She wondered why she cared if someone saw her here, at the diner. She’d eaten at Lucy’s loads of times. But never with Mont, and she knew that he was an important addition to her usually simplistic, boring routine.
Chapter Ten
“So, I think it’s time you divulged a secret.” Mont leaned away from his pancakes, finally done eating. He’d reached the point of full way before he’d dug into his short stack—but he hadn’t eaten anything of worth in days, and the photo shoot was over. He would put in ten miles tomorrow to burn off the enormous amount of breakfast food he’d consumed today.
“This again?” Sophie lifted her hot chocolate—her second refill—to her lips, a playful glint in her eyes. Mont envied that mug more than he’d ever envied the guys who got the lead roles. Every time she took a bite of her breakfast or sipped her hot chocolate, his desire to touch her lips increased.
“What? I only said it once, last night.” He resisted the urge to wipe the smudge of whipped cream from her face. He nudged a napkin closer to her instead. “You weren’t up all night contemplating what you could tell me?”
That delicious redness colored her cheeks, and Mont enjoyed it more than he should have. But his agent hadn’t called in days, and the audition was three weeks away. A lot can happen in three weeks, he thought.
“Actually, I did consider a few things.”
Of course she had. She wouldn’t be Sophie Newton if she hadn’t. “OK,” he said, waiting for her to begin. Sophie took another sip of her hot chocolate, driving him mad with the way her lips clung to the mug, the way she licked an errant drop of liquid from the rim. He’d need to excuse himself if she did that again. Or else lunge across the table and kiss her.
“Are you going to speak them out loud?” he asked.
She set her mug down with a sigh. “I have conditions.”
Mont raised his eyebrows. “Conditions for telling me about your life?”
“Yes,” she said, her eyes sharpening. “You can’t ask any follow-up questions. What I decide to tell you is what you get.”
Frustration pooled in Mont’s veins. He knew Sophie was a complete workaholic. Professional. Detailed. Organized, almost to a fault. But he wanted to get to know her in other ways. He suspected a softer version of the woman before him existed, and he wanted to chip away at her carefully constructed wall until he found her.
But here she was, telling him he couldn’t do that. As much as he wanted to throw a twenty on the table and tell her he’d see her at four fifty-five, he didn’t. Mont had a feeling she was worth a little extra work.
“Fine.” He sighed in overdramatic fashion, his curiosity overpowering his exasperation. “I’ll do my best not to ask any follow-up questions.”
Satisfied, she pushed her plate out of the way and leaned her elbows on the table. “I’m not an only child, though I probably act like one.” She graced him with a timid smile. “And I’m not the oldest, despite my obsession with perfection.”
“So you are a perfectionist. I’ve been wondering.”
“You have not.” She cocked her head to the side, her tone a bit on the dry side.
He waved away a coffee refill from Lucy. “Fine, I haven’t. It is pretty obvious. You know, you didn’t even recognize me when I ate lunch at your stand last week.” He purposefully kept his voice from going up on the last word so it wouldn’t seem like a question.
Her shoulders dropped, which was not his intention. He’d been out of the dating and flirting arena for a while. Obviously, he told himself as he desperately tried to find something to say to erase the embarrassment racing through her eyes.
“I mean—” he started at the same time she said, “Being focused isn’t a bad thing.” She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms.
Mont wasn’t an expert on women, but he had taken a course in body language to help with his acting portfolio. Folded arms meant a person was closing themselves off. He didn’t need to give Sophie another reason to shut down. She seemed to have plenty of her own.
“I’m sorry,” he said, but she fished in her purse until she pulled out some bills.
“Breakfast was fantastic.” She stood. “I think the pictures will be stunning.”
She gave him a flirtatious wave and pasted a small smirk on her face before she headed for the exit. He scrambled to follow, because he’d given her a ride to the diner and he didn’t want to end the conversation with an unaccepted apology.
“Really,” he said as he joined her in the mid-morning sunshine. “I was in disguise when I came to eat lunch at your stand. I didn’t expect you to recognize me.” Jeez, this woman could walk fast when she wanted to.
He barely beat her to the passenger door. He opened it with a flourish, a hopeful grin on his face. Thankfully, it worked. She returned the smile as she slid into the car. He took that as an acceptance of his apology and hurried to get in the driver’s seat.
“Why did you dress up?” she asked. “Oh, and if you can take me back to my car, that would be great. I need to pick up my seafood for today.”
Mont concentrated on pulling out to give himself time to think. Why had he disguised himself to eat at her taco stand? So he could watch her without getting caught. But he couldn’t tell her that.
He shrugged when he felt her penetrating gaze on the side of his face. “I don’t know. Habit, maybe?”
“Maybe,” she echoed, but her tone suggested she didn’t believe his excuse. It was fairly weak.
“You’re a genius with salsa and tortillas,” he said, hoping to find safer ground. “And I don’t know what you do to that steak, but keep doing it.”
She laughed, and Mont’s insides settled back to normal. Well, as normal as possible for as much as he’d eaten. He was a tad disappointed she hadn’t shared much about herself. Finding out she wasn’t an only child hardly felt like a national secret. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, wanting to break through her stony exterior and find the real secrets of Sophie Newton.
I will, he decided as he turned into the lighthouse parking lot. Because he wanted to know everything about her, even if she fed it to him in bite-sized pieces.
Mont was determined to make a taco hat out of balloons, and by taking the template for a horse’s mane, he was able to get the lettuce looking just right. With a couple of hours to spare before he needed to show up for work at The Sandy Tortilla, he logged into his YouTube account.
His last how-to balloon animal tutorial had fetched him a lot of views—more than Mont even knew. Of course, he’d put it up months ago, before leaving LA, and he hadn’t checked it since. The money from his monetizing was directly deposited in his account each month, but with Sophie paying him in cash every night, he’d forgotten. With the amount he’d earned from YouTube over the last couple of months, he could send another check to his mother.
He searched for how to make a balloon taco hat, and found nothing. He left YouTube open while he started his video recorder. Mont made four hats, recording each time, before he began splicing the feeds together into one cohesive video with the best angles and directions.
Mont had at least five dozen balloon tutorials on YouTube, some dating back almost five years, when he’d started crafting balloon creations for sick kids.
He wished he’d been smart enough to use an alternate name when he first started. He had to log in with his real name, and every video went into that channel’s feed.
He’d contemplated changing the account, but then he’d have to redo every video, as each bore his email address and website at the end.
No, he just had to suffer with the name he’d been born with, the name moms called him when they wanted him to make animals and hats at their children’s birthday parties.
Francis Kemmencher, the man he used to be, stared back at him, and he suppressed a shudder. No wonder he didn’t get very many gigs as a balloon artist. People couldn’t even pronounce his name, let alone remember it.
He didn’t care. He wasn’t t
rying to make a name for himself by producing taco hats. Although, the nice chunk of change he got from YouTube every month told him that maybe he should spend more time making balloon tutorials instead of trying to define eight abs. Or break into action films.
The familiar frustration at his unrealized dreams flowed through him. Trying desperately to shut it down before he could embrace the temptation to throw back scotch until he couldn’t remember why he cared, he clicked upload on the taco hat video and went to take a shower.
When he returned, the simmering unease remained, but the video had finished rendering. He published it, posted it on his Francis Kemmencher Facebook page, sent an email to his newsletter subscribers, and donned a baseball cap.
He’d been trying to keep his head down this summer, trying to figure things out, trying to decide what the next step should be. He felt free, knowing that no one in Redwood Bay knew of his failures or his unreached potential. He didn’t have to live up to anyone’s expectations, because they didn’t know him and he didn’t know them.
The truth was, Mont felt so…lost. He just didn’t know what he needed to do to break into the action film industry. More workouts? Less running? Blonder hair? Wider shoulders?
He’d do almost anything, and hearing about guy after guy who made the cut only widened the pit inside him. Mont wanted to be happy for them. He knew it was a sign that the industry was healthy, that actors could make the leap from comedy to action.
He knew it, but he didn’t feel like it would ever happen for him.
As he left his apartment he thought, how much longer do I do this before I admit I’m not good enough to be an action star? Before I hang up that hat, finish my law degree, and figure out something else to do with my life?
While he could become anyone, he didn’t know how to be who the action directors wanted, and his frustration settled like a brick in his gut.
Chapter Eleven
Sophie visited the wharf every day to pick up her seafood. She used to buy from her cousin Tripp until he left behind his trawler, took over her father’s boat construction business and built it into something successful. Now Sophie had to buy from the fishmongers like everyone else. Her food costs had gone up a bit, but nothing she couldn’t absorb.
Sophie glanced down the wharf where Tripp’s storefront stood. He ran a tourist side of the business now too, taking people out for deep-sea fishing on the boats he made himself. And in the lonely winter months, he spent hours with a line in his hand.
“Hey Hil,” Sophie said as she stepped up to her fish supplier.
“Sophie,” Hilary said, adjusting the scarf around her neck. Sophie had never seen her without something covering her body all the way to her chin. Hilary had come to Redwood Bay from Miami about two years ago, and the gossip Sophie had heard included something about an abusive ex-boyfriend.
“Didn’t know if you’d make it today,” she said, already wrapping the cod and shrimp Sophie had ordered the night before.
“I had breakfast with a friend,” Sophie said. The word friend felt false in her mouth, but Hilary accepted her statement as fact.
Hilary handed over the fish. “Your cousin is causing a ruckus at the docks.”
Sophie’s eyebrows rose. “Of course he is. What’s he on about this time?”
Hilary took a few steps and leaned in the doorway of her mobile fish market. “Something about protesting the town’s decision to let the Seattle fishermen bring their catch here for the Labor Day celebration.” Hilary smiled, but it didn’t stretch across her face. Sophie had never seen her wear much of a grin. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with him.”
“We do get a lot of people in town for Labor Day,” Sophie said, glancing back down the dock, though Tripp’s store was set back and she couldn’t see it.
“But our fishermen pull in enough of a catch for everyone,” Hilary said. “You wouldn’t buy from anyone but me, right?”
“Of course not,” Sophie said. “You want me to talk to him?” She didn’t know what she could do.
“If you want.” Hilary shrugged one shoulder, slightly jostling her scarf. Sophie caught a glimpse of a puckered, pink slash before Hilary adjusted the fabric. “Us local business owners need to band together.”
Sophie’s stomach soured at the thought of going to Tripp’s store. She hadn’t set foot in the warehouse since her father passed away. She used to spend weekends there with him, mostly to keep him from drinking too much, but also to occasionally hand him a tool—and he’d taken her out on every boat he’d built.
“I’ll see what I can do. Thanks, Hil.”
Sophie squared her shoulders as she walked along the planks toward Tripp’s office. She admired the fresh paint job and homey feel as it came into view. He’d worked hard to make the company into something better than it had been. He griped about making so much off the tourists when his first love was the construction. But the truth was, once a fisherman had a well-made boat, they didn’t need another one for a while.
A bell chimed as she entered, and Tripp emerged from the office behind the counter. “Sophie.” He grinned from ear to ear. “I haven’t seen you all summer. Polly says you’re as busy as me.”
Sophie couldn’t help returning her cousin’s smile. She’d forgotten how good-natured Tripp was, how easy-going. “And glad for it,” Sophie said. “Maybe once the summer season dies down, we can get together for dinner. Me, you and Polly.”
Tripp came around the counter and gave Sophie an awkward hug. He smelled like sawdust and coffee, two scents she associated with her father. Sophie felt the overpowering urge to leave but she forced herself to stay. It was OK to miss her father, even if his last words to her had been, You’ll never be able to support yourself with a taco stand. Don’t make the same mistakes I did, Soph.
Sophie hadn’t understood until that moment that her father had been trying to save her from the pressures and stress of owning a small business. It definitely was stressful, and Sophie did feel pressure to get it right. Mostly to prove to her father that it could be done, but also because she couldn’t imagine herself doing anything else.
“Dinner with other people sounds fantastic. I don’t see anyone I care about anymore,” he said, a twinge of sadness in his voice. “The ocean can be a lonely place.”
Sophie understood what he meant more than she cared to admit. She glanced around, noting how everything had been changed, right down to the paint color and flooring. Still, the walls felt caging. Her dad used to have a locked cabinet in the corner by the door where he kept his whiskey.
“So what brings you by?” Tripp leaned against the counter, his ropy arms taut with muscle and covered with tattoos. With his slightly long, slightly curly, dark hair, stormy eyes and successful business, she was surprised someone in Redwood Bay hadn’t snatched him up.
Sophie pushed away the memories of her father’s drinking. She believed that he’d tried his best to be a good dad, but he hadn’t been a good provider, or a good protector. Sophie’s heart squeezed as she thought of the brother she hadn’t seen in over a decade.
“Soph?” Tripp took a step toward her.
Sophie swallowed, proud of herself for staying in this space for so long. “Hilary said you’re upset about the Seattle fishers coming into town for Labor Day.”
Tripp made a face. “She did, did she?” He made a clucking noise. “That woman is always trying to get me in trouble.”
Sophie detected a hint of admiration, though Tripp wore a scowl. “I don’t think she meant anything by it. Wanted us local business owners to get together and protest.” Behind the closed door, she heard the warbling of the radio. Her father used to listen to his sixties music; Sophie felt suffocated by the memories this place held.
“Like I asked her, how would we do that?” Tripp’s question barely came through the ghosts filling Sophie’s mind. She took a deep breath to regain her composure.
She gestured to the town, which sat behind her. “I don’t
know. Go to a city council meeting?”
Tripp rolled his eyes. “That’s what Hilary suggested. You think I haven’t?”
Sophie didn’t know what to think. She didn’t even know there’d been an issue. She did know she needed to leave before something else happened to remind her of the hours she’d spent here. They weren’t all terrible, but the bad times had been bad enough to drive her brother away from Redwood Bay for good. Her mother too.
“The Council has made up their mind for this year,” he said. “Like I told Hilary, maybe we should get some support, like a petition or something, ready for next year.”
Sophie nodded, relieved this conversation was almost over. “Let me know. I’ll get involved.” She lifted her hand in a wave. “I better go. I’m getting a late start to my prep this morning.”
Tripp smiled at her as she left, and it wasn’t until Sophie made it back to her car that she took a real breath. Her dad had been gone for five years, but she still couldn’t escape from his words. Though she’d only stood in the completely remodeled outer office, being back in the space where she’d experienced so many lows wasn’t good for Sophie’s psyche.
“Peanut butter cup shake.” Lucy set the delectable ice-cream concoction in front of Sophie and slid into the booth opposite her. Her all-knowing eyes refused to look away until Sophie met her gaze.
“What?”
“Do I have to ask? You ate breakfast with the most gorgeous man alive. Everyone is talking about it.”
A blip of fear stole through Sophie. Then annoyance. “He’s working for me.”
“I’ll say he is,” Lucy said, leaning back and folding her arms.
Sophie worked to contain the blush rising in her face. She took an extra-large bite of ice cream, hoping to cool down. “So he’s hot, so what? He tells the worst jokes ever.” If only his taco puns weren’t growing on her, didn’t make her want to find out if he had quips for other topics.
Until Summer Ends Page 8