The Summer of Us

by Moreland, Melanie

  I held up my phone. “Dammit, Sunny, you’re gorgeous,” I muttered. “How can you not see that?”

  She blushed, ignoring my words. “Eat your lunch.”

  I looked at the sandwich. “No biscuit?”

  “Not everything has a biscuit, Linc.”

  “It should.”

  “We make the bread too.”

  I sighed dramatically and gave in. “Fine. I’ll suffer.”

  “You’ve eaten six biscuits today. Surely, that is enough.”

  “In your opinion. I have ten years to make up for.”

  “You haven’t had a biscuit in ten years?”

  “No. They reminded me of you. It was too painful. At the place I was at, the food was bland. Nutritious, I was informed, but bland. When I got back, I gorged myself on everything I missed while I was away, but I couldn’t touch biscuits.”

  Sadness flashed over her features. I hated to see it—we’d both been sad enough. So, I winked. “Just saying, Sunny-girl. I have a lot of time to make up for. Keep the biscuits coming.”

  “No one has called me that in ten years.” She smiled, although her eyes remained sad. “I’m not a girl anymore, Linc.”

  I studied her briefly, then wrapped my hand around hers. “You’ll always be the girl I fell in love with, Sunny. You will always be my girl.”

  Her breath caught and she stood. “I have to get back to work. Are you planning on occupying a table all day?”

  I nodded. “Feel free to add rent to the tab.”

  She walked away, peeking over her shoulder. “Bank on it, Webber.”

  I liked how my chosen last name sounded coming from her lips. It gave me a thrill and made me smile. I watched her disappear through the kitchen door. Had I said too much? Had hearing the word love frightened her? It flew out of my mouth without conscious thought. Ten years hadn’t changed my feelings for her. No amount of time would. I had met women—amazing, smart, beautiful women over the years, and never once had any of them even interested me beyond a date or two. I tried but they were never her. Now that she was back in my life, they never would be.

  Sunny Jenson stole my heart the day she gazed wide-eyed and longingly at my box of crayons, asking in her soft little voice if she could “bowwow” the pretty purple one to color her dragon. I had handed her the box, letting her have any color she wanted. Her smile had been so bright, it eclipsed the sun itself, and since that day, I had lived to see that smile.

  That was never going to change.

  I knew I was going to have to prove myself to her all over again, but I was determined to do so. I could only hope she was as anxious for that to happen as I was.

  A few moments later, the kitchen door opened, giving me a full view of Sunny working at a large table. I heard her tell Shannon to leave it open, which afforded me a clear line of vision to look at her. Every so often, I would lift my eyes to meet hers, and I realized she was checking on me as often as I checked on her.

  I thought that, perhaps, I had my answer.

  * * *

  I rubbed the back of my neck, massaging at the stiff muscles. Sitting at a table, drinking too much coffee, and hunched over my laptop was not great for my posture—or my shoulders. Still, I was loath to leave—even to go to the hotel I had booked to stay at. My original plans had been to stay only one night, but I had extended my stay at the hotel. It was new, on the outskirts of town, and in no way associated with my father or me. Neutral territory with no memories attached to it. It wasn’t at all like the luxurious places I was used to staying these days, but it was fine. It was small but the room spotless and the bed comfortable. It didn’t help me sleep last night, but I doubted anything would have helped.

  I’d contacted my assistant this morning with instructions to go to my place and pack a bag for me. I knew my housekeeper would have done so, but Abby had been with me a long time, and she knew exactly what I would want packed and brought. While she was here, we could also sit and discuss my schedule for the next while, since I hoped I would be here for some time.

  One of the perks of being my own boss was that I answered to no one but myself.

  I knew I couldn’t hang out in Sunny’s restaurant every day, but for now, that was where I planned to be.

  The place became quiet as the afternoon wore on. The small staff she employed stayed busy, cleaning and prepping for the following day. About three o’clock, a man strolled in, carrying an armful of linens. He set it on the counter, leaning on the glass, looking comfortable in the shop. His face was familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. I bristled when Sunny came from the kitchen, greeting him warmly, kissing him on the cheek, and chatting to him. Their posture was relaxed and easy, suggesting a level of intimacy between them. My annoyance grew as I watched him lay his hand on her arm as they shared a private joke.

  The rational part of my brain knew I had no claim on Sunny. That for the past ten years we had lived separate lives. I was under no illusions that she had been pining away for me and had shut herself off from the world. She was too beautiful and vibrant.

  However, the caveman part of me wanted to walk over and grab the stranger’s hand and yank it off her arm. Stand beside her and pull her close.

  Claim her.

  Which would probably end up with me on the floor after she kneed me in the balls. I had a feeling Sunny wouldn’t take my gesture very well.

  So, I sat and glared, hating the stranger. Hating the time that had separated us. Hating my father even more—something I didn’t think was possible.

  Then Sunny looked my way, smiled, and gestured for me to come over. I unfurled myself from the table, my legs protesting as I stood. I crossed the floor of the shop, wondering why the stranger was grinning so widely and why Sunny seemed so happy.

  Before I could stop myself, I moved beside her and wrapped my arm around her waist, tugging her close. “You gestured?” I teased, pressing a kiss to her head while holding the stranger’s gaze, letting him know who she belonged to.

  Apparently, the caveman had won.

  If anything, his grin became wider. He reached out his hand, pumping mine hard.

  “Linc Thomas. You sorry son of a bitch. Never thought I’d see you again.”

  “Webber,” I corrected him automatically. I hated hearing my name associated with my father’s in any way. “Lincoln Webber.”

  He nodded. “Webber, then.”

  His voice was familiar. I narrowed my eyes, taking in his brown hair and light blue eyes. The small scar beside the right one. I recognized it because I gave him the cut that caused the scar. We were playing soccer, and I fell, my cleat catching the corner of his eye. There was a lot of blood, and he punched me, giving me a split lip. We were both ejected from the game.

  Recognition hit me, and a smile cracked my lips.

  “Michael Hall. What the hell are you doing here?”

  Michael had been one of the few people I had liked at school. I’d considered him a friend—at least as much as I’d considered anyone outside Sunny a friend. We weren’t close, but we respected each other and were in a lot of the same classes and sporting events. He knew about Sunny and me, his girlfriend someone Sunny trusted and had confided in, but he never let on about us. He allowed us our privacy, seeming to understand the reason for it.

  He was always easygoing, cheerful, and more than once showed what a good guy he was by walking Sunny home when my father interfered with our plans, or even letting me know if she needed me. He had worked at the dry cleaner next door to the diner, and one memory stood out for me of his thoughtfulness.

  I had been sitting in my usual booth at the diner, eating, talking with Sunny during her breaks, when the bell over the door jangled. It was getting late, and the diner was mostly empty, so I was surprised when Michael rushed in, heading straight toward me.

  “Your dad is looking for you. I heard him asking people if they had seen you.” He glanced toward Sunny. “He’s in a foul mood, Linc. You might not want him finding you here
.”

  I stood. “Shit.”

  “Go out the back door. Leave your stuff. I’ll pretend it’s mine, and I’ll cover you and make sure Sunny gets home. Go.”

  Sunny gripped the cloth she was holding. “Go,” she urged.

  I ran through the kitchen and out the back door. I didn’t stop running until I got to the house. I tore up the stairs and flung myself in bed, remembering to pull off my shirt that smelled of the diner before diving under the covers.

  I heard the sound of my father’s car, then the front door opening, and his voice bellowing my name as he came up the stairs. My bedroom door flew open so hard it hit the wall, and I pretended to be jolted out of a deep sleep and sat up, startled.

  “What the hell?”

  My father crossed the room, anger pouring off his body. “Where have you been?”

  “Here.” I managed a yawn and scratched my head, hoping to look sleepy and that he couldn’t hear my accelerated heartbeat. “What’s going on?”

  He leaned down, his breath laced with scotch. “I heard you didn’t make captain of the soccer team. I told you to make it happen.”

  “I told you I’m not good enough.” The truth was I hated playing soccer and only did it to pacify him. I was glad to be passed up.

  He narrowed his eyes. “If I tell you to do something, you make it happen.”

  “I tried. Jason is a better player. A better leader. I can’t compete with his ability.” I pointed out. “It was the coach’s decision. Not mine.”

  “I’m taking your car away for a month. You can fucking walk. In fact, you had better run. I want ten pounds off you. And you’re grounded for the next two weeks.”

  I bit back my retort. My car, I could live without. The grounding was harder to handle, although given his schedule, I could slip out at times if I wanted. It was better than being punished by his fists.

  “You’ll be captain next year, or there will be consequences.”

  I knew better than to argue with him. I had gotten off lightly this time.

  But I should have known better. My father straightened and I relaxed. Then he punched me in the stomach so hard, I began heaving immediately. I hadn’t even seen it coming. The milk shake I had drunk at the diner came up, spewing white all over my bed.

  He eyed me with disdain. “Clean it up. Leave your car keys on my desk in the morning.” He paused at the door. “And your little slut of a waitress was hanging all over some asswipe in the diner. Didn’t take her long to set her sights on someone else.” His tone was mocking. “Not that you’re much of a catch either. Without my money, you’re nothing.”

  Then he walked out.

  I kept my arm around my stomach as I got up, knowing that if Michael hadn’t warned me and my father had found me in the diner, I would have been in far worse pain. I hated the thought that Sunny obviously played up Michael being there, but I knew she had done it to take the heat off of me.

  I wasn’t sure why Michael had stepped in and helped, but I had never forgotten his empathy.

  I grasped his hand, returning his grip. “How are you?”

  “Good, Linc. I’m good. What are you doing in town?” His gaze moved to Sunny then back to me. “Or should I leave that well enough alone?”

  Sunny’s cheeks turned a soft shade of pink. I had to chuckle at his words. “Came to settle the last of my father’s estate. I had planned on being here one day, but things, ah, changed.”

  He grinned. “Is that a fact? Well, Sunny, I think I need a coffee and a muffin. Linc and I have some catching up to do.”

  She scooped up the pile of linens from the counter. “What about you Linc? Are you coffeed out?”

  I smirked at her—she had no idea. “Nope. Coffee and a couple more biscuits, please.”

  Michael and I moved to my table, and I shut off my laptop, slipping it into my bag. Sunny slid a tray onto the table containing a pot of coffee and two plates holding muffins and biscuits. I caught her hand. “Thank you.”

  She smiled and bent down, brushing a kiss to my forehead, then headed back to the kitchen. Her tender gesture did something to my chest. I hadn’t been touched with gentleness since the day I was forced to leave her. I squeezed her hand in silent appreciation. She shut the door this time, leaving Michael and me alone in the shop.

  “Should I extend condolences about your father?” he asked.

  “Absolutely not. The only thing I felt when he died was relief.”

  He nodded, sipping his coffee. “Nasty son of a bitch, he was. The things he did to this town were bad enough, but the way he took his anger out on you was unacceptable.”

  I rested my elbows on the table. “How did you know, Michael? I never spoke about it. I thought I hid it well. You were kind to me, even though we weren’t really friends. Close ones anyway.”

  He took a muffin off the plate, unpeeling the wrapper and breaking it in half. He took a large bite, chewing it slowly. “We weren’t close, no, but I understood why. I understood you.”

  “Sorry?”

  He finished the first half of his muffin and wiped his fingers. “My god, that woman can bake.”

  I had to agree. I took a biscuit, already buttered with a thick layer of jam on top, and bit into it. I would always think of Sunny when I ate one of these.

  He sat back, gazing over my shoulder. “We moved here when I was young. My father was a mean, sorry drunk, and he liked to use his fists on me and my mother. She planned and saved, and one day, we were able to run. We came here—a small town where we could start again.”

  “Your father never found you?”

  He shrugged. “He might have tried, but a couple of weeks after we left, he got so drunk, he fell down the stairs. He never woke up. A friend of my mom’s knew where we were and let her know. She got the life insurance and total freedom to live her life again and not look over her shoulder all the time.”

  “I’m sorry for what you went through.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “The point is I recognized what was happening to you, Linc. I saw the signs. When your mom died, you changed. The happy kid I knew disappeared, and a frightened, standoffish person replaced him. I tried to let you know I understood, but I got it when you refused to get close to anyone but Sunny. Your father was a force unto himself and, frankly, scary. Still, when I could, I tried to let you know you had a friend.”

  “Like the day in the diner.”

  He met my gaze, both of us thinking of that day. “Your father was so angry, and I knew if he found you hanging with Sunny, hell was going to rain down on you. I heard him, more than once, talk about his plans for you and that they didn’t include some low-level waitress.”

  I was surprised at his words, and it must have shown on my face.

  “I was a clerk in the dry cleaners and the drug store. A nothing to your father. Invisible. He would be on his phone talking, and I could hear him. He never even noticed me most of the time.” He barked out a laugh. “Unless he wanted his dry cleaning carried to his car, then he’d snap his fingers and tell me to get it done. But that was the only time he ever spoke to or took notice of me. I can guarantee if I passed him on the street, he’d have no clue who I was.”

  “Yeah, he was like that.”

  “So, I understood your wariness, Linc. I know a lot of kids thought you were a snob and too good for them, but I knew you were just trying to survive.” He met my gaze. “And protect Sunny.”

  “I was.” I sucked in a long breath. “Thank you for being a friend, even when I wasn’t.”

  “You were okay. You kept to yourself, but you were never a jerk.” He paused. “Until you left her.”

  I rubbed my eyes. “I know how it looked.”

  “Your father?” he guessed.

  “Yeah.” I laughed bitterly. “My father.”

  Then I did something I never thought I would do. I told the truth about where I had been and what I had done. He listened in silence, whistling low when I finished.

  “Wow. He was some
piece of work.”

  I acknowledged his words with a nod. I felt exhausted after telling him. Drained. But I was done hiding. I was also done talking about myself.

  “What about you, Michael? What has life been like for you?”

  For the first time, I saw a cloud of sadness pass over face, and his smile faded.

  “I’m still here,” he stated.

  “Here, as in Mission Cove? Or the world in general?” I asked.

  He scrubbed his face. “Both, I suppose. There were a few years I wanted to leave Mission Cove, but the bottom line was, despite your father and his underhanded ways, I loved this town.” His voice dropped. “I loved Molly Jones, too.”

  I remembered they had dated all through high school. “And now?”

  He was quiet for a moment, filling his cup, then taking a long sip. “She got pregnant the last year of school. We got married.”

  I kept silent, knowing there was more to his story.

  “It was hard to give up on my dreams. I wanted to go to university—into business management. But I had a family I needed to look after.”

  “It must have been difficult.”

  “At times. But my son, Jesse, and my wife made up for it. Then a few years later, we had a daughter.” He hesitated, his eyes blinking rapidly. “My mom died not long after Jenny was born.”

  “I’m sorry, Michael.”

  He cleared his throat. “Not long after that, I was able to buy the dry-cleaning business from Old Man Tate. Molly got a job at the day care, and things were going good for us. Some unknown benefactor gave a bunch of people in town the chance to buy their buildings outright—dirt cheap.” He cocked his head, studying me. “Happened after your father died. Know anything about that?”

  I shook my head, trying to look surprised and puzzled. That had given me a lot of pleasure. Giving back to the people my father had stolen from for years, but I intended to keep it anonymous.

  “Interesting turn of events,” I mused.

  He looked skeptical. “Isn’t it just?”

  “So, you bought the building?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  “I couldn’t refuse at the price and terms it was being offered for. Luckily, people still need dry cleaning and laundry done, so we stayed busy. Not as busy as I need at times, but I get by.”