One Last Summer

by Jo Noelle

  ***

  My brain isn’t fully alert, but something woke me up. There it is—a quick scraping sound. Crap—what is that? My breathing hitches but I try to silence it so I can hear over myself panicking. Someone is in the house, downstairs.

  Maybe the theft at Apple Blossom wasn’t a crime of opportunity, and Misty Harbor is being targeted. My ears strain to hear any new noise as I lay rigidly in bed. Anything that doesn’t belong? Nothing. It’s just before three in the morning—I could have imagined the sound, or it might have been part of a dream.

  What would my options be if someone broke in? I glance around my room and grab my cell phone, punching in nine and one before setting it back on the table. Now I’ll only need to hit another one for emergency. That gives me some comfort, but I’m probably overreacting.

  Wait—I swear I can hear somebody walking around. A sharp bang comes from downstairs, and I’m on my feet, padding to the door. My heart ricochets against my ribs.

  I’m not going to be their victim, sitting around so they can plunder everything Walter has. I pull the door open an inch to listen and hear soft scratching sounds. Ice skittles down my spine. Pushing the fear aside, I look around in my room for something that could be a weapon. The alarm clock—I could swing that thing like nunchucks and clock the guy. I grab my phone, and ease onto the landing at the top of the stairs.

  I try to stay in the shadows and peek around the corner. No one is in the front room, so I step lightly on the stair tread, which creaks beneath my foot. I freeze. And hold my breath. Clanging from the kitchen completely drowns out the noise I make. I decide that rushing the guy would be best. Adrenaline is swimming through my veins, pushing me to move. I pull out my phone, punch in the last one, and hit send. I won’t have time to talk to the operator, so I set it on the stair.

  As I’m moving quickly across the front room, the noise in the kitchen stops. He probably heard me. I tighten my hand on the clock and cord, ready to whip it toward his head. My heart is hammering.

  At the corner, I nearly collide with him. With a screech, I throw the clock, hitting his stomach, and kick his shin.

  “What the crap, Jenna?!”

  Cole? Though adrenaline is still racing through my veins, I also feel a wave of relief. My eyes are squinted shut, and when I open them, Cole looks mad and kicks my clock across the room, shattering it against the wall.

  I punch him in the chest. “What are you doing, sneaking around in the middle of the night? You scared five years off my life!” I slap his shoulder.

  “Stop hitting me. I’m sorry.” Cole’s fingers rake through his hair and hang around the back of his neck. He lets out a deep, long breath. “I’m worried about Walter.” He practically falls into a chair at the table. His chest rises and falls with built-up tension. “And all I could think about is that he’s been talking about cleaning and organizing his pantry, so I came over to do it.”

  Cole looks despondent. All the fight I felt a moment ago drains out my feet, making me feel weak. I sit on Cole’s lap and wrap him in a hug, my forehead against his temple. “Walter will be okay.”

  I feel him nod against me. “Am I always going to be the little kid whose mother doesn’t want him—who’s afraid of not being loved? Afraid everyone will leave me?”

  His grief tears at me. “I love you, Cole.” My right hand settles over his heartbeat, but my own heart is in my throat. I close my eyes and force the words into a sentence. “You’re an amazing man, and I’ll always be with you.”

  His arms tighten as he holds me to him. A long moment passes before I look into his toffee-colored eyes. “Did you ever wonder why I came here and stayed every summer, all summer?” I ask. “My mother must have had a rule she never told anyone about. ‘Assure your new husband that he will barely notice you have a child.’ So she shipped me here from May to August. At least, that was the start. But I came every summer, even on my mom’s off years for marriage. By the time I was in high school, I came to see you—the boy you had been and the man you’ve become. I knew I’d fallen in love, but I hated myself for it. I was scared of it. Mom was always falling in love, and it never looked good.”

  Cole whispers softly in my ear and pierces my soul. “We’ve always had each other—even if it was only for the summers. If you win, Jenna, I want to stay.”

  I hear the longing in his words, and a small amount of vulnerability and hope. I nod and answer, “And if you win, I will too.” I belong with Cole. Not like he owns me or I own him, but more like we’re in the right place when we’re together. We fit.

  Red-and-blue lights dance across the windows as a man yells, “Police. Open up,” and bangs on the door. Cole’s head snaps up. He stands with a jerk, and my feet hit the ground.

  “Oh, no. My phone.” I run to the stairs as Cole goes to the door.

  I explain to the dispatcher that everything’s fine. “It was a misunderstanding. I overreacted because we were robbed last week. It was my friend downstairs, and he’s okay to be here. He works here and lives here.”

  The dispatcher asks, “Is he being threatening to you in some way? Do we need to get you out of there without him knowing?”

  “No. He isn’t even by me, and he’s not making me say this.”

  “Are you sure?” he asks.

  “Yes, I’m fine—we’re fine. Thank you, and sorry.” I click the phone off.

  I walk toward Cole and hear the officer ask, “What’s with the alarm clock?”

  I look over, and it’s lying in the middle of the floor, its guts spilling out on the carpet.

  It’s almost four thirty when we finish giving statements and have everything worked out with the police and close the door.

  Cole stands beside the door, looking exhausted when I say, “I hate it that I need to leave, but I do. I was going to get up at five anyway. Walter is judging the contest day after tomorrow, and I haven’t finished.”

  Cole steps beside me and wraps an arm around my waist. “Come on. I’ll help.”

  “No.” I’m still doing this on my own, not because of Mommy baggage, but because I’m proud of what I’m capable of doing.

  “Does the contest matter that much? I hope it’s the first of a lot of things we do together. This isn’t about winning and losing.” I open my mouth to say something, but Cole’s on a roll. “I’m helping you, not because I have to, but because I want to. And you’re letting me because you choose to.”

  He lowers his mouth to mine. His teeth tease my lower lip. Very persuasive. I peck his lips and draw back.

  “Mmm, nice kiss. But that’s not distracting me. No, being the winner isn’t the most important thing to me right now. You can help with part—that’s all. I want some of this to be a surprise.”

  That’s something Cole can understand. He’s been keeping a big secret about the Willow cottage all month.

  “How about a private viewing before breakfast on judging day?” he asks.