By the time Friday evening rolls around, a plan has taken shape for how to tell Hunter and when to do it.

The party at the Reids' cottage means the conversation won't happen tonight, even though I'm ready. There will be too many people around, and someone would notice if we tried to sneak away for a while. Paisley, Hunter's parents, and Mom are at the top of the list. We would have to return to the party afterward, and it would be a lot to unleash and then not be able to discuss right after Hunter finds out.

With tonight off the table, the best timing is between tomorrow and the day before Sawyer gets to town. It will be whenever I can get Hunter alone for at least an hour or two. We'll take the pedal boat out to the spot where we caught tadpoles. While we're out on the lake, enjoying the scenery, I'll mention my best friend from L.A. is coming to town and I want to introduce them.

I've rehearsed what comes next a few dozen times already. I do it again now, under my breath, to my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

"I've never gone this long without being able to talk to Sawyer," I say to an imaginary Hunter. "He knows why Mom took my phone away, and he's busy with his tour, but it's still weird."

Mentioning the tour is intentional. My hope is Hunter catches it and asks what tour Sawyer is busy with. If he doesn't, he might joke about getting the real story of my phone ban from him, since he's still certain there's more to what happened. Either of these things would be a great segue.

"Speaking of the tour, I should tell you more about Sawyer and why he's coming here before you meet him." This is one direction I could go in. I'll explain Sawyer is a musician and throw out the titles of his recent radio hits, just in case Hunter isn't as oblivious to the world of pop stars as he claims.

"Do you remember what I told you about the concert I was at, and the explosion?" I'll say next. "Sawyer performed that night—he was the opening act. But there's something about the concert I didn't tell you when I was panicking. I didn't know you that well yet, and I came into this summer wanting to heal from what happened, which meant not bringing up a part of my life while I'm here. But then I got to know you, and now we're together, and I want you to know everything about me and that night. No secrets."

Hunter might be confused or alarmed at this point. I would be. I'll wait a moment to let him absorb what I've said so far, and then continue.

"I wasn't in the crowd when the bomb went off. I was on stage, because it was my concert. You and everyone I'm close with know me as Deni Reese. A lot of other people know me as Cayden Indigo."

There's no way to predict what Hunter will say to that. I'll answer anything he asks me and apologize for not telling him sooner. He'll learn why anyone else finding out could put me, him, my mom, his family, and other people at the lake in danger if my location becomes public information. Investigators need to confirm Dallas wasn't working with someone else first, or to apprehend anyone who was.

I'm nervous about telling him, but also relieved he will finally know. For the next few hours, though, the focus is on relaxing and having fun with the people who are helping me heal and move on, and not the conversation to come.

"Deni!" Mom calls. "Are you ready to go?"

"Just a second!" I run a brush through my hair and give myself another glance in the mirror. Satisfied, I set the brush on the counter and join Mom in the kitchen, where she's waiting to leave.

We meet up with Hunter and his family at the top of their driveway and begin the short walk to the Reids' cottage. Mom, Melanie, and Rob strike up a conversation I don't listen to. My attention, as usual, is on Hunter.

He greets me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and I wish our families were farther ahead of us so we could kiss the way we do when we're alone. Just thinking about Hunter's lips pressed against mine while his fingers glide over my skin is enough to raise goosebumps of anticipation on my arms. He must notice or read my mind, because he takes my hand and mouths the word "later" at me.

We stroll down the road, hand-in-hand. I'm about to ask if he knows who else will be at the party, when he beats me to speaking.

"I know you didn't go into town yet, but I still hoped you would find a set of strings in time for this. Maybe someone else will bring a guitar and you can play."

My heart constricts. I adore him, but my guitar and the fact that I play isn't a topic I wanted to come up in front of Paisley. It's pure luck that it hasn't so far. She's ahead of us, though, so it's possible she didn't hear what Hunter said.

My hopes are dashed a half-second later when Paisley stops walking and whirls around to look at me. "You play guitar?"

"You have to hear her play and sing," Hunter says. "She'll blow your mind."

"I think you might be biased since you're my boyfriend and all." Please let this deflection tactic work and convince Paisley her brother is gushing over nothing, I think.

I don't find out if it does, since our arrival at the Reids' cottage puts an end to the discussion. I'll have to find a way to dodge playing and singing in front of Paisley or anyone else who isn't Hunter or Mom. It shouldn't be difficult, because it seems like everyone with a cottage or a friend at the lake is here tonight. There will be tons of people to talk to, and I can keep my distance from any singalongs by staying near the cottage where a few people have already set up board games to play on the deck.

I underestimate how much the people here enjoy their singalongs. It's about an hour later, and just when Hunter and I are winning as a duo at a game of Scrabble, that the sound of two acoustic guitars comes from down by the lake.

"It's bonfire time." Hunter sets his tiles down. "Do you want to go find a spot by the fire?"

"Shouldn't we finish the game?" The Scrabble board is filled with tiles, and the game is close to done.

"There won't be anyone else to finish it with. No one misses out on the Reids' bonfires."

His statement turns out to be true. Most of the party drifts away from the cottage and down to the lake within a few minutes, so we set aside the game and join the others.

A woman and man I haven't met both have guitars, but the instruments are drowned out by a group of adults singing a Dave Matthews Band song from the nineties at the top of their lungs. Paisley is already there, standing near her parents and Mom. She perks up when she sees Hunter and me.

"I was about to go find you. Someone got nostalgic and started singing nineties hits. We need to stage an intervention, because this only ever leads to Hootie and the Blowfish, bad high school stories, and tears. No one needs a repeat of last year's party."

"I think that's your cue," Hunter tells me. Paisley bobs her head in agreement.

"I don't really sing in front of people," I insist, but it's too late. Paisley is on her feet and retrieving one of the guitars.

"The teens are taking over now, and I nominate Deni to kick things off," she announces. "Do you know any Cayden Indigo songs?"

Of all the songs in existence, she has to request mine. There has to be a way to get out of singing and playing at all.

"No Cayden Indigo songs," Hunter complains. "You were blasting those all morning. That's enough for today and the rest of my life."

I pinch the inside of my palm to keep from laughing. In another situation—one in the not-so-distant future—I would tease him about being sick of Cayden Indigo. It could be our inside joke. But when I see the concern in his eyes, it's clear his objection has nothing to do with being tired of hearing the music he doesn't yet know is mine.

He's recalled my panic attack in the boat, the news story that mentioned the Cayden Indigo concert, and what I told him about being there when the bomb went off. Hunter is trying to protect me from my memories.

"Some people have no taste," Paisley mutters, then she turns to me. "Do you know any Bowie Nelson songs? Those would be fun to sing, too."

She isn't letting me off the hook. I exchange glances with Mom, who has been listening to us.

"How about the Fiona Apple song we sing in the car?" she suggests. "You know how to play that one."

The song Mom means is "Criminal," and she's a genius. Singing it means using my lower register, which my own music doesn't showcase much of, and the song is completely different from the style of music I perform. I can make my voice grungy or raspy and can go flat or sharp if I don't want to sound how I do on my albums.

Paisley groans at the mention of another nineties song, but the adults are all for it. A group of them sing along with Mom and me while I also accompany us on the guitar. Things get loud enough that my voice blends in among the twenty or so other voices, which makes me less worried about anyone recognizing my singing.

Or it does until Paisley holds up her phone and points it at me. I manage to stay cool and composed while finishing the song, but I have a bad feeling about this. After I strum the final chord, I stand the guitar against a tree and approach her.

"Did you record that?" I ask.

"I sure did. I'm putting it on TikTok and Instagram." Paisley swipes her finger across the screen to scroll through filters. "Let me know your username and I'll tag you."

"Please don't put it up or tag me. I'm a pretty private person, and I'd be horrified if my friends in L.A. watched it and heard me singing."

Paisley stares at me. "If I could sing like that, I would post videos every day and force my friends to watch. You could totally be TikTok and Instagram famous."

"Right?" Hunter chimes in. "You're amazing, and probably the one person in L.A. with actual talent who isn't fake or pretending to be something you aren't."

My stomach lurches at Hunter's words. I'm saved from fumbling for a response when a familiar sequence of chords distracts Paisley from me and from her phone. Someone is honoring her request for one of Bowie's songs, which causes her to squeal and move closer to the bonfire and the person with the guitar.

I hang back with Hunter and rest my head against his shoulder, deciding to let his comment slide. I'm not thrilled about the reminder that Bowie will be in town soon, or about Hunter's off-the-cuff remark that was meant to be a compliment, but I am relieved Paisley has forgotten about the video.

* * *

It's close to midnight when we leave the party, the scents of citronella and smoke lingering in the air as we emerge out to the road and beam our flashlights ahead of us. Paisley, Melanie, and Rob part ways with us when we reach their driveway, but Hunter stays with Mom and me to walk us the rest of the way home.

Mom is a few paces ahead of us and says goodnight to Hunter when she reaches the cottage door, leaving him and I alone outside together. I'm about to lean in to kiss him when I notice the frown on his face.

"Is everything okay?" I ask.

His frown morphs into a lopsided half-smile. "You read me so well. There's something I need to talk to you about."

Every nerve in my body is now on alert. Those words don't usually come before anything good. "What's that?"

"My parents sprang a family vacation on me. It's a belated graduation gift for Paisley, and I had no idea about it until today. I couldn't mention it at the party because Paisley still doesn't know."

I nearly sigh with relief that this is what he wanted to tell me. "A family trip sounds fun."

"Only for Paisley. My parents got her tickets to a fan meet-and-greet an actor she likes is having in Minneapolis. That's not really my thing. They also want to see an off-Broadway show that's there and go to an amusement park."

Hunter's expression would make an onlooker think someone was about to drag him over hot coals.

"When do you leave?" I ask.

"We leave for town in the morning to pack and get ready. We're coming back out here on Thursday."

Thursday is the day before Sawyer gets to town. Hunter leaving in the morning means waiting until he returns for the conversation we need to have.

The only other option is to reveal everything now. It's tempting to, but I stop myself. We need more than a few minutes outside of my cottage door for this, and his parents expect him to be home any minute. I also don't want him thinking about it during his family vacation, and selfishly, I don't want to spend almost a week wondering what's on his mind and if what he knows about my life changes anything.

Hunter must mistake my silence for disappointment or being upset, because he speaks again.

"I asked my parents if I could stay here and if they could just take Paisley, but they said no. They want us to do something fun together as a family since my last year of high school is coming up and I might move away for college after that. I get it, but I still wish I didn't have to go."

"Don't be silly," I say. "Of course you should be with your family. We'll make up for lost time when you get back."

My promise of spending time together when he returns lifts his mood. He puts his arm around my waist and pulls me toward him.

"I miss you already, but I'm planning something special for when I see you next." His tone is softer now. He traces circles against the small of my back.

"Oh yeah? What's that?" I try to keep my attention on listening for his reply, but I'm hypnotized by the sensation of his hands roaming my skin and find myself pressing my body closer to his.

"I'm not ruining the surprise. You'll have to wait until Thursday." He moves his hand away from my back and I'm about to protest until he uses it to stroke the side of my neck with his fingertips.

He gently tilts my face up toward his. Our lips meet, and if energy was something I could physically see, then I'm sure I'd witness an explosion of sparks between us. My lips part, tasting the sugary sweetness of the marshmallows we both consumed at tonight's bonfire mixed with the cool wintergreen of a mint Hunter must have had on our walk back.

We take our time with a kiss so lingering and deep that it leaves me lightheaded and my breath coming out in shallow bursts. Hunter's ragged breath matches mine, and it's all I can do to not pull him up the stairs to a chaise lounge on the veranda that's out of view from the kitchen and living room windows. It's the perfect make-out spot, and the only thing that stops me is knowing Mom is inside and might come looking for me if my goodnight kiss with Hunter goes on for as long as I wish it would. I'd stay here with him until sunrise if I could, intoxicated by our kisses and the feel of his arms around me, knowing it will be days until we can do this again.

The next time I see him, he'll learn the truth about me. I hope that day also ends with us kissing this way and making plans for the next time we're together.