That Last Summer (Whispering Pines Island Book 1)

by Sara LaFontain

  But that’s when the night was ruined. One of the guests, Mrs. Severson, came into the lobby carrying a miserable-looking toddler. “My son is sick,” she said. “I need you to watch him for me so I can go to the fireworks.”

  Cara smiled as politely and professionally as possible. “I’m sorry, I can’t do that. Would you like me to call the medical center for you?”

  “I don’t need a doctor,” Mrs. Severson snapped. “I need a babysitter. The rest of my family has already gone to the show, and I’m not going to miss it.”

  “I’m afraid the inn doesn’t offer babysitting services,” Cara replied. Was this woman serious? Babysit her sick child for her? The boy’s eyes were bright with fever, and he looked like he belonged snuggled up in a bed.

  “Well, you should. This is ridiculously bad customer service. We came for the fireworks show. We come every year, and I’m not missing it!” Mrs. Severson’s voice increased in volume, and her son started to cry. She shushed him angrily.

  “Again, I’m sorry, but we cannot provide staff to care for a sick child. You’ll have to either stay with him or take him to the show.”

  “Aren’t you listening? I can’t take him with me. He’s sick! He’s burning with fever! You want him to get worse? He needs to stay here, and like I said, I’m not missing the show.”

  Cara took a deep breath. “Mrs. Severson, as I told you, we do not provide babysitting services. If you leave your child here, I am required by law to call the police and child protective services. You may either stay with your child, or you may take him with you, but that’s it. Like I said though, if you need medical care, I can call someone for you. And if you need medicine, I can call down to the drugstore. They’d be happy to help you. They usually close at nine, but I’m sure they can stay open a few extra minutes, or I can ask them to reopen for you after the show.”

  The guest narrowed her eyes and stared at Cara. “Look, lady, I know you’re just sitting here. Everyone else is down by the lake. You have nothing else to do. I don’t understand why you’re ruining my vacation. I know the owner. I’m going to file a complaint, and you’ll be fired.”

  “Oh, which owner do you know?” Cara inquired politely. “My uncle, or me? Because I don’t know you, but I do know I’m not going to fire myself for enforcing our policy or the law. And no, I’m not staying up here. I’m going to be locking up the lobby and heading down to the show as well.” She realized her mistake immediately, but it was too late to take the words back.

  “You think so?” Mrs. Severson walked over to the nearest chair and sat down, still holding her whimpering child. “You can’t lock up while I’m in here. And I’m not leaving until you agree to watch my son.” She glared at Cara over the boy’s head.

  “That’s your choice, Mrs. Severson.” Cara kept up her polite façade but inwardly seethed. She picked up her radio and tried to make a call. She knew Sam didn’t have one. Tyrell did, but he had already left to meet Tim, and the radios didn’t get a signal inside the bar. Amy was busy coordinating the event and was unreachable. Damn it.

  She looked at the charger behind her. Three of the five other radios were there. She cursed under her breath and tried Tyrell again. She imagined Sam waiting for her in the square and wondered who she could call to let him know how trapped she was, but everyone was at the lake. A few minutes later she heard the first of the fireworks. She was missing the show. She was missing her date, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  She opened up a file on the computer and made a note on the Severson’s profile: DO NOT ACCEPT RESERVATIONS. BANNED.

  As the sound of the final fireworks faded, Mrs. Severson finally got up from her seat. “Well,” she said, in the same nasty tone as earlier, “I guess you’ve learned a lesson about customer service.”

  Cara gave her a very professional smile. “I guess I did. By the way, Mrs. Severson, do you like camping?”

  “I don’t see what that has to do with anything, but no, I don’t camp.”

  “Well, that’s a shame,” Cara said, still using her politest tone. “Because I know you and your family always spend the Fourth of July on Whispering Pines, but unfortunately for you, the Village Hotel and all the Bed and Breakfasts share the same blacklist as us. And now that you’re on it for abuse of staff, you won’t be able to book a room at any of our island lodging facilities. Have a good night, Mrs. Severson.”

  Cara maintained her professional smile while Mrs. Severson screamed at her, and she even kept it as the woman stormed out. Finally, she was done. If she hurried, maybe she could make it into town and find Sam.

  Though why hadn’t he come looking for her? She was an hour late for their meeting, surely he would think to return to the inn. That’s when she realized the truth— he hadn’t asked her on a date at all. He was probably down there with a large group of friends, and she had completely misread the situation. She should have known better than to get her hopes up.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Maybe she had been confused as to where they were supposed to meet? Sam said he would wait for her, but maybe he wasn’t specific enough? When the fireworks started he went down to the lakeside park where everyone was gathered. He worked his way from one end of the crowd to the other but couldn’t find Cara. Three people told him they saw her, but two of them also pointed out Amy up on the stage by the water, so perhaps they weren’t reliable sources.

  When the show ended and people started to disperse, he continued standing there, feeling stupid with his bottle of wine and blanket. At least he had the presence of mind to put them in a backpack, so he didn’t look like a complete reject, holding an unopened bottle and staring forlornly at the crowd.

  And now he didn’t quite know what to do. Should he be mad at her? He was, a little bit, but he was more hurt and disappointed. Maybe she wasn’t ready to date yet and he shouldn’t have asked her out? Maybe when he asked she hadn’t realized it was meant to be a date, and when she finally figured it out she decided not to go? How should he play this off?

  He eventually wandered down to The Digs looking for Tyrell, but Tyrell had already left to drive guests back to the inn from the fireworks show. Then he tried to sit at the bar by himself, but nothing was working out for him that night. It was so busy there were no stools available, and Tim didn’t even bother to ask what he wanted, just handed him a beer and walked away. He had planned to order something a bit stronger, but apparently, he couldn’t. He stood there, alone, feeling out of sorts, when a trio of women at a table invited him to join them, so he did.

  “You’re that guy from the barbecue,” one of them said. “We all liked your meat.” The trio burst into giggles.

  Sam smiled as though he hadn’t heard that joke before. They were drunk and friendly, and leaving the island the following day, which made them the ideal people to talk to.

  “You know,” he told them conversationally, “I don’t understand women. I got stood up tonight.” It was the perfect opening line. Hell, if he had known the effect of a line like that, he would have been using it years ago back when he did try to pick up women in bars. That wasn’t his goal now, of course. He just wanted some advice, and who better to ask than women who were not in any way connected to the situation? They’d provide him the unbiased feminine perspective he needed.

  Unfortunately, the advice they gave him wasn’t necessarily what he was hoping for. He laid everything out, how he was in love with a coworker, and how he came back to the island when he found out she was single only to learn her fiancé had died, and she kept using the term ‘friend’ as a defensive weapon. And when he finally built up the courage to ask her out, she stood him up.

  “Oh dear,” the blondest one said. “That’s not good. You’ve heard the phrase ‘she’s just not that into you,’ right? I hate to tell you, but it applies.”

  “Look,” the darker-blond woman to Sam’s right said, placing a hand on his arm. “If she wanted to show up, she would have. Every single person on the islan
d was at the show. I think she had second thoughts. She probably just didn’t know how to say no when you asked her out.”

  “Yeah,” blondest agreed. “She’s a coworker, so she probably felt pressured to accept. If she’s been saying you’re just friends all summer, that means she’s not interested.”

  A hand suddenly caressed Sam’s knee under the table. It belonged to the third woman, an extremely attractive brunette who kept making uncomfortable eye contact with him. It seemed like she moved closer every time he blinked.

  “I had a boyfriend die once,” she told him somberly. “It was awful and tragic and took me months to get over. I can’t say I don’t sometimes think of him even now, and that was four years ago. If your friend lost a fiancé recently, I’d guess she’s still in mourning. She may have said yes to you fully intending to go on the date, but later started feeling guilty, like she was betraying his memory. I know that happened to me. She’s not ready for you yet. You have to give her more time.”

  He hated to admit it, but the brunette actually made sense. Now he needed to figure out what to do. Apologize? Ignore it and pretend it never happened? Wait for her to say something? How fortunate that he had a crowd of intoxicated advisers to help.

  “Be romantic and tell her you’ll wait for her to be ready. All women love a man who is willing to wait for them,” advised darker-blond, who had admittedly also spent ten minutes waxing rhapsodic about her obsession with rom-coms, especially those with British actors playing male leads.

  “No, that won’t work. Put her on the defensive,” suggested blondest, who appeared to possess a psychologically manipulative streak. “Tell her you’re sorry if she misinterpreted things, but you were just asking her if she wanted to watch the fireworks as friends. Maybe all your other friends were busy or something, or say you felt bad because you thought she might be alone. Make it all about her reading too much into it. That way, you save face.”

  “I think the best thing is for you to move on. She doesn’t want you. Surely you can find someone else.” The brunette’s hand moved up his leg, and he grabbed her wrist to stop her from publicly groping him. “Look, Sam, she still needs time. I was like that too. But I’m ready now.”

  ....................

  Sam came back to the staff house very late, still considering what to say. By the time his alarm went off the next morning, he wasn’t ready, and he couldn’t bring himself to face Cara yet. He deliberately stayed in bed until he heard her leave the house, then he jumped up, showered, and rushed down to the kitchen to start work. He knew he was being petty and silly, but despite having hashed the situation out with a group of strangers, he still hadn’t come up with the right words.

  Cara was helping Sato set out the pastries when Sam arrived in the dining room. She said good morning to him, and to his ears it sounded a bit tentative.

  “Listen,” he said. “About last night . . .” He was about to ask her what had happened when he looked at her face and realized that asking her out had been a huge mistake. The dark circles under her eyes and the wariness of her expression showed him how selfish he’d been. He’d taken things too far. He’d thought that she was receptive to his flirting, but he’d completely misread the situation. She was still in mourning for her lost fiancé, so of course she wasn’t ready to date yet. What kind of an asshole was he?

  “I’m so sorry if you took it the wrong way,” he continued. “When I asked you to watch the fireworks with me, I didn’t mean as a date.” Would this work? Would this help the situation?

  She stared straight at him for what felt like far too long. “Then I guess it doesn’t matter that I didn’t make it.” Her smile was thin and forced.

  “I’m . . . we’re friends, Cara,” he said, hoping that she believed him. He needed her to think that he wasn’t putting pressure on her, wasn’t trying to make a move when he shouldn’t.

  “Of course. We’ve always been friends, haven’t we?” She took a doughnut from the table and walked off to the reception desk. He watched her go, still uncertain whether he had made things better or worse.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Email from Amy O’Connell to Fabio Basile:

  You would have loved the fireworks show last night! Best one yet! Don’t worry, I’m not going to try to send you a bunch of crappy blurry phone pictures. You’ll just have to imagine what it would have been like, watching bursts of colors exploding over the lake, gold and white and purple. It was better than the one you and I went to at that hotel—though to be honest, I was so focused on what you were doing to me that I don’t know if there was a real fireworks show or if it only happened in my head. Did your face turn an adorable shade of red when you read that last sentence?

  Oh, and get this: I went to the bar afterwards to look for Cara or any of my other coworkers (or really any local willing to have a drink with me), and Mr. Gropey McGroperface was sitting at a table with a group of women, and at least one of them had her hands all over him. I made sure to mention it to Cara when I got back. (I didn’t stay at the bar long, too many tourists, and some drunk guy grabbed my ass, and I elbowed him as hard as I could and left.) And then this morning she tells me she doesn’t think he came home last night; he showed up late to work this morning and they usually walk down together, but he wasn’t there. See, I told you he was a dog.

  Email from Amy O’Connell to Fabio Basile:

  Keep up with the gossip, please! Yes, Gropey McGroperface and Mr. Grabby Hands are the same person.

  I hope we finally get a chance to Skype later. I haven’t seen your face in a week and I may be going through withdrawal.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “Man, why are you always late? You miss the good stuff,” Sato said when Sam snuck in to the biweekly staff meeting.

  The room was loud, with everyone talking at once. Paddy stood in front holding a piece of paper and trying to calm the staff down.

  “I was at the gym. What’s going on?” Sam slid into a chair beside Sato.

  “It’s ridiculous,” Sato replied. “The Seversons’ lawyer sent a letter threatening to sue us. They’re demanding an apology from Cara, a stupidly huge amount of money, and guaranteed reservations every Fourth of July week for the next ten years. Can you believe that shit?” Sato looked amused.

  Sam tried to ask what he was talking about, but Paddy shouted for silence.

  Amy stood up as soon as the room was quiet. “I don’t care about the rest of it, but y’all know she’s not apologizing to those lunatics, right?”

  “Amy, sit,” Paddy admonished. “And you’re right. Nobody’s apologizing for anything. My lawyer is sending their lawyer a very polite response, which will include a copy of the security tape and a notice warning them that if they continue threatening us, the video itself will be released. I’m sure Mrs. Severson will enjoy what the Internet has to say about her parenting. And Amy, I’m going to need you to respond—politely—to the negative reviews they’ve posted online.”

  “Seriously, what happened?” whispered Sam when Paddy moved on to some discussion of housekeeping that Sam had no interest in hearing.

  “Jesus, man, how do you miss these things?” Sato whispered back. He filled Sam in on an argument between Cara and Mrs. Severson, ending with, “After the fireworks, the crazy lady even went and got her husband. They both came back to the lobby and started screaming at Cara and knocking over furniture. We had to call Deputy Mills and evict the whole family at eleven at night. It was awesome, and the entire damn thing is on tape. I can’t believe they think they can sue.”

  Sam sat back, stunned. That was why Cara stood him up? So it had nothing to do with him moving too fast? He thought about how he told her it wasn’t a date, and his stomach sank as he realized how badly he had messed up.

  “Oh, I know why you didn’t know,” Sato continued. “Wasn’t that the same night you hooked up with some tourist at The Digs?”

  “What? I didn’t . . .” Sam’s voice trailed off. He had been drinking
with some tourists, but when the bar closed, he’d come home alone. His roommate could vouch for him, right? No, Tyrell hadn’t come back that night.

  “Amy saw you, Tim saw you, and I saw you, and you were late to work the next day, so nice try.” Sato laughed at him. “I knew all that crap you were saying at the beginning of the summer wouldn’t last, Mr. Ready-for-a-Relationship.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  After the staff meeting, Cara went into Paddy’s office and locked the door behind her. She leaned against it for a moment to prepare herself. Some of her weekly therapy sessions were more difficult than others, and she was in a bad place emotionally right now. Sometimes talking to Dr. Iddings helped, but other times hearing her soft Texas drawl sent her back through time and she regressed into an angry teenager trying to process her mother’s death and her father’s injuries. “My job is to help you move forward,” the doctor told her back then. “Someday, you won’t need me anymore.”

  That second part was a lie. Sure, for years Cara had thought she was fine, but she couldn’t have been or she never would have fallen into such a terrible relationship with Phil. After his death, she’d resumed long-distance phone therapy. “I’ll always be available to help you,” Dr. Iddings had promised, but the cynical part of Cara knew that meant as long as she kept paying for the sessions.

  As always before picking up the phone, Cara turned over all the pictures on her uncle’s desk. Everyone in the photos was gone now, her grandparents, her Uncle Robert, her beloved mother. All long dead, but she could still feel their eyes on her, feel the judgement in their stares. No, she couldn’t face her family when she talked about her issues. She was too ashamed.