rides because the boys all thought she was hot and a sixteen year old cast out once more because she was riding better than the guys. At sixteen, the year her parents divorced, Harrison brought her into the fold - away from the immature high school kids she had rode with. Two years later, at the ripe old age of eighteen, she wasn't about to let Harrison see her cry again.

"Go on. I'm done for today."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Margot probably needs help at the store." She fumbled with the straps under her chin. Hands shaking, she gave up and placed her hands back to the warm concrete, shoving herself into a standing position. Stomping into the breezy, semi-tall green grass, she bent and grabbed the handlebars of her bike. Yanking the bike into a standing position, she swung her leg over it - ignoring the burning and tingling in her knee, and rested on the hard, leather seat. Sneakerclad feet on the pedals, she took off toward the centre of town.

The hot sun beat against her skin and sweat trickled down her forehead, stinging her eyes. She paid no attention to the discomfort, eyes trained on the throng of people she passed. They were heading the wrong way. Tourists didn't leave the boardwalk or the beach. Veering past a bright pink ball and the toddler chasing after it, she jumped onto the boardwalk, body jerking as her tires cleared the slight height difference between the wooden planks and sidewalk. Tires bounced noisily against the wood as she pedalled toward the blue and whtie shop dead centre of the boardwalk.

Hopping from her bike, Olivia walked it around to the side and leaned it against the old building. Fingers going to the strap under her chin, she bit her lip when the buckle pinched her index finger. Straps dangling to her shoulders, she lifted the black helmet from her head and rested it on her bike's handlebars. Treading across the small patch of brown, crunchy grass back to the boardwalk, she stopped in front of the glass doors of the store. Across the street a shiny, turquoise tandem sat with a placard balanced on the handlebars. Bright & New. Perfect 4 U! She shook her head. Stephen's doing if she had to guess.

The rusty, metal garage style door was lifted, offering a view of the inside of the bicycle shop. Tables lined the open floor, bicycles in various states of assembly on nearly every table. Guys moved throughout the space, grabbing tools from tall boxes that lined the right wall, or leaning over their workspaces. Holding a hand perpendicular over her eyes, she squinted. There was Huck, slumped over his workstation on the left wall. She didn't have to be in the shop to know that Huck was sighing and slamming tools against his workbench. Or that, despite the yellowing paper hanging on the wall that said, 'Touch anything and die', Huck wouldn't hurt a fly. He'd beat himself up over his work, but he was a sweetheart to everyone else. Stephen stood at the workbench behind Huck, a pair of khaki shorts hanging low on his hips and his shirt tossed over the stool by him. His hair hung low over his forehead, weighted down by sweat. A wrench grasped in his hand, he was bent low over the bike he was working on.

A hint of bright blue drew her attention to the front of the shop. An older couple stood to the side, watching a little girl do circles on a bike with training wheels. The man standing by them, glasses askew and hands waving enthusiastically, Olivia knew was finishing the sale. He was telling stories of growing up on a bike - of the confidence bikes give. His sales pitch Olivia knew by heart as well as she knew that it had been two years since David Rosen had been on a bike - since he had felt the freedom of flying through the air, landing stunts no one else could quite manage. Unlike her, David had stayed completely grounded. They just had different ways of grieving. Turning her head when their eyes met, her hand finally met with the metal bar across the door. Part of her grieving had been to avoid David at all costs. She wasn't about to break that streak.

Ding. Ding. The bell above the door signalled her entrance. The small boutique wasn't too busy at the moment. A couple teens browsed the clearance rack in the corner, taking turns holding bathing suits in front of their bodies. Hanna stood by the mirror with a middle-aged woman - complimenting her figure in the skinny jeans she was admiring. The lady would leave with a few pair. Hanna was just that good.

"Which one do you think I should get?" The gangly teen called to Olivia as she was heading toward the back. Looking from the white, cutout one piece to the frilly, neon pink two-piece, Olivia tilted her head and pursed her lips.

"White. Simplicity will draw all attention to you and that white is going to look amazing with that tan you've got." There was a time not too long ago that Olivia wouldn't have felt comfortable giving that type of advice. Hell, she wouldn't have even known half of what she had just said back then. A self-professed tomboy, she was a latecomer to the world of girls. After a nod from both girls at the clearance rack, Olivia continued to the back and down the tiny hall, if it could be called that, to the office. Standing on the tips of her toes, stretching her arm above her head until she felt pressure along her side, she swept her fingers across the molding over the door. A brass coloured key thudded to the dark grey carpet. Olivia bent, grasped the key and inserted it into the door. Twisting the key, she threw the door open - watching as it bounced off the ugly, lime green wall. As she took a seat in the plush, leather swivel chair, Hanna's voice drifted into the small office. The ding of the register told Olivia that she was ringing out at least one of the customers.

"You're in early." Hanna's blonde head peeked around the doorway minutes later just as Olivia was opening the store's book on the desk. The fuzzy, green and orange pens bounced in their Hello Kitty container.

"I woke up early and didn't feel like riding."

Hanna's head tilt and furrowed brow told Olivia that she hadn't been believed. Not that she had expected Hanna to believe her. Riding was Olivia's escape. If she wasn't working, Margot had hired her at the beginning of the summer to do the store's books, she was on that bike of hers.

"Margot called earlier. She wants you to meet her at Beachside for dinner."

"I guess." Olivia actually liked her stepmother. Most of the time. She liked her enough to work at her boutique and to stay in Birmingram. They weren't friends. Not by any means. Olivia was a dedicated scholar with several acceptance letters to Ivy League schools and a love of the town hobby. She wasn't shy or outcast by any means - able to balance good grades and a decent social life. Margot though...Margot was tall, blonde, and stunning. She was business smart, not academic smart, and every bit the fashionable woman Olivia knew she would never be. There was no ill-will just a differing of personalities.

"They're having a party by the dunes tonight."

Olivia shook her head, plucking a fuzzy green pen from its container. Pen balanced between the fingers of her right hand, she used her left hand to begin punching numbers into the giant calculator on the desk. Pulling her lip between her teeth, she chewed on the forever chapped skin. It was a habit of hers whenever she was working with numbers.

"Those are always lame."

"You just don't want to see David."

"As if David is going to be there," Olivia scoffed, rolling her eyes. David never went to any of the parties anymore. He always had an open invitation - everyone did. That was the great thing about living in the small seaside town, even making up for the tourist trappings; everyone was invited. They were practically a close knit family. At least that's how the residents described their town.

"You know avoiding each other isn't helping anything, right?"

Olivia's glare only caused Hanna's grin to grow. Olivia knew that Hanna knew she was right. She was also aware that Hanna knew Olivia wouldn't dispute what had been said. She knew that she would eventually have to speak to David, but why ruin the comfortable routine they had fallen into? Besides, David clearly didn't want to talk to her. He had a habit of walking in the other direction whenever he saw her.

"He doesn't want to talk to me so…" Olivia shrugged, scribbling in her neat, blocky handwriting across the store's book.

"Oh for the love of -" Hanna threw her manicured hands in the air, "both of you are fucking bitches!"

Ding. Ding.

Olivia giggled at the sound of the door opening and the reddening of Hanna's tanned cheeks, a look of mortification on her face. If she was lucky, the customer hadn't heard her outburst. Just as Hanna had turned, a pale brunette decked all in black despite the warm, summer day, entered the office. Black elbow and knee pads stuck out from her sleeves and shorts.

"Who's a fucking bitch?"

"Liv and David!" The blush on Hanna's face disappeared and her brown eyes sparkled as her straight, white teeth were revealed by her smile.

"Oh. They are bitches."

"Quinn!" Olivia shook her head, ponytail swaying, and clutched her chest - looking well and truly offended. Quinn had been Liv's first best friend. They understood each other in ways no one else could or did. Both exceptionally smart, although Quinn was more street smart than anything, and both gravitating toward traditionally male hobbies, their friendship was an inevitability. Where Olivia had taken to bikes; however, Quinn had fallen in love with a skateboard. She was easily one of the best skaters Olivia had ever seen - even if Quinn was one of only two Birmingram residents who even owned a skateboard. Huck was good, but it wasn't his first love.

"It's been what? Two years? Woman the fuck up and talk to him." The end of Quinn's sentence was punctuated by the loud pop of the pink bubble she had blown. Olivia frowned - she had warned Quinn that gum wasn't good for her teeth. Of course, that had earned an eye roll and an exclamation of "Mom!" from her friend.

"I'll talk to him when I'm ready." With a sigh, Olivia capped her pen and tossed it with a clank into the metal container. Grasping the edge of the multi-lined store records book, she slammed it closed. There was no point in pretending to work with Hanna and Quinn there. She would just have to come in early tomorrow to finish payroll.

"Whatever." Quinn plopped into the one folding chair in the room. There really wasn't room for anything else. "Are you guys going to the party tonight? There's going to be a keg."

"Oh yay. Stale beer."

"We'll be there." Hanna threw a look Olivia's way - a look that had Olivia rolling her eyes once more.

"No repeats of last year, though."

Quinn smirked at Olivia's warning. "I have no clue what you're talking about."

"If you and Huck go behind the dunes, you better remember where you put your clothes! Olivia and I are not dragging your drunk, naked ass home again."

"Lose your clothes behind the dunes one time and they never let you forget." Quinn held her hands before her body, fingers spread apart, and scrunched her nose while rolling her eyes.

"You have problems, Quinn. You really do."

"But you still love me, Livvie." Quinn blew kisses at Olivia, using her best baby voice and tossing her wavy hair over her shoulder.

"Why? Why are we friends?"

Hanna snorted at Olivia's question, turning on her heel to head to the front of the store upon hearing the door open.

"Because I make you look like a badass on a bike and you make me a skateboard goddess."

"You're conceited."

"Probably."

"I'll see you tonight, Quinn." Olivia stood from her chair, shooing Quinn from the office. She locked the door behind her, putting the key back above the door. Walking back down the hallway, she wiggled her fingers at Hanna - the blonde was busy discussing the merits of wedges with a customer. The door dinged once more as Olivia and Quinn left the store, walking out to a slightly cooler evening. The sun hung low in the sky over their shoulders and a cool breeze whipped their hair.

"Want to grab something to eat?" Quinn was grabbing her skateboard - she had leaned the neon green and black board against the side of the store by Olivia's bike.

"I'm meeting Margot at Beachside." Olivia shrugged, using her foot to push her kickstand up. Straddling her bike, she lowered herself onto the hard seat. Placing her feet on the pedals, she waved at Quinn as she took off down the boardwalk. It was a short distance from Hildegard's (Olivia hated the name of Margot's shop) to the end of the boardwalk where Beachside sat. The family owned restaurant was a staple of Olivia's childhood and furthered her belief that people in the town were awful at names. Sitting at the very end of the boardwalk, it was a white wood siding building that had definitely taken a few beatings from the weather. Metal patio furniture in an assortment of bright colours sat outside the restaurant - a few people in varying stages of sunburn enjoying their meals. Olivia shook her head, rolling her front wheel into the bike rack just outside the doors. Tourists.

Placing her helmet on the seat of her bike, she strode to the door. Hand on the bar, she shoved the door opened. Inside, she was greeted by a blast of cool air that caused goosebumps to form on her bare arms. Waiters in dark jeans and colourful Beachside 'Try our Shakes!' shirts walked around the packed restaurant. The always packed restaurant. Scanning the tables and booths, her gaze was interrupted by a tall brunet with a goofy smile.

"You going to the dunes tonight?" Zeke skidded to a stop before her. He was balancing a tray of drinks in one hand. Never quite athletic - or good with his hands, for that matter, he had decided to work for Beachside rather than the cycle shop. Trying to make it sound like his own decision, it was no secret that David would have never hired him in the first place.

"Apparently," Olivia mumbled, trying to look around Zeke.

"Sweet. You can meet my new girl."

She tried not to roll her eyes. Zeke's new girl was probably some leggy, naive tourist he had just met. He'd take her to the party, introduce her to his friends giving her a false sense of a future with him, then he would get her drunk and take her behind the dunes. His usual M.O.

"There's always a new girl." Olivia shrugged.

"This one's different."

"You always say that."

"Because they are always different." Zeke winked, shifting the tray of drinks to his other hand.

"What? Different names?" Olivia laughed at Zeke's deer in the headlights look. They were friends - she knew without a doubt when he was full of shit. Which with Zeke was most of the time. "Have you seen Margot?"

"Back left. Usual booth. Let me drop these off and I'll bring you a vanilla Coke."

"Thanks, Zeke." She walked around him, down the tight walking space between tables and to the booth nestled in the back corner of the left-side wall. She slid into the sun-warmed, cracking turquoise leather. The cracks rubbed uncomfortably against her skin as she slid to the middle. Sunlight streamed in through the large, bay window by the table. Outside, the sky was turning a deep shade of orange.

"I'm glad you got my message! Your father has the baby tonight." Margot was always perky. Always. At one point, it had caused tension between the two. Or at least one-sided tension on Olivia's part. After years of listening to her parents' arguments and her mother's stern, what Olivia had come to term 'bitchy', push toward Olivia to always be the best - even if it meant abandoning her social life, Olivia had been anything but perky when she had first met Margot. And so she had avoided her new stepmother at all costs during those early days.

"Is Sylvia going to be okay?" Olivia widened her eyes. She loved her father, she really did. Eli Pope was not the kind of father who changed diapers and comforted crying babies, though. He had named his daughter, Sylvia, for crying out loud! It was a name Margot hadn't been fond of, but Eli had insisted. And when Eli wanted something… Olivia had tried to talk her father out of the name. He was an English Lit professor - he knew the tragic backstory behind little Sylvia's namesake. Still, he had saddled the baby with the name.

"She had been fed, diapered, and was asleep when I dropped her off." Margot tucked a platinum lock behind her ear, her blue eyes darting across the room. She was nervous. Olivia didn't blame her.

"Dad say when he's coming back yet?" Olivia reached to her right, accepting the tall, clear plastic cup Zeke was holding toward her. Beads of condensation exploded under her fingertips. Zeke didn't stay to talk, scurrying off after tossing a straw on the table. Grasping the straw in her hand, Olivia hit it against the table a few times until the red end began to peek through the paper. Using her fingers to tear the paper away, she made a little ball that she tossed to the side as she put her straw in her drink. Wrapping her lips around the end of the straw, she sipped at the cool drink.

"He needs more time to himself." Margot sighed. Eli's second marriage had quickly began to fall apart after Sylvia's birth - an event that shocked no one but Eli and Margot. After all, Maya had long been outspoken about Olivia's arrival and its strain on her marriage to Eli. Olivia knew both her parents were self-centred and career driven. Neither one wanted to give up any time that could be spent working on their careers to raise a baby. And so, Olivia had grown up knowing she was a mistake. A mistake to be molded in her parents' image - or so they thought. She had turned out to be bad at molding.

"Did he say how long?" Olivia's eyes scanned the room as her stomach began to rumble. Coffee and granola bars could only hold her over for so long. She had a bad habit of not eating actual meals. Finally, when her eyes landed on Zeke she lifted her hand and waved him over.

"When he finishes his -"

"Book." Olivia shook her head. Her father had some grandiose dream of being the next Stephen King or J.K. Rowling. It was ridiculous. And he had been working on this damn book since she was a kid.

"Please tell me you're not changing your order." Zeke slid into the booth beside Olivia, his knee knocking against hers. Kicking his feet out, he rested against the back of the seat.

"I haven't ordered."

"Bacon cheeseburger, no tomato. Onion rings and a nutella shake."

"I know we're friends, but…"

"Server brain, Pope." Zeke tapped the side of his head, looking toward Margot for confirmation. The blonde's nod and grin was all he needed before continuing, "And I got Margot's tuna melt, extra onion and pickles, onion rings and chocolate shake."

"This your girlfriend, Johnson?" The gruff, smoker's voice of Mr. Ballenstin - Beachside's middle-aged owner, had both Olivia and Zeke gagging.

"Ew. God no!"

"Disgusting dude! That'd be like kissing my sister. Fricking messed up."

"Well sorry."

"Ugh." Zeke shook his head again, sliding out of the booth. "I'm going to check on your food and try not to puke along the way."

Shrugging his shoulders apologetically, Mr. Ballenstin disappeared behind Zeke. Olivia took another sip of her soda, her phone buzzing in her pocket. She didn't bother to check it. Her mother and father were the only two that ever called her on it and she didn't talk to them unless she was in the mood to. Which wasn't often.

"Are you going to the big party tonight?" Of course Margot knew about the party. Until four years ago, she was still going to the parties. Twenty-two seemed to be the cutoff age. When those who had left were finally graduating from college and ready to be 'adults'. Sometimes it made Olivia uncomfortable, though, being reminded that her stepmother was only eight years her senior. Other times; however, it was a godsend. Like right now.

"Quinn and Hanna are dragging me along."

"Quinn isn't going to -" Margot had been instrumental in their quest to get Quinn home the previous year without her parents knowing what had happened. A quest that had involved a rubber goose and scaling a two-story home with a handsy Quinn.

"She's sleeping on the beach if she does."

The conversation was interrupted by Zeke's return. With a flourish, he placed their plates and shakes on the table before them. The smell of the freshly fried onion rings wafted to their noses, causing Olivia's mouth to water. Beachside's shakes and onion rings were famous among the locals - and typically amongst tourists once they left.

"Need anything else?" At the shakes of their heads, Zeke continued with, "Well I'm going to walk away before someone thinks I'm dating Pope again."

"Stop trying to spoil my appetite," Olivia called at his retreating back, lifting a hot, greasy onion ring from her plate.

Olivia and Margot finished their meals a half hour later, avoiding any further talk of Eli. After, Margot decided to take advantage of her Sylvia-free night and meet her friends. Olivia, meanwhile, stood in her bedroom, hands on her hips as she surveyed her closet. She had never been good at picking outfits for these things. It was too warm for jeans and besides, being on the beach meant sand and water everywhere. Sundresses were also out. The guys weren't above playing pranks and she wasn't a dress girl anyway. Biting her lip, she dropped her hands from her hips and turned her back to the closet. She had no clue what she was going to wear and only an hour to decide before Hildegard's closed and she would be meeting up with Hanna and Quinn. God, she absolutely hated parties.

"Are you absolutely certain this is what you wish to do?"

Fitz sighed, his head resting against the black leather of his cousin's shiny red Jeep Wrangler. The question was one his grandmother had asked a handful of times since he had approached her with the request of spending his summer in the states. In California. With his cousins - his mother's family. He had been prepared to argue his case. Even being the favourite grandchild couldn't make his grandmother forget her hatred of his mother and the unease she felt toward the woman's family - a family she had never met. So his grandmother's instant approval after questioning his motives came as a bit of a shock. She agreed, though, that a summer of being normal would be good for him.

"Yes, gran."

A sigh crossed the line and a smile crossed his face. Slowly, but surely she was relenting. When he had first proposed that he take the trip alone, she hadn't been too happy. It was the one part of his plan that she had called absurd and unheard of. Of course, with a little bit of charm he had gotten his way and boarded one of their private jets, quietly and by himself.

"If anyone even remotely begins to assume who you are -"

"I will call and come home immediately." He was the only one ever brave enough to cut her off mid sentence. Or foolish enough depending on how you looked at it.

"Be careful, Fitzgerald."

"I will, gran. I promise."

She had every right to worry and despite the public image she had cultivated, his grandmother was a worrier. But she hadn't always been that way. The grandmother of his childhood was kind, warm-hearted, quick to laugh, witty and loving of her family nearly to a fault. She was still all those things, but ten years ago she had added perpetual worrier to the list. Everything had changed the day his parents' car had crashed outside Amsterdam. The whole country - the world had mourned with his family and he had suddenly found himself in a role he certainly hadn't expected to fill at ten years old. That was why he needed this summer holiday so badly. He craved normal the way some kids craved candy.

"Call me when you can." It had broken his grandmother's heart to lose her eldest child - her only son. And that broken heart had turned into a protectiveness of her oldest grandson that he generally welcomed. So he found himself agreeing to her request. A request they both knew was more command than anything.

"Of course."

"Have fun. I love you."

"I love you." He smiled, finger tapping his phone's screen as he ended the call. They didn't say 'I love you's' often in his family. They just knew. Lifting his ass off the seat just a hair, he slid his phone into the back pocket of his khaki shorts. His gaze drifted to the window - or where the window would be if Zeke had doors on his Jeep. They were still on the highway with long stretches of dark asphalt still ahead.

"It's cool having you here, dude." One of Zeke's hands rested on the steering wheel while the other rested on the gearshift in the middle. A pair of aviator sunglasses covered his eyes and the wind - pouring in all around them thanks to the missing doors and missing roof, blew through his brown hair.

"Yeah. I needed a change." Fitz finally tore his gaze from the passing trees dotted here and there and the yellowing grass. He narrowed his eyes at his cousin. They were roughly the same age. Zeke was about six months younger. Both had inherited their looks from their mothers' side of the family. Camille, Zeke's mother, was Fitz's mother's older sister. According to Fitz's mom, they had been close before she had married his dad and Camille had moved from Connecticut to some beachtown in California. Danbury had been just small enough that Camille had had to endure enough gossip about her sister's husband and family, making her move across the continent to a place where no one knew her or her family. And that was where she had decided to settle down, where she met her husband, and where Zeke had been born.

"Mom said I'm not supposed to tell anyone who you actually are."

"I'm just your cousin."

"We both know that's not exactly true." Zeke stole a glance at Fitz just as he dropped his head, a curl flopping into his eye.

"Different lives," Fitz shrugged. He didn't know a lot about this side of his family. What little he did know, he had only recently learned when he had called his aunt with his request to spend the summer with her. His uncle Slate was a fisherman who spent a couple weeks at sea before coming home for a week. Aunt Camille taught history at the local elementary. They were hard workers who sometimes struggled. It would be quite different from his silver spoon lifestyle.

"Yeah," Zeke agreed, "But oh well. You're here now and we can tear shit up."

"Tear shite up?"

"Yeah. Teach Mr. Proper how to be a wild child!" Zeke's hoot was lost in the wind, but not before it earned a chuckle from his cousin. Fitz had already been dubbed the wild child of his family by many. Bucking against tradition was part of his growing up. He knew that he would eventually have to calm down and be the man everyone expected him to be, but that day wasn't here quite yet.

The duo drove in silence for the next hour. Zeke fiddled with the radio for a bit before giving up when all he got was static. Fitz, meanwhile, kept his attention on the passing scenery. This was his first time in California. He had googled the state and looked at pictures before coming, but they didn't compare to what he was seeing in person. Steep rolling hills were on either side of the highway. All he could see for miles on Zeke's side was stretches and stretches of blue, moving water.

"How far are we?" Fitz finally asked, suddenly growing antsy. Aunt Camille had sent pictures and the small town they were headed toward had looked beautiful. Seeing the vast expanse of water by the highway had only made his desire to arrive at their destination grow.

"About another twenty."

Fitz nodded, turning his eyes back to the scenery. Zeke went back to fiddling with the radio, settling on some classic rock station. Fitz began tapping his foot in rhythm to the song. The familiar beat was one he had heard at many pubs.

"You know this one?" Zeke's hand went to the volume, turning the song up. One look from Fitz had him chuckling. "Right. British band."

Laughing, Fitz began singing the chorus. The chorus that Zeke joined in on and before they knew it, they were singing along at the top of their lungs. Off-key and way too loud, but they were having fun.

"Straight to hell!

Go straight to hell boys!

Go straight to hell!

Go straight to hell boys!"

As the song was ending, Fitz's phone dinged. Pulling it from his back pocket, he frowned at the text on his screen. Unlocking his phone, he tapped on his messaging app and scanned the full text.

Heard from Cy that you're on vacay. You didn't tell me! Call me and maybe we can meet up? Love you!

He rolled his eyes at the crying and kissing emojis his latest fling had added to the message. Mellie had been fun for a minute, but he was tired of her. She had the right background - heiress daughter of an oil tycoon in Texas and smart enough to be attending Oxford, but she wasn't the marrying type. She was too slutty for that. However, she was convinced that she was going to be his wife. Her father had planted the seeds of that idea when she'd first started fooling around with Fitz. Part of what had Fitz backing away from Mellie so fast was overhearing her father tell a colleague that his daughter was going to be Fitzgerald's wife and would soon be sporting the very title that Fitz's mother had once held. It had taken every last ounce of Fitz's control not to interrupt the man then and there and laugh in his face.

"Not someone you want to hear from?"

"Just some slag who won't bugger off."

"You know here we just say whore."

"I'll work on that."

"So what's her story?" If Zeke and Fitz had anything in common, it was that both were ladies' men. Exceptionally good looking and smart, they had no trouble finding dates or girls to sleep with. And they knew it.

"Just some girl I met at uni. She thinks I'm going to marry her."

"Yikes man. You better put that fire out."

"Believe you me."

"Aunt Camille!" Fitz wrapped his arms around the petite woman, a pang in his heart at just how similar she looked to his mother.

"Fitzgerald!"

"Please, do call me Fitz." Fitz pulled away, allowing the older woman to hold him at arm's length. Her blue eyes sparkled, her short hair slicked down around her chin, and a smile graced her ruby-red lips.

"You look so much like Catherine."

Fitz swallowed hard, blinking, at the mention of his mother's name. He didn't talk about her often. Occasionally he would mention her name in a speech or to the press, but otherwise, he just didn't talk about her. It hurt too damn much.

"Thank you for allowing me to stay." He finally pulled away from his aunt, grasping the suitcase that was sitting at his feet.

"Anytime! Come on, I'll show you to your room." As they were headed toward the narrow staircase in the next room, Zeke came zooming by in a pair of jeans and a blue shirt.

"I'm late for my shift. Meet at the restaurant around 10, Fitz. There's a party tonight." With that, Zeke was across the room and out the door, slamming it so hard behind him that it shook the pictures on the wall. Pictures of their normal, happy family.

"I've told that boy more times than once…" Camille shook her head, leading Fitz up the staircase and to the first room on the right. Turning the knob, she opened the door and stepped aside - allowing Fitz to enter on his own. The room was much smaller than he was accustomed to, but it was a welcomed change. There wasn't much room for anything other than the twin-sized bed shoved against one wall and the dresser shoved against the other. But the large, floor to ceiling window that overlooked the ocean more than made up for the lack of space. Even now, he could just barely hear the waves crashing against the ocean and he could see seagulls flying high in the clear, blue sky.

"I'm sorry it's a little -"

"It's perfect." He dropped his suitcase on the bed, spinning around to give his aunt another hearty hug. "Thank you!"

"I cook around six if you want to go have a look around. You can eat at Beachside if you want, too. That's where Zeke works. They're famous for their shakes and onion rings."

"That sounds amazing."

"It's settled then -" Camille clapped her hands. "Zeke doesn't work tomorrow. I'll cook dinner for the three of us. You'll get to meet Slate this weekend."

And, after agreeing to Camille's plans for the following day, Fitz found himself walking down a sidewalk, hands in his pockets. At around 1:30, the sun was still high in the sky - beating down on his pale skin. He'd probably have a sunburn to deal with come tomorrow. The salty smell of the ocean drifted to his nose on the warm breeze making the walk rather pleasant - even if he was starting to get tired. It was about 9:30 at home and, if he were there and didn't have an engagement, he would be settling down for the evening - about to enjoy a nightcap with his granddad.

Around ten that night, he found himself loitering outside the old, white wooden building that he had just eaten lunch in. Aunt Camille had been right - their shakes were great. Zeke had talked him into a burger that had made his mouth water. The rattling of keys drew Fitz's attention and he watched as Zeke stood in front of the door in a pair of plaid shorts, a white t-shirt, and a black bag slung over his shoulder. He locked the door before turning around and spotting Fitz.

"Ready for your first American party?" The two fell in together, walking side by side down the boardwalk. The sound of the moving ocean drifted to them as the stars twinkled above.

"I've heard it's supposed to be the best."

"Ha! I don't know about that. Mom say that?"

"Yeah." Fitz rubbed the back of his head, stepping off the boardwalk and into the sand. His beige Sperry's sank into the soft sand.

"They're tradition. Been going on as long as I can remember."

Fitz nodded, the two continuing their trek in silence. At the end of the beach, a group of teens and young adults were sitting around fires, dancing to loud pop music, and sipping beer out of red solo cups. Rounded mounds of sand, some with tall stalks of grass peeking from the top, were littered throughout this portion of the beach. Waves crashed against the sand, spilling into an area populated by a group playing hacky-sack.

"I'm meeting a girl. I'll see you later." Zeke patted Fitz's shoulder, disappearing into the night. Fitz sighed, looking around. It was never fun to be at a party where you didn't know anyone.

"You look about as thrilled to be here as I am." The soft, feminine voice drew his attention. Turning around, his breath caught in his throat. She was...stunning. Her thick, curly hair clung around her chin and her tiny waist was accentuated by the frilly, short, white romper she wore with off-the-shoulder bell sleeves.

"I don't know anyone. New in town."

"Boy are you ever -" she smirked, waving a manicured hand at him until he followed her to the back of a pickup. "What brings you to Birmingram?"

"I'm visiting family."

"Oh?"

"Zeke Johnson?"

"You're related to Zeke?" She twisted the right side of her mouth, crinkling her nose, and reached for two red cups that sat on the tailgate. Handing one to him, she held hers under the keg, filling her cup.

"We're cousins." He filled his own cup, raising it to his lips afterward.

"Warm and stale. Some things never change." She grimaced as she sipped at her own beer and he chuckled - it didn't taste that bad to him. "So, Zeke's cousin...Do you ride?"

"Fitz," he offered, "Ride?"

"Bikes? It's kind of the thing around here."

"Not since I was a kid." He wasn't going to admit that the last time he had rode a bike, he'd had training wheels on it. It had never come to him and he'd given up easily.

"Well, we'll have to change that." She led him to a sand dune, lowering herself to the ground. He had to admire her bravery with the white outfit she was wearing.

"Yeah." He lowered himself against the sand dune that she was reclining against, bringing his cup to his lips once more.

"I give it a week."

"A week?"

"Until Zeke corrupts you."

"I'm sorry? Corrupts me?"

"If you're not already. Who knows?" Her words were accompanied by a shrug and a sip of her beer. "You may already be the British version of him."

"Who knows."

Sitting her cup in the sand beside them, she leaned backward, elbows digging into the cooling sand. Stretching her smooth, toned legs before her, she crossed one leg over the other. The movement drew his attention. The clearing of her throat brought him back to reality.

"Your friends aren't here?"

She laughed. A musical, throaty laugh. Then she was pointing at a sand dune further down the beach.

"My best friend Quinn is back there with her boyfriend, Huck. My other friend, Hanna, is somewhere over there -" Her finger moved toward the group kicking a hackysack, shouting at each other as they tried to keep it in the air and away from the puddle of water at their feet, "playing hackysack with our other friends, Stephen and Harrison."

"And they just left you alone?" The thought, unbidden, came to his head that if he were her friend, he wouldn't have left her alone at a party.

"I'm a bit of a loner."

"A beautiful girl like you?"

"Ha!"

"You're not a loner tonight." Using his index finger, he began tracing circles in the sand.

"I felt bad for the lost kid standing in the centre of the beach." There was that laugh again. The one that had him smiling, too.

"You know, you never told me your name." He preferred when she talked about herself. When she was talking. Her voice was mesmerizing.

"Olivia. But my friends call me Liv, Livvie, or Pope."

"And do I get to call you Livvie?" He winked at her, frowning at his now empty cup. She seemed to notice his sudden predicament and, without a word, she grasped her cup in her hand, lifted it, and poured her nearly full beer into his cup. Tossing her cup to the side, she moved just close enough to bump her shoulder against his, eyes focused on the darkened ocean.

"I guess we'll have to find out."

A/N - This is something that I have been working on for quite a while and, unlike my other stories, I wanted to completely finish the story before posting the first chapter. I'm excited to finally get to share with all of you! If you happen to like the story, look for weekly updates on Fridays. :)

With love,

G. xxxx