Summer Lovin: A Dating Season Novella

by Laurelin Paige

  “My dearest friend”—Charlotte places a hand on my arm—“the entirety of your mind seems like a strange place to be in. But listen. I need this done and settled for my own inner peace. You’re giving me Braxton-Hicks.”

  “You’re still in your first trimester.”

  “What do you know about pregnancy?”

  “I must admit, not much.”

  “I’ve got a book about every phase of pregnancy you can read once you have the time to focus on me again. And I need your focus on me. So, here’s what you’re going to do. I have miles from honeymooning, and they’ll get you to Arizona to break up with Logan, to his face, and back again before dinner.”

  “That’s a superb idea,” Granny Mae says. “We can go to the airport together tomorrow, and you can move on with your life.”

  “I am not taking your miles!” Am I? It would make things easier and end the charade with Logan so he doesn’t get hurt.

  “Yes, you goddamn are. Or else I’ll…I’ll…I’ll make everyone play baby shower games.”

  “I’ll book a flight.”

  Welp. That’s settled.

  Four

  “I hate flying more than I hate passwords with a capital letter, number, and a punctuation mark,” Roger grumbles on our Uber ride to the airport.

  As promised, I booked a flight to Arizona to dump Logan, and since Austin had to meet up with his boss, and doesn’t know what I’m planning, who better to take us there than the best Uber driver in the world?

  “I’m not a fan either,” I admit. “Maybe you can just drive me there?”

  “Don’t be silly, Chloe.” Granny Mae pats my leg. “The cost would be outrageous. And even if it weren’t, you’ll be fine.”

  “She’s right. You’ll be okay,” Roger says. “I’m not afraid of anything bad happening to me. I just hate being shoved up next to people and fighting for the armrest.”

  I look out the window at the tall trees and sweet earth that will soon be out of sight. “I loathe that too. Right now, calling him seems like the better option. I think I’ll just call him. Kindness is overrated.”

  “Listen to me,” Granny Mae says with no mercy. “When did you become such a scaredy cat? This is not the girl who picked up everything and moved to another state to follow a dream. Or the one who started her own business. And now a side business. You’ve got more businesses than I’ve got bras.”

  “Easy for you to say. There was a lot of turbulence on that flight. And you hate bras!”

  She arches a stern brow at me.

  “Okay, okay,” I relent. “Maybe I just need to practice so I don’t end up babbling or getting tongue-tied. I do that a lot.”

  “You’ve always done that since you could talk.” She pulls a Chapstick out of her bag and runs it over her lips. “Do what you need to do, but you’re doing this. Roger, you’re Logan.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he says.

  The experts agree it’s important to get straight to the point and not drag it out, so I rip the Band-Aid off. “Hi, Logan. I’m breaking up with you. It’s over, and I wish you the best in life. You’re amazing. Bye.”

  Granny Mae’s chin melds with her neck. “What kind of breakup is that? If that’s the case, then yes, you need to call him. You need to say your piece but realize it’s going to be uncomfortable for him. I’ve had some experience with this lately. Here, let me show you how it’s done.”

  Roger’s amused eyes meet mine in the rear-view mirror.

  “Logan, honey, as much as I’ve enjoyed our time together, and I have…that night after Bingo”—she fans herself—“whew… but things aren’t meant to be between us. You’re amazing in the sack—”

  “Granny Mae,” I screech with owl eyes.

  “Well, you have to stroke their egos, Chloe.”

  Roger chuckles. “Just be honest with him about why you’re breaking up. You don’t have to plan it word for word. It’s simple. Treat him how you’d want to be treated and remember he’s got feelings too. I’m sure he had an inkling you’d end up with the other guy. I certainly did.”

  “This sucks,” I say. “It’s hard enough breaking up with someone you don’t like, much less someone you actually enjoyed spending time with.”

  But I won’t back out. I remind myself of that as we get closer to our destination. Roger and Granny Mae fill the rest of the car ride chatting with each other and I push away thoughts of what I’m going to do in a few hours and focus on enjoying the last of my time with Granny Mae.

  Much too soon, Roger is dropping us off in front of the airport. He hops out to open Granny Mae’s door and I grab her plaid duffel bag.

  “You come see me, if you’re ever in North Carolina,” she tells him. “I’ve got plenty of room around my table for more friends.”

  “Will do,” he says. And he looks like he truly might follow her there.

  Since I may never see his smiling face again, I hug him.

  “Thank you,” I say. “I truly appreciate you and I’m so glad my app picked you that night.”

  “You’re my favorite customer,” he says. “Don’t forget to rate me.”

  “As if I would ever forget.”

  Once Granny Mae is safely checked in, and I’ve hugged her a million times, she says, “Obviously, I have my favorite between your two men, but whoever you end up with is lucky to have you. Never forget your worth.”

  “I’m lucky to have you,” I say and kiss her cheek. “I don’t want to leave you.”

  “Now you’re just trying to miss your flight,” she says with a smile.

  Possibly. Ha. I kid. I kid.

  After one last hug, I set off for my own flight. As I board, I think of all the things I’m going to say to Logan. When the plane picks up speed and leaves the ground, I close my eyes and picture that house on the hill. It’s Austin I see with me, so I feel confident I’m doing the right thing.

  I’m like my very own “How it started… How it’s going” meme.

  How it started:

  I planned and waited for the right moment after Logan’s set so as not to upset him before he went on stage. No one wants an upset drummer, thrashing their sticks out of rhythm. Least of all me.

  I expressed my reason for ending things honestly and with compassion for his feelings.

  I didn’t just spring it on him and then bolt out of the venue.

  How it’s going:

  Those blasted internet experts said to prepare for different reactions. Of course, it’s impossible to know how Logan would react to the news of our breakup. I prepared myself for surprise, anger, or possibly sadness. He gave me the one thing I never expected—refusal.

  “I, uh, know this must be shocking, but you can’t really say no.”

  “I don’t want to break up,” he repeats, placing a hand on the wall above my head, looking down at me with confusion. “And I don’t think you realize I’m the right guy for you. But I am.”

  Is this a thing, like refusing to accept a divorce? I’m ill-prepared for his reaction. Once upon a different time, I probably would’ve held back the truth, but not now.

  “Look, full disclosure,” I say, gently. “I’ve always been in love with Austin, and I want to give things a real shot with him.”

  He rakes his teeth over the corner of his lip, studying me like I’m a puzzle to solve. “Do you? Or is it just easy and comfortable to be with the guy you already live with, rather than try to make it work with someone who’s on the road a lot?”

  This is not going well. It pains me to say it, but I do…

  “Logan, you are what’s easy and comfortable.”

  He shakes his head, slowly. “No, I’m not. He’s your security blanket, Chloe. And you’ve wrapped yourself up in him. You don’t even realize it, so I can’t be mad at you. He is a safety net and I’m the scary unknown.”

  Tears prick my eyelids. I was so worried about sparing him any pain; I didn’t consider how it would feel for me to do this. It hurts to hurt him, if I’m being h
onest. I blink back the tears welling in my eyes. He does not know the unknowns are far more terrifying with Austin than the unknowns with him. But something tells me he’s not going to give an inch on this and maybe it’s the kinder thing to do to let him think he’s right.

  I want to reach out and comfort him but I slide my hands in my pockets so I don’t. “I just need to see where this goes. I’m sorry. I really am. I don’t want to hurt you…”

  He looks at a spot on the wall above my head before finally meeting my gaze again. “I have another show in ten minutes, Chlo.” Oh. Oops. “How am I supposed to react to this?”

  Face-to-face breakups are horrible. No wonder people go the childish route and do it over the phone. I’d rather have the innocence of a child any day over this. Not one article emphasized the worst part of doing it this way—seeing their face.

  “Put it in your music?” Hopefully he’ll be kind too. On second thought, I shouldn’t have suggested that if I don’t want to be blasted on the radio someday. I give him another option. “Or go for a run later? Let out your stress on the pavement?”

  “Is there a ring on your finger?” he asks instead.

  “No.” Weird question, but who am I to judge his process of accepting things ending.

  He gives me a curt nod and steps away. “I’ve got to get on stage.”

  And with that, he turns and stalks away, pushing the door open with enough force to knock it against the wall. He continues down the bright hallway without looking back. And then he’s gone.

  Well. Guess that’s over.

  I blow out a breath and stand in the silence for a while, staring at the closed door. That saying about opening and closing doors filters through my mind. God, I hope I never have to open another door, because closing them is fucking hard. This is by no means what I’d consider a success, but hopefully, if I’m lucky, he won’t hate me. I don’t want him to hate me. What did I expect? That he’d smile and say okay, let’s be friends? My relationship with him wasn’t the same as Dune and Ryan, which is probably why I was able to remain friends with them. Part of me feels terrible, but the other part of me feels like I have removed a crushing weight from my shoulders.

  On the flight home, as I soar above the clouds, staring out the window, all the pent-up emotions that have been held back burst free like a river through a dam.

  Austin and I have no obstacles.

  Finally, there’s nothing between us.

  A giddy feeling replaces the mopiness. When Roger picks me back up at the airport, having apparently expected me to survive both flights, he tells me I’m amazing and mature for completing my mission. I’m feeling less guilty with every mile that ticks away on the odometer, and by the time he pulls in the driveway, I’m downright excited to tell Austin.

  “You’re the best,” I tell Roger before he drives away. “Thank you again.”

  Austin’s truck isn’t here, so I rush inside and do something to spoil him for a change.

  By the time he walks in the kitchen, I’ve prepared gourmet sandwiches, just like he taught me, complete with tomatoes from our garden.

  “What’s this?” he asks, eying the table set with candles lit in the center, and the sandwiches I made by my very own self.

  “Ta-da! I have Grand Gestured you,” I announce.

  “Ah. The thing you told me about in your romance novels where one of them does something bold to prove their love?”

  My heart stutters at hearing him say the word love. “Yep. Have a seat.”

  He does and takes a bite while I pour him a glass of wine.

  “It’s a good sandwich, don’t get me wrong, but—”

  “No, no. That’s not all the Grand Gesture.” I pull the plane tickets from my shorts pocket. “I flew to Arizona and broke up with Logan.”

  He glances at the stubs in my hand and then back at me in disbelief. “Today?”

  “Yeah.”

  He scoots his chair back and pulls me into his lap. “That’s a damn good Grand Gesture.”

  “Thank you. Are you going to ask me on a third date now? We could take a walk at the park right now even, maybe…”

  Instead of ripping my clothes off and taking me on the table, he is upsettingly gentlemanly about asking me out on Friday, late.

  “What are we doing? Netflix and Chill?”

  He trails a finger across my cheek. “It’s a surprise.”

  Five

  In another life, I want to be reincarnated as a cat. Unlike dogs, they don’t seem to give a flying rat’s ass about anything. That no-fucks-given state of mind is something I can only aspire to attain.

  “My pussy is not happy,” I say to Charlotte as we relax on blue yoga mats, spending “cuddle time” with finicky felines before cat yoga.

  Miss Kitty, a tubby and slightly weather-beaten tabby, eyes me suspiciously from within an empty pizza box a few feet away from where we sit.

  Charlotte coos while Tom, a lean black-and-white male with emerald eyes, nuzzles her side, burrowing his cheek against her belly bump.

  “It will be tonight.” She waggles her brows. “Third date is the charm.”

  “Please, stop,” I say. “This class is supposed to get rid of my stress, not add to it.”

  I’ve been teetering on the edge of an epic meltdown for days, and Charlotte assured me we needed this cat class to de-stress and it seems to be working for her. Me, not so much. I should have learned from the goats. Felines are not my friends, but I’m hanging onto the hope that some of the anxiety about my date with Austin will melt away once the deep breathing starts.

  “You love this. Admit that I have the best ideas.”

  “It’s okay, I guess.”

  On a scale of one to ridiculous, cat yoga is a solid five. Okay, maybe a six. The adorable setup gets an extra point because Purrific is also a cat-cafe that gives people an opportunity to get to know adoptable cats. They shut down once a week, on Fridays, for yoga classes with the furry felines. Aw. Now I feel like I should take Miss Kitty home with me, even if she loathes me.

  “Ten more minutes with your new friends,” our instructor, Layla, a lithe blonde with purple streaks in her hair, tells the eight-person class. “Then we’ll get started with thirty minutes of exercise.”

  “Okay, Miss Kitty,” I say to the haughty cat eyeing me with disdain, “let’s fall in love with each other.” I point to Tom and Charlotte, who are in some kind of symbiotic trance of purrs and pets. “This is what I need you to do, so I’m calm for tonight. Or something close to it. You don’t have to touch me if you don’t feel comfortable. Purrs are acceptable.”

  Her amber eyes stay focused on me as she hauls herself up and ambles out of the cardboard container, prowling over to me.

  “Ah, she understood you,” Charlotte says.

  “I just need you to climb on my belly or do something relaxing while I’m planking.”

  Miss Kitty sharpens her claws on my mat to let me know that won’t be happening.

  “Maybe I’ll just say I’m sick and cancel the date.”

  “You’re overreacting, Chloe,” Charlotte chastises me. “You did not come this far to back out.”

  As much as I don’t want to admit it, there may be a sliver of uncomfortable truth to Logan’s words about Austin being my security blanket. Living with the guy I’m dating is weird, but at the same time, soothing. I don’t have to worry about him calling, or not calling, because he’s right there. I know when he’s at work, when he’s busy cleaning, when he’s gardening, grocery shopping, the list goes on and on. Truth be told, it almost feels like an invasion of privacy. Like I shouldn’t know his every movement.

  On both ends, actually.

  Prior to our relationship, whether or not I shaved my legs in my downtime didn’t seem important. As long as the task got done before certain events, like spring, it was no big deal. Now, because of the new dynamic where he’s free to run a hand down my leg at any given moment, it’s top of my to-do list. There’s no mystery, no priv
acy, and it feels like that could be a stumbling block for a couple whose relationship legs are wobbly like those of a baby doe.

  “I’m thinking I need a new place so I don’t stifle our blooming relationship,” I confess.

  “Even though I think you’re skirting the real problem, I actually agree with you on not living with him,” she says.

  “Really?” I avoid asking what the real problem is, because I’ve got enough problems.

  “Yeah. As you know, I’ve always thought you needed your own place.” She strokes Tom’s back, while Miss Kitty returns to her pizza box. “It’s a lot of pressure already, and where is your room to breathe?”

  “Maybe Logan is right. Maybe Austin is the comfortable choice and I don’t want to admit it?”

  “How so?”

  “Well, I kind of know everything about him. And him with me. So we don’t have to go through the awkward discovery phase.”

  “Isn’t that a good thing?”

  “Is it?”

  “You know, you remind me of some of these cats.”

  “Aloof and majestic?”

  “No. Looking for a forever home yet running to hide when the opportunity presents itself.”

  I look over at Miss Kitty, who has now moved into an empty puzzle box near a brunette who is trying to coax her out of her shell.

  “She’s so cute.” I hear the woman say to Layla. “One day, I’m going to take her home when she’s ready.”

  Miss Kitty stares at her, but stays away. Charlotte’s right, of course. I’m probably looking for an opportunity to bolt. And when yoga starts, I breathe out all my worries and chant a mantra in my head that I will not run and hide. I will see this through.