“See you tomorrow, Soph. Wish me luck with Lucy.” Blaine grabbed his keys, nodded to Mont, and abandoned Sophie to Mont’s semi-hostile glare.
Mont quirked one eyebrow then followed Blaine out the door.
“Wait,” Sophie called.
Mont turned. “You said we could walk on the beach.”
Sophie glanced around the shack. The grill needed to be cleaned, and she needed to prep for dinner. Instead, she yanked off her apron, locked the door, and stepped onto the beach.
Mont walked with his hands clasped behind his back, and she wished he’d reach for her hand and hold it. She had never wanted anything so badly. Well, maybe the taco stand.
“Are we just going to walk?” he asked.
“No.” Sophie didn’t quite know what to say. “I didn’t text you last night, because well, you’re not going to be here permanently.” She motioned back up the beach, where The Sandy Tortilla sat. “And I am.”
Mont nodded, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
Sophie’s fingers twitched as she thought about Blaine and Lucy, and what they would say when they found out she hadn’t followed through with their deal. “So I think it would be better if we just remained, you know, coworkers.”
Mont scoffed, but Sophie didn’t think she was supposed to hear it. “You don’t think of me as your coworker.”
Sophie wanted to deny it, but she didn’t. Couldn’t.
“We can be friends,” Mont said. “You don’t have friends who live in other cities? Come to visit?”
The idea of Mont living in another city twisted Sophie’s stomach. She hated how he had affected her so strongly in such a short time.
“Sure, friends,” she conceded.
They walked several paces before Mont fully relaxed, releasing his arms and looking somewhere besides straight ahead. “So, who was that guy on the beach today?”
Sophie’s gut did a full-on flip. “That was my ex-fiancé, Clint.”
“Tell me something Blaine couldn’t,” Mont said.
“He’s a jerk.”
“Observed. Try again.”
Sophie glared at him. “Now you’re being a jerk.”
“Acting like one and being one are two different things.” Mont flashed a smile at her, but quickly sobered. “Why is he here?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “He was talking, but I wasn’t listening.”
“Is that common?”
“Me not listening? No, just this time I was focused on you—I—” Sophie’s throat closed. Mont’s grin spread slowly, making him boyishly handsome and devilishly hot at the same time.
“Focused on me? Sounds like a scandalous thing to do to your coworker.”
Sophie punched him on the arm, and he complained loudly. “You almost knocked me down.”
“Whatever.” She laughed. “You barely moved.”
Mont bumped his hip into hers, and she almost fell over. He grabbed onto her elbow to keep her upright, and when she found her footing he slid his hand down to hers.
A fluttery feeling made her chest vibrate. “Mont—”
“I have a secret,” he interrupted. “I know you want to hear it, so just listen.” He leaned toward her. “I don’t want to be your coworker.”
Sophie swallowed and tried to think of something to say. For the life of her, she couldn’t come up with a single thing.
“I might not be here forever, but I might be. I want to audition for these roles. I’ve worked to become an action star for five years. I can’t walk away from that.” He tucked her hair behind her ear again, something that was starting to grow on her. “But you’re making it hard to walk away from Redwood Bay too.”
He stepped back, dropping her hand and putting space between them. Sophie breathed easier, but also felt a profound sense of loss.
Mont took a deep breath. “You need to get out of that taco stand. Find balance or whatever you were talking about the other night. Maybe we can grab something to eat tonight.”
Sophie opened her mouth to decline. No matter how much she wanted to learn more about Mont, a relationship with him couldn’t work. She gave everything she had to The Sandy Tortilla, and he just said he wasn’t walking away from acting. Which meant, at some point, he would walk away from her and Redwood Bay.
“If you say no, I’ll quit.” Mont grinned, that mega-watt smile that made Sophie’s heart quiver. “Balance, you know. Very important.”
“Well, I can’t lose you as my hired help.” Sophie’s voice scratched on the way out. “But we work during dinnertime.”
“We can go somewhere after.”
“Where?” Sophie asked. “In case you haven’t noticed, restaurants in Redwood Bay don’t stay open very late.”
“Then let’s close early.”
Sophie narrowed her eyes. “You drive a hard bargain, Monty.”
He groaned. “Please don’t call me that.”
“What should I call you?” Her resolve to keep Mont at arm’s length seemed to disappear when she had to face him. “I’m still waiting for that secret.”
“You’ll wait forever,” he said. “I don’t want to watch you die.”
She laughed, and he wove his fingers through hers again as he led her back to the taco stand.
When Blaine called, Sophie knew something was important. She was actually surprised he knew how to call instead of text.
“Clint’s called me six times,” he said, a heavy dose of disgust in his voice. “He said he left something at your place that he needs, and that he’s called you twice as much as he’s called me.”
Sophie exhaled and pressed her eyes closed. “I blocked his number.”
“You’ll have to show me how to do that,” Blaine said coolly. “If he calls me again, I might need Owen to restrain me.”
Sophie chuckled at the thought of the sixty-five-year-old deputy trying to restrain Blaine. “Where is he?”
“Apparently he’s been on your porch for hours. I guess Millie came out and told him if he didn’t leave, she’d call the police.” Blaine took a breath as Sophie imagined her petite neighbor telling Clint where to get off. “That’s when he started calling me.”
“Fine. I’ll go see what he needs.” Sophie wanted to go home for a quick minute of peace before dinner service began—and to freshen up her makeup before Mont arrived. She remembered that Clint said he’d been calling. Sure enough, when she pulled into her driveway, Clint was loitering on her front porch.
“I thought I’d have to wait all night,” he said, rising from the swing. “I’ve called you a million times.”
She barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. “What do you want, Clint?”
He gaped at her. “You really weren’t listening. I accidentally put my flight voucher in your package. Did you get it?”
Sophie vaguely remembered that her mother had said there was an airplane ticket in the box. “I don’t know. I didn’t actually open it.”
Clint looked like she’d spit on him. He recovered quickly and folded his arms. “This would’ve been ten times easier if you’d just answer your phone. I wouldn’t have had to drag myself all the way up here.”
“I’m so sorry I put you out.” Sophie didn’t try to hide the sarcasm in her voice, though if this little scene could’ve been avoided she probably would’ve answered his call. Seeing him in person was worse.
He gestured toward her front door. “Well, can we check for the voucher?”
She stepped past him, unlocked the door, and waved him inside. “Be my guest.” She stayed on the porch while Clint went inside the house they used to share. She couldn’t stand to be in there with him.
His words rolled around in her mind. He’s a tourist.
She and Clint used to make up stories about the thousands of tourists that passed through Redwood Bay each summer. How they had met, why they decided to come see the Redwoods, how many kids they’d have.
They did this, because tourists lived fake lives—at least while they
were on vacation. Sophie didn’t believe anyone could be as happy as tourists were all the time. No one smiled that much. Or splashed in the ocean so exuberantly, or laughed with so much joy. Only tourists did that. Those away from their real lives, those who were living a false existence, even if it was only for a few days.
Sophie knew their bubble would pop. They’d go home and realize how much money they’d spent, and then reality would descend and they’d go back to their lives. The fantasies she and Clint created for the tourists gave her an escape.
This summer, she hadn’t had that release. She’d endured watching the newlyweds, the families, the elderly couples. She’d watched them laugh, throw Frisbees, lay under the sun. She appreciated the business they brought to The Sandy Tortilla. But she didn’t like tourists. She never had, and Mont was not a permanent resident of Redwood Bay.
He was a tourist.
Sophie turned away from her front door to face the ocean. She hated thinking that Clint was right. Worse, she hated herself for thinking she and Mont could actually be together. Of course they couldn’t.
Tourists live a fake life.
Sophie didn’t know what had brought Mont to Redwood Bay. But she knew she probably wouldn’t like the answer.
Chapter Fourteen
“Jack,” Lars said as soon as Mont answered his phone that afternoon. “Big news. A third audition—and this one is in Brazil.”
Mont’s pulse spiked, his thoughts racing around the opportunities coming his way. Surely one of the three auditions would yield him the results he wanted, could be the break he’d been hoping for. Just as quickly as the excitement sparked, it died.
“I don’t know, Lars,” he said, trying to be realistic. “Do I need another audition?” He thought of Sophie and what he could possibly tell her. How would it look for him to go off on yet another audition? Especially after she’d just confessed she was hesitant to move forward with him because she was a permanent resident and he was not.
“Of course you do,” Lars said. “The director is somewhat eccentric. I’m emailing you the details of the project now, but the part is that of a journalist who follows a story to the jungles of South America. The audition date isn’t set, so you’ll need to be ready anytime.”
The part didn’t sound like something Mont would like. “I sort of have this gig that makes it hard for me to leave town last-minute.” He couldn’t do that to Sophie, and he wouldn’t be able to send checks home by flying to Brazil either.
“You can get on a plane anytime out of Del Norte. I checked.” Lars rattled off more information Mont knew would be in the email. He mm-hmm’ed in the right spots, but his thoughts circled around Sophie and what she’d said.
She was permanent. He was not.
She was right. Perhaps pursuing her was a mistake. Mont pictured her hazel eyes, the color of wonder, the muscles in her arms working as she chopped vegetables, the way her chest vibrated when she grated cheese.
“Send me everything,” Mont said, determined to keep this third audition a secret. He was playing a dangerous game, but it was possible that nothing would come of the auditions anyway, especially this last one.
“Secret time,” Sophie declared after she’d closed the window a full half hour early. She’d seemed a bit detached when he’d first arrived, but as soon as the customers lined up, she’d gone back to her typical, focused, cordial self.
“Secrets?” Mont’s voice broke the tiniest bit.
“You promised.”
“OK, fine.” Mont was beginning to regret telling her he’d give her a secret every night. It had started as a joke. One he thought would loosen her up.
“Why’d you come to Redwood Bay?”
“I liked the lighthouse,” Mont said.
Sophie looked up from her books. “You liked the lighthouse?”
“Yeah, I was driving along the highway, and up ahead I could see the beam. It seemed like it was calling me here. So I stopped. Camped for a couple of nights. Decided to stay.”
Sophie looked thoughtful for a moment, then returned to her bookkeeping. “Why did you leave LA?”
Mont shrugged. “Wanted to get away from my real life for a while.” There was more to the situation, but unless Sophie pushed, he wasn’t going to divulge the rest right now. The truth was, he’d just been cut in the final round of casting for a major action film, a co-starring role alongside a huge Hollywood name. He’d made it as far as the top three, and the director had pronounced him “too blond.”
As if hair color was hard to change.
No, Mont knew there was something about him that didn’t appeal to the director. He just didn’t know what. And he couldn’t stand to stay in LA for another second, unhappy with his own hair simply because it was the wrong color.
Leaving LA had made him happy, that was why he’d done it. He’d escaped, and just barely, if he did say so himself.
“So you’re living a fake life here,” Sophie stated.
“Not fake,” Mont said, frowning at her brutal tone. “Different. It’s nice. Peaceful. Less stress than the city.”
“Hmm.” Sophie seemed fully immersed in her supply order, so Mont cleaned the counter and hung up his apron. He liked watching Sophie work, but tonight she felt closed off.
“What about you?” he asked.
“What about me?”
“Why’d you stay in Redwood Bay? I mean, I know you grew up here, but you could’ve left. Why didn’t you?” Mont had refrained from pushing Sophie too far with the questions he asked. But something had changed since this afternoon on the beach. No, not on the beach. In the couple of hours since he’d left her standing on the beach. And not just her makeup and tight jeans, though her switch to both brought him great satisfaction—and a great longing deep in his core. It meant she didn’t care how she looked when she worked with Blaine, but when she worked with Mont, she did.
“I was going to go to culinary school,” she admitted, a wistful smile playing across her face. “But then I got the idea for The Sandy Tortilla. This building was already here, and we already owned it, so….”
“You own this building?” he asked.
“My father did. When he died, he willed everything to my mom, except for this. He gave it to me.”
“So you stayed and opened it. Your idea or your dad’s?”
“Mine,” she said. “He was against it. He died thinking nothing could ever come from this stand on the beach.” She clipped the ledger closed, perhaps a little too hard. Mont sensed she had many stories about her father, and that few of them were good.
“But I’m proving him wrong. I got a small business loan to bring the wiring up to code and purchase all the kitchen equipment I needed. I skipped culinary school and spent six months testing my recipes on Lucy’s customers. When I opened, I had just turned nineteen.” She held her chin high, and Mont grinned. He wanted to take her in his arms and hug her. Tell her how brave she was for doing what she wanted when no one was on her side. Commend her for her success. Kiss her until he lost all his senses.
Something niggled him, though. “You’re proving him wrong?” he asked. “You haven’t succeeded yet?” Mont studied her, this time her blush from pure frustration, not because he’d said something mildly inappropriate.
She licked her lips nervously, not that it made him any less hot for her, and glanced away.
“I mean, he’s gone now,” Mont continued, starting to get a clearer view of why she was so devoted to this taco stand. “You think he still cares what’s going on with this place?” He gestured to the tiny space. “With you?”
Sophie’s typical response would be to come back with a quick-witted retort. Mont actually enjoyed them, riled her up just to get them. This time, though, her shoulders shrunk into themselves. Her lower lip shook, making Mont’s innards do the same thing, from desire or guilt, he wasn’t sure.
“I don’t know,” she said at the same time he stood and extended his hand toward her.
“Time for d
inner,” he said. “Come on. Let’s find you some balance.”
She glanced around the stand, panic replacing the uncertainty and hurt in her eyes. “But I haven’t prepped for tomorrow.”
“You can do that tomorrow,” he said.
She was so set in her ways; Mont didn’t think she’d abandon her stand, despite his threat to quit. Sure enough, she said, “Fifteen minutes. I need to at least get the chicken marinating.”
A half hour later, she finally slid into the passenger seat of his car. “Sorry.”
“You are not,” Mont responded, his tone a little sharper than he’d intended. He’d already pushed her pretty far tonight, what with the whole proving-her-father-wrong thing.
“I am,” she insisted. “But, Mont, I have things that have to be done.”
“You do not.” His voice was smoother this time. “You could close that stand tomorrow and be fine. Yeah, you might lose some money. But you’d be fine.” He felt a flash of admiration for her success at the same time he felt the weight of money. There was never enough, for himself and for his parents.
“I have to waitress this year because I’m paying you so much.”
“What?” he asked, horrified he was the reason she wouldn’t have the income she needed. He swallowed hard. “Well, pay me less then.”
She lightly touched his arm. “A deal’s a deal.”
A surge of longing swept through him. Longing to wake up next to this woman every day, take her orders every evening, and kiss her whenever he could. He couldn’t believe she’d sacrifice her income for him, someone she hardly knew. Well, at least when he’d started.
“Sophie—”
“Mont, it’s fine,” she insisted. “I-I like working with you.”
He wondered what else she’d like to do with him, and those thoughts shut down the conversation as he drove to the restaurant she’d selected.
Mont struggled to make conversation during dinner, something that almost never happened. While they sipped champagne, he mulled over the reasons why he couldn’t seem to find anything to say. Maybe the fact that he had secrets he didn’t want to talk about. He realized Sophie probably felt like this all the time, and there he was trying to chip away at what she didn’t want to say. Didn’t make him want to stop though. It went beyond mere curiosity or interest at this point. He had to know everything about her.
Until Summer Ends Page 11