15. Noah

I'm notsure if Sunset Harbor is prepared for the chaos of a photoshoot on our beach. Scratch that—I'm not sure if my resort is prepared for it. The way we boated all the people and equipment in, the rest of the island can remain blissfully unaware of what we're doing here.

The resort patrons who are told the beach is closed today will be less pleased. Their vouchers for the spa or golf course or restaurant will ease that pain, I'm sure.

People are tracking footprints all over the sand, setting up two of the shoots while our hair and makeup artist, Melanie, has commandeered one of the beachfront villas for the models. She's in there now, directing their hair, makeup, and wardrobes. Bree is still in the house with her personal glam team, and her dog is right here on the beach with me, following my feet so closely I'm afraid I'll step on her. There have been two close calls already.

Mateo approaches with an iPad and a grim expression.

I know something always will go wrong—law of nature or whatever—but today it seems like one thing after another. Three of the models contracted food poisoning sometime in the night—including the redhead with freckles—so we're short a few people. The outfit we planned for Bree is missing, so she had to find something else to wear. Then the skies were ultra cloudy this morning, which can be great for lighting I guess, but not great for the sunny vibes we're trying for.

Thankfully the sky has cleared up. Mateo's brow is still stormy.

"What is it now?" I ask.

"The castle. The schedule's kind of tight. When is Cat arriving?"

"Any second now." I scan the beach but don't see her. I take another step toward the surf to look around the group gathered there, and Peanut jumps in front of me. I almost trip over her, so I lean down and scoop her up, letting her little shaky body rest against my chest.

"It's a dog," Mateo says.

"My sister's dog. She's nervous." She trembles in my arms, so I hold her tighter and run my fingers behind her ears. I figured out the other night that this move calms her pretty quickly.

"Right." Mateo looks at us another second too long before returning his attention to his iPad. "They're almost finished with the volleyball net. Christine is happy with the lighting, so we'll start over there once the models are ready. Oh, speak of the devil—Cat!" Mateo raises an arm to get her attention.

I follow the motion and have to catch my breath. She's coming down the stairs, and I work to keep my jaw from dropping to the sand. She's in white high-waisted shorts and a plain yellow tee that's tied at the waist. So simple, yet so cute. Her blonde hair is waved, blowing away from her face, and a red scarf is rolled up and tied around her head like a headband. It looks like the sodden thing she pulled out of the ocean the day I saw her a few weeks ago, and I have the weird desire to run my fingers through her hair.

"We need that castle now," Mateo mutters, even though she's too far away to hear.

"I'll tell her," I say, starting toward the stairs. "You can do something else."

Mateo stands there watching me. I can feel the heat of his stare on my back, but I don't even care if I just gave away my hand. Nothing matters to me right now as much as seeing Cat.

I meet her at the foot of the stairs. She kicks off her Birkenstocks and loops them over her fingers. "Hey, Elon." She grins, showing me a set of straight teeth when her gaze drops to my arms, her eyes warming. "And hello to you, Peanut. Where's your mom?"

"In New York, I think."

"Not your mom, Musk. Hers."

"Nice nickname. But could you pick someone less?.?.?. what's the word?"

"Rich?"

"Not the attribute I was thinking of." I pull a face and she laughs.

Cat steps closer, reaching to pet Peanut. "She has you wrapped around her little paw, doesn't she?"

"She might." I can't breathe. Cat is leaning forward, her shoes dangling from one hand while she runs her fingers through Peanut's thick, fluffy fur. Her hot pink nails stand out against the dog's sandy color.

Cat leans down to look into Peanut's little face. "You have the sweetest uncle, Peanut."

The scent of her shampoo rises to meet me, and I inhale quietly.

She looks up, squinting against the sunlight, and her face is way too close to mine. I need some space so I can breathe again before I get too drunk on her and say something I'll regret later.

"You ready to make a sandcastle?" I ask.

"Yes. Where do you want me?"

In my arms.

It's a really good thing those words don't actually leave my mouth. I clear my throat and start toward the water. "Over here. We have all the equipment ready."

"Equipment?" she repeats, following me toward the water. There are a handful of beach chairs and an umbrella set up beside a bucket and shovel, with a few other beach toys.

"I thought you'd need a little help with the turrets."

"True," she concedes, surveying the bucket and tools. "These are great."

"Do you have much sandcastle experience?"

"Not recently, but it shouldn't be too hard."

Cat tosses her shoes to the side and checks out the tide before selecting the place for the castle, then gets to work. I set Peanut on a blue and white striped beach chair in the shade of an umbrella and kneel to help.

Cat sits back on her heels. "What are you doing?"

"Helping."

"Don't you have more important things to do?"

I glance over the beach. "Not really. Mateo is handling the coordinating. Christine is the visionary behind everything. Melanie is getting the models ready. Gina is up at the house with Bree."

She observes me, her blonde eyebrows pulling together. "And Alonzo?"

"Probably with Bree."

"Then why do you have their dog?"

"She followed me down the steps this morning." I scoop sand into the bucket and pack it down. "I think she may have imprinted on me or something."

"That's really sweet." Cat leans forward, smoothing out the sand that will be our castle base.

I flip the bucket and release a flawless tower.

We're getting another tower finished when the sound of a shutter clicks rapidly behind me. Cat glances up, then her gaze shoots to me. "What are they doing?"

Christine walks toward us, taking pictures. She gestures for Alex, the guy who's manning the video camera on a motion steadying device, to follow her. "Ignore us and just keep doing what you're doing."

"This is a prop," Cat says. "We aren't the models."

"I'm just using you for lighting." Christine talks while looking into her camera, adjusting things as she goes. "I want to test a few things before they get down here and we roll for real."

I look at Cat, who is a little unnerved. "You okay?"

"Yeah. We need to make a walkway between these towers."

"You are detail-oriented, aren't you?" I ask, unable to keep from smiling down at her. She's taking this sandcastle very seriously for something we intend to destroy during the shoot.

"That's what makes me such a great assistant." She grins at me and the sun sparkles on her, shining off her eyes. She looks down at the sand and starts forming the walkway.

Clicks go off around us, but we ignore Christine and her cameraman.

Cat shifts around the castle until she's kneeling directly beside me so she can better reach her walkway. I could move, but I don't. Her shoulder presses into mine and she leans forward, forming a little mound on top of one of the towers. Pinching the sand, she forms a little creature.

"What is it?" I ask.

"I'm offended you can't tell immediately."

"Peanut?"

"Bingo."

"Lucky guess. That thing looks nothing like a dog."

Cat scoffs, leaning away and laughing. "Don't worry about sparing my feelings."

"I'm not." She playfully swats my arm. I reach for her hand and take it before it can make contact. "Careful there, or you'll ruin the castle too early."

"Fair point, Lex."

I sit back and appraise her, still holding her hand. She hasn't tried to reclaim it yet, so I don't bother releasing it. Her small hand fits so perfectly within mine, it's kind of jarring. "Why villains, Cat? What is with the rich villains?"

She looks up, her eyes sparkling. "Um, because you're a villain. Obviously."

"Oh, right, I forgot about my master plan to take over the world. Hang tight while I check in with Pinky and the Brain."

"Who?"

"It's an old show—you know what? Never mind."

My feet are starting to fall asleep from sitting in this position too long, so I let go of her hand and move to stand. There's noise coming from the wooden staircase, and I see the group of models making their way down, Bree just behind them with Alonzo and Gina.

"Hey," Cat says, getting up beside me and putting her hand on my forearm. I'm not expecting it, so it stuns me into silence. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"You didn't."

"I'll quit with the villains. Though in my defense, Musk and Trump and Bezos?.?.?. yeah, okay, I get it." Her nose scrunches adorably and her fingers squeeze into my skin.

I have the impulse to run a finger down her brow to smooth the wrinkles. I reach for her, taking the pad of my thumb along her forehead like the baboon in The Lion King. Except this does wonders and her skin instantly goes back to normal. "I'm not really offended, you know."

"That's good."

"I just don't relish the comparisons."

Her eyes are glued to mine. "I'll come up with better ones."

"Tony Stark works."

That makes her smile. "Oh yeah?"

"Or Steve Rogers."

"He's not rich."

"Bruce Wayne."

"I'm sensing a theme, here."

"Clark Kent."

Cat lets out a laugh, her fingers squeezing my arm. "Fine. I get it."

"Or, you know, Noah also works."

"Everyone to the sand pit!" Mateo calls through a megaphone. "I need players on the volleyball court, spectators on the sidelines."

People start moving toward the net. Cat drops my hand and takes a step back.

We turn to find Christine and Alex right behind us, still filming. "Perfect," Christine says.

Cat looks suspicious.

I feel that way too. "I thought that was just for lighting."

"It was cute, Noah. I think you'll like it." Christine lifts her hand in a placating manner. "We don't have to use it, but you might want to. If you're going to bring your girlfriend, you might as well get some mileage out of it."

Cat is quick to speak. "Oh, I'm not?—"

"She's not?—"

Cat shakes her head. "We're not?—"

There's a beat of silence while Mateo's voice carries from the other side of the beach, calling out directions.

Christine narrows her almond-shaped eyes at us, tucking straight black hair behind her ear. "Okay. I misread the situation, but the footage is still great." She turns for the volleyball court and Alex falls in behind her.

I pick up Peanut from her little perch on the chair, afraid she'll panic if I leave her behind. "If they really wanted a good shot, I could have taken my shirt off. Done a few push-ups."

She gawks. "You're that into yourself, Belacourt?"

"No." I can't contain my grin. "I figured you are, since you like to watch me in the mornings."

I start toward the group, holding the small dog.

Cat hurries to catch up. "I don't watch you. I pay attention so I know when to make your smoothie. Distinct difference."

"Whatever you want to call it." I flash her a grin, noting the way her cheeks blush a furious pink.

Bree is in position on the volleyball court when we reach them, and the guy we've chosen to play her love interest is on the opposite side. She's wearing a pink swim top and shorts, her feet bare, her long dark hair in a beachy wave. She runs toward us and nuzzles her face close to Peanut without quite touching the dog.

"There's my baby. Alonzo panicked when he couldn't find her this morning."

"She followed me down here," I tell her. "I should have let you know."

"Don't stress. Just don't plan on stealing my dog." Bree looks beside me. "Oh, Cat. Hi, again. I love your scarf."

Cat's fingers trail the tail of the scarf that's hanging over her shoulder. "Thanks. It was my mom's."

I look at her quickly, but she averts her gaze.

Bree probably doesn't know that Cat lost her parents. I want to ask her more about the scarf—was that the one she went into the ocean to save?—but now isn't the time.

"Places!" Christine calls. She holds the camera up and takes a few shots of Bree's lover boy before adjusting something on her camera. Bree skips back into place and catches a volleyball someone tosses to her, then serves it over the net.

Christine takes a few more shots before lowering the camera and frowning at the group gathered along the sidelines. "Where are the blondes?"

"Blondes?" Mateo asks, hurrying to her side. "We had two and a redhead, but they all got food poisoning."

"There's no variety," Christine says, looking at the depleted group of models, thanks to whatever they ate for dinner last night. We've brought in various women of color, but I see what she's saying—they're all brunettes. Every single one of them. She glances up, right at me, before her gaze slides to Cat.

I know what she's thinking. I also don't know if Cat will understand that it's within her power to turn Christine down. There have been a handful of times that she's come to the house to assist me or gotten on the phone in the evenings—like FaceTiming during my barking dilemma the other night—that made me wonder if she was acting out of kindness or only doing it because I pay her and she thinks she has to.

"We need someone to offset Bree so she stands out on camera. Otherwise, she won't catch the viewers' eyes straight away."

Cat is listening, but I don't think she's caught on yet. Besides, by Christine's logic, Cat should be the one starring in these ads. As the only blonde, she'll stand out in every scene.

"What do you say, Cat? Do you mind jumping in?"

Her head whips toward Christine. "Me? I'm not dressed for it."

"You blend in perfectly. Even the thing in your hair"—Christine does a twirl with her finger toward Cat's head—"is the right color. It matches the color scheme."

Cat developed the color scheme, so whether it was just a product of being colors she likes or the fact that this palette has been in her head, she really did dress for the cameras today. Unintentionally, obviously.

"I'm not trained."

"You were a natural when I was testing earlier. Why don't we give it a shot, then go from there?" She looks at me. "What do you think, Noah?"

"If Cat would like to do it, I think it's a great idea." I try to hold her blue eyes. "If you'd like to," I reiterate.

She looks flustered, glancing from the makeshift volleyball court to me. Does she need permission to back out? I want to tell her she doesn't need to do it, but before I can open my mouth, she's nodding.

"Okay, I'll do it." She looks at Christine. "Tell me what to do."