Summer Lovin: A Dating Season Novella

by Laurelin Paige

  Special mention to your marketing department. We had a rocky start, but I’ll never look at a loose stone the same way again. So I guess in the end, you did your one job. And did it well.

  Peace, love, and happiness to everyone searching for their better half. And if you’re lucky enough to find him or her or them, actually be their better half.

  And then I close out of the app and press delete.

  A tougher one is letting go of the internet dating experts. Although they failed me at most every turn, I do love searching for statistics. Like I did for that review I left on the FriendsOfFriends site. But I don’t really need anyone to tell me what I should feel or what I’m looking for in a relationship. I know these things, so I remove all the sites I’ve favorited and bookmarked on my laptop.

  I’m done crowdsourcing my love life. If it’s not Granny Mae’s advice, I’m no longer interested.

  And then I snip the final thread of my safety net. I call Logan. He may not have been a backup plan in the traditional sense of running to him if things failed with Austin, but he would’ve been easy comfort, I guess.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Hi.”

  “You’re calling to make sure I understand it’s over, aren’t you?” He sighs. “I saw it in your eyes.”

  “Yeah, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about things between us or give you false hope.”

  “Why is he the better guy for you? I just need to know that part.”

  “It’s not that he’s a better man than you are. You’re a great guy too.”

  “Then why?”

  How do you explain something like love? “I don’t know. I get this ache in my chest when I see him. It’s this feeling I can’t describe, and it never goes away. No matter how hard I try to ignore it, or redirect it, it just keeps leading me back to him.”

  We have a good conversation where I tell him it honestly could have been him if I had never fallen for someone else before I met Logan. And that I need to not see him because it’s confusing to both of us. And unfair to Austin.

  Logan is not Ryan or Dune, and I don’t want to pursue a friendship with him if Logan isn’t in the same spot as me in his heart. Because I’ve been in his shoes, and I know there’s no chance his outcome will be the same as mine. My heart belongs to another.

  “I’m not in the same position in my heart,” he says. “So yeah, it’s best we don’t hang out for now. Someday, but not right now. I appreciate you putting the brakes on it. Because I’ll be honest, I’d go as far as you let me. And then an extra mile. And it fucking sucks because I know he would too. I can’t even say he’s a jerk and you’re making a mistake. It would be much easier to say he’s an asshole and be angry with you. But I’m not angry, Chloe.”

  I don’t want to do that thing where I say he’ll find someone else, because it’s been done to me and it really doesn’t make you feel any better. Instead I listen as he keeps finding his closure.

  Someday I do hope we can be friends, because he’s a good guy I don’t want to cut out of my life.

  “One last time,” he says. “You sure about this?”

  “Yes,” I answer without hesitation.

  “Okay. I don’t usually give up when I’m going for something I want, but this time I will. Because I want you to be happy too.” He chuckles. “But…if things don’t work out, give me a call. I kid. I kid.”

  We spend a few minutes talking about Scarlet Letter’s plans for a new album and it’s a bittersweet goodbye, but a goodbye, nonetheless. My last safety net is gone. And when I hang up, I finally feel like a true adult.

  Twelve

  “Go out on a limb. That’s where the fruit is.” ― Bob Ross

  * * *

  It’s hard to explore the limb when you’re afraid it will snap. I want the fruit, but instead I’m staying in the safety of my nest, where it’s safe. Austin and I’ve been somewhat avoiding each other, making excuses for not being home. Example:

  Him: “I’ll be working extra late at the restaurant tonight. You probably shouldn’t wait up.”

  Me: “Oh, okay. I have to take care of some things at Mae’d With Love early in the morning, so I planned to turn in early. Have a good night at work.”

  Long stare from him before, “See you tomorrow.”

  Another example:

  Me: “I’m painting Charlotte’s nursery today so I don’t know what time I’ll be back. I’m guessing it will be super late because she wants to have Tummy Time and nest with me.”

  Him: “No problem. I’ll be taking over the restaurant soon, so I’m going to stay after closing and run some numbers.”

  Long pause before I say, “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Today:

  Him: “I’m going to add some rows to the garden for fall crops, so I’m going to head to the nursery. I’ll be gone awhile. And I want to perfect some recipes later.”

  Me: “No problem. I have an interview set up, so I’ll be leaving soon. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone.”

  Intense stare and awkward pause before he says, “Good luck. I’ll see you later.”

  How long does it take to ship a damn kiln? That’s how long we’ve been tiptoeing. It’s like we’ve settled into pre-dating, like we’ve broken up and not addressed it. I miss my cushions. Without anything to protect me, I’m forced to deal with this uncomfortable situation I’ve created. And I will fix it…after this interview. After I figure out how to fix it. Ideally Tattoo Jesus will bless me with another vision, like the one I received for Laid With Love.

  Sigh.

  I stare at my computer screen.

  It’s surreal to think I’m interviewing a potential employee for my business. How cool I’m the boss of me. I can never be fired. The devil on my shoulder wanted to consult the internet experts for advice on how to be the best boss ever, but the good girl part said not to dive down that rabbit hole.

  And then I cannonballed right into it because technically, it’s a different subject than love. Like anything, moderation is the key. And besides, all the advice columns I read were things I already knew from having bosses I liked and disliked. Mostly common sense advice.

  Don’t micromanage. Obviously.

  Be generous with praise. Duh.

  Be clear about what you expect from your employees. Mm-hmm.

  Develop your workers’ talents. Amen.

  Actually, if I wasn’t done with backup plans, I’d consider becoming an internet expert myself. I have lots of valuable information about dating and life to share with the world. “What Not to Do When Becoming an Adult” would be my first article. Oh, well. Next life.

  One of my favorite parts of being a boss is having my very own desk. Bev cut me a deal and included the office furniture in exchange for an arm-wrestling competition that I let her win. Not really. She’s got arms of steel. I push away from my desk, and do a quick spin in the plush leather chair because I still can’t believe I have an office with professional things. There’s a bookshelf in the corner, which I filled with lots of art history books and of course, the Motorcycle Mayhem series that taught me the art of dirty talking, plus an additional leather club chair for when I need meetings with my employees. Which I don’t have, but hopefully today is my lucky day.

  I blow a kiss to my office and make my way toward the front of the store in case my potential helper arrives early. As I cross the tiles, I see a young woman waiting outside the glass door. She’s punctual, so already I’m feeling good, even if my palms are sweating because I’ve never hired anyone. The boss is probably not supposed to have sweaty palms so I rub them down my sundress. She grins at me and I hide my nervousness behind a smile as I unlock the door.

  “Hi, I’m Chloe. Come in.”

  “Hi, I’m Paisley,” the petite brunette with honey-colored eyes says. She extends a small hand tipped with lavender nails. “Thank you for giving me this opportunity to meet with you. I don’t have much experience but I’m very nice.” Her smile turns int
o a fascinating frown. “Probably a little too nice. But I’m not a pushover. Not that I’m implying you’ll try to push me over. I follow the rules. Rules are good.”

  “That’s great.” It’s odd to be the adult in the room, and I find myself doing my own ramble. “I’m nice too. Or I like to think I am, anyway. I don’t really have any rules yet, but I’ll probably make a list of a few once I figure out things that need to be rules. Did you know the first law code was written around 1760 BC?”

  “I didn’t know that. But that’s so cool that you do. Are you also a lawyer or something?”

  “No, just a history fanatic. I guess it’s my hobby.”

  “I’m a soap carver. I like to carve it into cute little animals. My ex said it was creepy”—she rolls her eyes—“which is why he’s an ex.”

  “It’s good you realized that and cut him loose.”

  “Well, he broke up with me, but I didn’t want him back.” She picks at the leather strap of her handbag and says, “Dating is not my thing. I may never date again, actually, because I’m starting to believe the perfect guy isn’t out there and wading through the muck isn’t worth it. I’ll just die alone.” She stops talking and her face flushes a vibrant shade of red. “I’m sorry. That was so unprofessional of me to say in an interview. My other part-time job is as a dog walker and the guy is a major grump, but his Yorkies are angels, so if you need a reference, I’m sure he’ll tell you I’m an excellent and dependable employee. Also, Yorkies are probably the same as babies in terms of helplessness and cuteness and you really don’t even look pregnant except for your hair being so shiny.”

  I love her. It’s like I’m looking at myself from college, and gah, I need to fix this with Austin because what she said about the perfect guy not existing, isn’t true.

  And when you find him, you better do everything in your power to fix it. Because men like Austin are a rarity. And love will make you shiny.

  “It’s not my baby, it’s my best friend’s. If you could give me Mr. Yorkie’s number, I’d love to speak with him. But unless you’re hiding a criminal past, you’re hired.”

  She squeals. “Oh gosh. Thank you. You won’t regret it, I promise. I’ll be the best helper who ever helped.”

  Once I’ve written down her boss’s information, on my very professional notepad, I grab my purse and walk out with her.

  “I’ll call you soon,” I say, and after goodbyes we go our separate ways.

  My first employee. I nearly skip to my car. She’s so me, and I can definitely work with me. I’ve been doing it for a long time. But right now, there’s someone else that has been living with me and my anxieties and quirks and filter-free monologues for far too long that I need to stop putting off talking to.

  Twenty minutes later, I arrive home and sneak in the door and hustle to my bedroom to grab the box hiding the surprise I made for him. I was saving it for when the new restaurant opened, but now is the time. When I walk in the kitchen, Austin is at the stove, stirring something in a tall pot.

  “Can we talk?” I say.

  “Sure.”

  “You were right. I had a backup plan because I was afraid.” I place the box on the table. “But I’m not anymore. I made this for you.”

  His breath catches when he slides the lid off the box and removes a full place setting for his restaurant. Just like he once told me he wanted.

  He trails a finger around the edge of the navy plate, studying the delicate vine of flowers circling one edge.

  “Did you know when I moved here to Colorado to start college, I was terrified? I moved here to pursue my dream but once I got here, I felt so small next to these enormous mountains. Everything was new, and I didn’t know anyone. And then I met a boy at a party, when we both ended up near a planter of bluebells trying to get fresh air.”

  His dark gaze lifts from the plate and meets mine. “I plucked one and gave it to you because you looked so sad.”

  He remembers.

  “Yeah. I couldn’t stop thinking about you after that meeting.”

  “This is beautiful,” he says when he removes the sunshine yellow salad plate glazed with abstract mountains and waves of blue.

  “That summer, Charlotte and I went to Boulder Lake. You came along. And you covered me up when my bikini top fell off.”

  “Guys were staring at you.”

  I laugh. “I was mortified.”

  “I was awestruck.”

  “That’s when my crush on you fully blossomed.”

  He removes the bowl adorned with thick, wavy stripes. “Remember when you and Charlotte moved in together and hosted a Christmas costume party? You wore a robber costume and served signature drinks named for us, and they were perfectly us.”

  He laughs. “It was the first time I realized that you guys were my lifetime people.”

  “We almost...”

  “We almost,” he agrees. Ce la vie.

  My heart lurches when he takes out the last piece. A small saucer painted with a starry sky and the moon.

  “The night on the rooftop,” he murmurs. “This is the history of us.”

  “Yeah,” I answer. “It was freezing that night and I wanted to go home. You talked me into not giving up. You opened your coat and pulled me inside it and let me cry against your chest.”

  “I didn’t want you to go. This is…” He stares at the place setting and blows out a breath. “This is better than anything I could ever give you.” He’s very wrong about that, because it can never compare to the soft kiss he gives me when he leans in to brush his lips against mine. “Thank you.”

  “You’ve been in every season of my life since I moved here. I don’t want to have any without you. And I’m sorry for the backup plan. I was just scared that you would change your mind. It seemed like preparing for it might make it suck less? No one ever actually chooses me.”

  He pulls me into him and palms my cheek, looking down at me with wonder.

  “No, you never let yourself be chosen.” And then he says the most amazing thing. “So I may have watched Bob Ross because I was a little jealous.” I smile and he swats my bottom. “Don’t judge me. But he said something I can’t forget. It’s exactly how I feel about you. He said, ‘Let’s come right down in here and put some nice big strong arms on these trees. Trees need an arm too. It’ll hold up the weight of the forest. Little bird has to have a place to sit there.’”

  Tears burn my eyes and my throat because the simplicity and enormity of what he just said is what love is all about.

  “Let me be your tree, Chloe. Let me choose you. I fucking love you with everything I have.”

  He loves me. Austin loves me. Every fear flies away and all the murky waters clear.

  “I love you too.”

  His eyes flare. “Say it again.”

  “I love you too.”

  “Fuck.” And then his hands are in my hair and his lips and tongue tell me this is it.

  This is final. Lifetime people, like he said. We are an us.

  Starting with the new dish named after me he serves us for dinner. He eats his off his new dishes, and tells me all about what it will say on his menu when it becomes a signature dish at his restaurant. The Chloe is a trofie (aka inch-long) pasta, with fresh tomatoes and herbs from our garden, a little bit of bacon (“It me!” I squeal) and a thick eight-inch sausage (“It you!” I squeal again) and just a splash of cream. I do restrain myself from adding more innuendo to that, but only because it smells too good to keep talking instead of eating.

  It’s amazing, and all the flavors complement each other to perfection. And then I get laid with true love.

  As he slides into me, he worships my face with kisses, whispering, “I love you,” over and over.

  Everything from this moment on is our happily ever after.

  Epilogue

  You know what’s better than sex? Nap dates. Okay, maybe not quite as spectacular as sex, but in its category, it’s pretty damn good. It’s a whole event. Snuggled in a sp
oon with Austin is better than I could’ve imagined. My life is better than I could’ve imagined. Mae’d and Laid are doing phenomenal, Paisley is a gem, and Austin’s restaurant is almost ready to officially reopen under his ownership.

  “... Hey, Austin?”

  “Yeah?” His groggy voice rasps against my ear as we lounge on the sofa, intertwined.

  “Do you think we should get a cat? I found this awesome app called FriendsOfFur...”

  “Cute. Do you give balls of string to the ones you like?”

  “No, but that’s genius.” His hand whispers down my side. “What’s with these marketing departments? They had one job.”

  “Did you know I love you?” he says.

  “I did know that,” I say. “But I love you more.”

  We’re so cheesy, but I don’t care. I like cheese. My family loves him and so do I. When I reach over to the coffee table for my phone to show him the site, it rings.

  “Chloe,” James says when I answer, “help.”

  Charlotte wails in the background, drowning out the rest of what he says. I catch baby and flood of water and it’s time.

  “James, repeat that.”

  He does and it is, it appears, time for us to have this baby. And then Charlotte confirms it.

  “Chloe,” she pants into the phone, “meet us at the hospital. James has fainted twice and I need a backup husband to get through this birth. Also, these contractions hurt like a motherfuc—” She lets out another wail and James returns to the line.

  “Have you left yet? I hope you’ve left.”

  “Be right there.”

  I leap from the couch and race to grab my handbag. “Get up. Nap time is over,” I say to Austin. “It’s baby time.”