The Summer of Us

by Moreland, Melanie

  I ate the biscuits Sunny had made for me, sitting at her little kitchen table, surrounded by mementos of her life. Pictures she had chosen, furniture she had refinished, pieces of bric-a-brac she had acquired or kept from her childhood. I picked up a saltshaker in the shape of a duck, squatting low, its mate beside it on the table, his neck stretched out. Both had ridiculous faces on them that made me smile. I traced the glaze, dull from years of being touched.

  “I remember these on your mom’s table.”

  Sunny nodded, cupping her mug. “They were my grandma’s. Silly, I know, but they meant something to her. We took all that stuff with us when we went, then brought it back.”

  “It must have been hard to start over.”

  She pursed her lips. “It was. But I had my mom and sisters. Uncle Pete was great—older than my mom. He hardly knew us, but he made us welcome and gave us a home. He was a retired cop. Hayley and Emily adored him. We all did. I miss him,” she added simply.

  “How did he die?” I asked.

  “Heart attack. He was in his boat, fishing…” Her voice trailed off, then she cleared her throat. “He died exactly the way he wanted. Doing something he loved. After he died was when Mom got sick and wanted to come back here. She missed the water and the sun.” Sunny’s lips turned up into a sad smile. “Where we lived had a lot of fog and rain.”

  “You never liked the fog.”

  She rested her elbow on the table, meeting my gaze. “For a long time, the fog suited me, Linc. I was sad and withdrawn, even though I tried not to show it. Eventually my heart healed enough I was able to find my feet again.”

  I hunched closer. “But it was never the same, right? There was always a part of you that was missing. Missing me.” I kept my eyes on hers. “Because that’s how it was for me. I missed you every goddamn day.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  My phone beeped, breaking the moment. I glanced at it, then shot off a fast reply to Abby.

  “Is everything all right?” Sunny asked.

  “Abby wanted me to know she is fine and going to bed.”

  “How long do you plan on staying here?”

  I shrugged. “A while. Abby brought a bag with her—she had no intention of going back to Toronto if I wasn’t there. She knew she’d be safer with me close. So, we’re both staying.”

  Sunny’s fingers drummed on the table, and she tilted her head. That had always been one of her nervous tells. She wanted to ask me something and wasn’t sure how to phrase it. It made me smile to know I could still recognize her habits.

  “Ask me,” I murmured. “Ask me anything, Sunny.”

  “It’s you, isn’t it? The mysterious benefactor. You didn’t help fix up the town or fix what your father broke. You’re the person still buying up properties and basically gifting them back to the town. Making sure people who could never afford to own anything get the chance to do exactly that. My payments go to you.”

  I didn’t deny it. “You can own the building now if you want it, Sunny. One call and it’s yours.” I told her. “If I had known it was you, it would have been yours free and clear from day one.”

  I still couldn’t believe she had been here in Mission Cove and I didn’t know it. Her business was listed simply as Hilbert Inc. The name of the owner was Suzanne Hilbert. Neither had struck a chord with me when I scanned through her papers. She had been Sunny my entire life, and her new last name hadn’t been the least bit familiar. I preferred Sunny to Suzanne. She suited the name more.

  “I don’t want it free and clear. I want to earn it.”

  “You have earned it. Everyone in this town has earned it. What my father did to the people here was atrocious. The way he played with people’s lives. Took away their pride.” Now it was my turn to tap my finger on the table. “I’m paying it back. All of it. With interest.”

  “A modern-day Robin Hood, Linc?”

  I shook my head. “No, someone trying to make restitution.”

  “For what? You didn’t do anything. It was your father.”

  I pushed away from the table and circled Sunny’s apartment. She watched me pace, not speaking. I stopped by the window and lifted the edge of the curtain, peering down into the town. The streets were quiet, the house on the hill dark. I let the curtain fall back into place and turned.

  “You may not like my answer, Sunny.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “I’m doing this because he would hate it. Because every time I spend more of his money giving back to the people he hurt, I know he must howl in rage as he burns in hell. I feel as if I finally have my hand on the knife, and I’m twisting it in him every single time I sign a check or write off another building. This is payback. Pure and simple.”

  “At some point, I assume it will end.”

  “No. I studied hard while I was locked away. Turned out I had a knack for investing. Numbers. I took my inheritance and tripled it in a year. I used the money and broke him, then took his dwindling funds once he died, added an equal amount of my own, and did the same again. That money will never run out, no matter how much I give away.”

  “So, you’re a millionaire.”

  She had no idea of my net worth. “Hundreds of millions, Sunny. Closing in on bill—”

  She held up her hand, stopping my words. She grimaced, her voice shaky. “So, we’re even more unevenly matched than before.”

  I tilted my chin in agreement. “You’re right. We are. You’re far more valuable than I am.”

  “Yep. My biscuits make me wealthier than you can imagine,” she snarked.

  “I’m not talking monetary value. Your soul does, Sunny. We’re unevenly matched because you’re a far better person than I am. Your goodness is priceless. My wealth has come with a cost I can never repay.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I lost something I don’t think I will ever get back. I always disliked the way my father treated people, the games he played. Yet, I find that I enjoy this particular game of destroying any mark he has ever made on this earth. Erasing him. The hatred I have for him burns inside me. It has been the central focus of my life since the day he took me from you.”

  She paled, her already ivory complexion becoming almost white. “I don’t like to see the hate you carry inside, Linc. It frightens me.”

  I hurried across the room, dropping to my knees in front of her. “Don’t you see, Sunny? The hate is why I have to do this. He hated and made others suffer. I’m using my hate for him to help people.”

  “What happens when there is no one left here for you to help, Linc? What will you do with that hate then?”

  Her question hung in the air, the words heavy.

  “I keep hoping it drains away,” I admitted.

  “It won’t unless you allow it to.”

  “Then I’ll help more people. I already do, but on a lesser scale. I also run a very successful financial business. My company supports a lot of charities.” I edged closer, taking her hand. “I hate him, Sunny. He is the only black spot in my heart. I won’t become him.” Our gazes locked, and I reached up with my free hand to cup her cheek, stroking the skin in gentle circles. “If I have you, I could never be him. You bring too much warmth into my life.”

  “That’s a lot of responsibility, Linc.”

  “I think you’re up for the challenge.” I softened my voice. “I hope you are. I need you in my life.”

  She leaned into my touch. Then in a typical Sunny move, changed the subject. “Hotels aren’t very comfortable for long-term stays.”

  “Better than my car,” I smirked and stood. I knew she needed me to step away and break the dark mood that had descended.

  “There’s an empty apartment across the hall.”

  I frowned. “There is?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you know the layouts of your buildings, Linc?” she teased.

  “Too many of them.” I shot back with a wink.

  She stood. “Come and see.”
r />   Across the hall was a duplicate apartment to Sunny’s. It was furnished simply, but it was light and airy and meticulously clean.

  “I was planning on trying to rent it in the summer,” she explained. “I’ve been slowly getting it ready.” She cleared her throat. “You could stay here. There are two bedrooms. Abby would be safe over the shop, and it’s more comfortable than a hotel room. It has a kitchen and everything…” Her voice trailed off as I stared at her. “What?”

  “You’d be okay with me sharing a place with Abby?”

  She shrugged. “Better than the sofa. Plus, you said she was like a sister.”

  “She is.”

  “Then I have to trust you. And her. If she is as important to you as you say, then I need to get to know her. The back door leading up here is steel and has a good lock on it. The only other way up to this floor is through the kitchen, so she can use that entrance and always be safe. If you’re busy, I’m right here. She won’t be alone.” She traced a pattern on the counter, not meeting my eyes. “And you’d be close.”

  I move nearer to her. “I’d like that.”

  The air between us warmed. I traced her cheek, trailing my fingertips over her soft skin. “Be my light, Sunny. I need that. I need you.”

  “What if it’s not enough?” She swallowed, her voice quivering. “What if I’m not enough?”

  “You are.”

  She wrapped her hand around my wrist. “Try to let go of the hate, Linc.”

  “If I have you, I will try. I promise.”

  She sighed, her eyes fluttering shut. “Stay here. Close to me.”

  “Are biscuits included in the rent?”

  Her eyes crinkled in amusement. “Yes.”

  I dropped my voice, my mouth hovering above hers. “Are kisses?”

  “Maybe,” she whispered, her eyes locked on my mouth.

  “I’ll take it.”

  Then I kissed her.

  * * *

  The next morning, Abby stumbled out of the bedroom, looking half asleep. She fisted the mess of curls on her head, mumbling one word.

  “Coffee.”

  With a smirk, I handed her a cup—strong and black—the way she liked. She took it with a grateful look and sat on the sofa, sipping. I let her wake up a little more. She had never been a morning person. At the institution, she was always the last to show up for breakfast, and often missed it.

  Not that it had been much to miss. To this day, I hated oatmeal and hard-boiled eggs.

  “How bad was the sofa?” she mumbled.

  I shrugged, pouring myself another coffee. “Fine. It was one night.”

  “What time did you come in?” she asked, regarding me curiously.

  “About midnight. I checked, and you were sound asleep.” I squeezed her shoulder as I went past and sat on the chair across from the sofa. “You were exhausted, Abby.”

  “I hadn’t slept much for a few days,” she admitted. “But I felt safe here.”

  “You are.”

  She glanced behind me. “No breakfast?”

  “We’re going out for breakfast.”

  She snorted into her coffee. “I bet I can guess where.”

  I ignored her amusement.

  “Sunny has offered us a small apartment over her bakery while we’re here. There’re two bedrooms, it’s furnished, and it has a kitchen. The access is a thick steel door at the back and through her shop, so it’s safe.”

  “So, you’ll send Nick away?”

  I knew she hated having someone watch over her, and since I planned on staying close and eliminating the threat to her very fast, I agreed.

  “I’ve been on the phone with Milo. He’s finding out the terms of Carl’s parole.” It was my turn to snort into my coffee. “I’m fairly certain he will be breaking one or more of them very quickly.”

  “You’ll make sure of it,” Abby mumbled.

  “Yes. And your mother is going to get a visit. It will ensure you no longer have to worry about another surprise.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No thanks are needed.”

  “Are you sure it’s a good idea, Linc?”

  “The apartment? Or Sunny?”

  “Both.”

  “The apartment is more practical.”

  “And conveniently close to Sunny,” she pointed out.

  “Yes.” I sighed and scrubbed my face. “I know you’re worried, Abby. Sunny is as well.”

  “Not about me, right? She knows we’re only friends, doesn’t she?”

  I waved my hand. “Yes. She isn’t worried about that. I think the two of you will get along well. She wants to meet you and get to know you. The apartment was her idea, actually.”

  “Oh.”

  “I know you don’t want me to get hurt again. I’ll be honest—neither do I. But I have to try.” I exhaled hard. “Sunny…she thinks I have too much hate in me. She isn’t sure she knows how to handle that part of me.”

  “Your hate is reserved for your father. You’re a good man, Linc.”

  “She worries I won’t ever be able to let it go. To be able to live my life without the hate being the driving force. I have to admit, I wonder if she’s right.”

  “If you love her the way you say you still do, then you will. She was the one thing you grieved for the most. If you’re together again, you can stop your grieving and begin to live for something else.”

  I stared at her, her words sinking in.

  “When did you suddenly become the grown-up?”

  She stood. “Always have been. I’m going to get showered so we can go meet this girl of yours. I’m hungry.”

  She walked away, stopping to refill her cup and disappearing into the bathroom. I thought about her words. Simple, direct, and honest. Once again, she reminded me of Sunny. I wanted to believe her. To think that I could lay the ghost of my father to rest and move on to a different life with Sunny. My hatred of him had been at the forefront of everything I’d done from the moment I woke up in that hellhole he threw me in.

  Could I shift my focus and step away from the anger? Could I let go of the hatred and embrace life?

  I never thought it possible. But my thoughts had never included Sunny. Now she was in my life again, and I already felt…different.

  My phone beeped, the simple text message sending my heart soaring.

  Biscuits hot and waiting for you. So am I. Sunny xxx

  Given my reaction to the thought of seeing Sunny?

  Perhaps I had my answer.

  13

  Linc

  Over the years, I had learned to read situations, hide any anxiety I was feeling, keep my face neutral, my hands dry, and nerves hidden. I could meet with the toughest crowd, the angriest individual, and remain cool.

  Watching the two women I loved the most in the world meet was the most uncomfortable situation I’d ever gone through. I introduced them, shocked at the way my heart raced, the anxiety I heard in my voice—the way my hands grew damp with perspiration.

  They sized each other up, their eyes wary, their handshake brief. Both stood, cool and unbending, waiting. It took me a moment to catch up and realize they were waiting for me to do something.

  Except I had no clue what to do next.

  Step back and let them at each other? I knew they both had something to say. Warnings from Abby to Sunny about hurting me. How well she knew me. What her expectations of Sunny were. Sunny would be filled with righteous indignation and inform Abby she had known me longer. That she and she alone held the key to my heart. She would admonish Abby and remind her my feelings for her were platonic and she needed to remember that.

  I could sit down and watch them as the words were volleyed back and forth. Maybe snag a biscuit or two while they got it out of their systems. I really felt as if they could be friends if we could make it past the initial awkwardness.

  Or should I play peace-keeper and insist they talk? Stay and point out their good points and how much each of them meant to me? Remind them
of the one thing they did have in common?

  Me.

  My hands grew damper. What I really wanted was to walk out the door, hide for the day, and come back later and see who was still standing.

  In the end, I went with what I knew best. Distraction and my stomach. I sat down at a table and slipped my hand into Sunny’s.

  “I’m hungry, Sunny.”

  She sighed. “Of course you are,” she said at the same moment Abby did. Then they chuckled. Sunny shocked me as she reached out and gave Abby a hug.

  “Sit down and I’ll bring breakfast.”

  Abby smiled—a real smile, not her fake one. “Let me help. I love to bake—I’ve never had a friend who owned a shop before. Maybe I could help one afternoon?”

  Sunny grinned. “Free help is always welcome.”

  I looked between them. A third option—the two most important women in my life acting as if they wanted to get to know each other and making the effort to do so. Hugs and all.

  I liked that one.

  “Still hungry,” I mumbled.

  Sunny nudged Abby to the table. “Sit. I’ll be right back. You can help later.”

  She disappeared through the door, and Abby glanced my way. “I like her.”

  “I knew you would. You like to bake?”

  She shrugged. “I dabble.”

  “Huh.”

  Sunny came back with a laden tray. I rose and took it from her, my mouth watering at the scent. Warm biscuits, flaky croissants, brioches, butter, jam, and coffee.

  Manna from heaven.

  It was a good thing I had food to occupy my mouth since from the moment Sunny sat beside Abby, I ceased to exist—for either of them.

  The chatter was nonstop.

  “I love your hair,” Sunny enthused, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. “I can’t do anything cool with this horrid color. Pink or purple would clash.”

  “I love the color of your hair,” I mumbled around a mouthful of biscuit. “It’s like the sunset.”

  “Linc, stop talking with your mouth full,” Abby scolded me.

  “Pink is my favorite color,” she told Sunny. “I love it.”