Until Summer Ends

by Elana Johnson

  “Hot,” Lucy supplied.

  Sophie conceded the point. “He’s always late, though, and he’s not planning to stay in Redwood Bay. That’s two strikes.”

  Lucy leaned her elbows on the table. “Do you think he has strikes against you?”

  Scooping up a mouthful of ice cream and eating it gave Sophie time to think. “I’m sure he does. I’m pretty rigid in my schedule. I don’t call my mother. I never exercise, or eat breakfast or take vitamins.”

  Lucy laughed. “That’s five strikes. I think you’re out.” She sobered quickly. “But seriously, Soph. Forget that he’s late. If he got a big role in another country, could you go with him?”

  Ah, the question of the hour. Heck, the question of a lifetime. Could she leave The Sandy Tortilla, pack up the only life she’d ever known, and follow Mont wherever his acting career took him?

  “I don’t know,” she moaned into her arms. She wanted to say yes. For true love, yes, she’d do anything. She’d leave anything, go anywhere.

  “Is he the one?” Lucy asked.

  The tears returned, pushing hard against Sophie’s eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “You’ve kissed him, right?”

  Sophie closed her eyes and relived every moment she’d experienced with his lips on hers. And there were many.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Lucy said dryly. “And by the way, from the look on your face, it’s obvious you liked it.”

  “Like you said, we light up the night,” Sophie murmured.

  “So the real choice is Mont or The Sandy Tortilla.” Lucy stood as the bell on the front door rang. “They’re both here in Redwood Bay right now, so everything’s fine. But what happens if Mont decides to leave? You’ll pick a taco stand over true love?” She took a few steps toward her waiting customers, then returned, her eyes earnest.

  “Don’t do that, Sophie. I’ve done it, and look where it’s gotten me.” She gestured toward the couple. “Waiting on people in love when I don’t have it.” She bustled off toward the hostess station, smiled and seated the customers near the window.

  Sophie watched her fill their drinks, take their orders and serve them. Lucy loved this diner. Sophie knew she’d given up a lot to keep the diner running after her father retired, she just didn’t realize how much.

  She finished her ice cream and headed to the register. Lucy was there—always there—and waved away her money. “It’s on the house.”

  “It’s Blaine, isn’t it?” Sophie asked, looking her friend right in the eyes. “Because if so, I don’t think that ship has sailed.”

  Lucy’s eyes widened, and Sophie knew Lucy was in love. Here she’d thought they were just in on a prank to get Sophie to go out with Mont. But she loved him—and Sophie had known for a long time that Blaine was sweet on Lucy.

  “You think I still have a chance with him?” Lucy asked. “I mean, I’ve told him no so many times.”

  Sophie couldn’t believe her ears. “How many times?” She felt bad she hadn’t known. But, of course, she’d been too wrapped up in her own business to notice. Then the whole fiasco with Clint, and, well, Sophie needed to improve in the friendship department.

  “Three, four,” Lucy said. “I don’t know. Remember that date we had so you’d go out with Mont? A few weeks ago? He asked me again then. I said no. Again. He doesn’t even come in here anymore.” She glanced out the window like he might stroll up the sidewalk at any moment. “I miss him more than I thought I would.”

  “He’ll be here Friday night,” Sophie said. “He’s filling in for Mont. Maybe you should come by The Sandy Tortilla. You know, ask him out or something.”

  “What if he says no?”

  “What if he doesn’t?” Sophie responded. She hugged her friend and headed back to the beach. She didn’t know how to answer Lucy’s questions. She wanted to be like the girls in the movies, the ones who gave up their careers, their money, their fame, all for true love.

  As she approached her taco stand, Sophie also realized she might be too selfish to be one of those girls in the movies who gave up their dreams for someone else’s.

  Chapter Twenty

  On the last day Mont would be in town before his audition, he arrived at The Sandy Tortilla a full twenty minutes before Sophie would open the window for dinner service. He had an arrangement of real red roses, and a balloon bouquet of multi-colored daisies.

  “I come bearing gifts,” he said as he entered the shack. Sophie’s prep station faced the opposite direction, and he always had the opportunity to sneak up on her. He’d never been able to do it though. She seemed to know the instant he arrived.

  “Gifts?” Sophie asked as she turned. Her face lit up when she saw him. “Oh, Mont. They’re lovely.” She swept toward him and took the balloons, twisting a petal here and readjusting a leaf there.

  “Those were actually the free ones,” Mont said, though his chest warmed at the gentle way she handled his art. Her touch wasn’t always so soft, which he also liked—especially as she clung to him while he kissed her.

  “You know I love your balloons.” Sophie lifted her eyes to his for a moment before returning to the daisies. “You’re so talented. Is there anything you can’t do?”

  “Act,” he said, holding the roses out to her.

  She set down the balloons and took the flowers. “Stop it. This audition is going to be the one that launches your career.” She smiled at him, that endearing blush already in her cheeks. “Thank you for the flowers.”

  She stretched up and kissed him, and he adored that she took the initiative sometimes. “You really think so?” He slid one arm around her waist and held her in place, his need for reassurance raw and strong.

  “Yes,” she said, her eyes searching his. Over the weeks, she’d gotten better at reading his emotions, something that didn’t entirely displease him. Still, he felt vulnerable. He hadn’t wanted a role as badly as this one in a long time. But he knew what rejection tasted like. He was well acquainted with the powerful sting of disappointment.

  One reason he’d loved Amber so much was because she listened to him. She believed in him. Didn’t care that he was a D-list actor without any real credits to his name, fake or otherwise. She herself was a D-list actress, and Mont could tell her exactly how he felt—even if he didn’t understand his own emotions—and she got it.

  When he found her texts to his roommate, he felt she had betrayed more than just their relationship. It was like losing a part of himself. The part he could be completely honest with, the part where he could unload all his burdens. Carrying them this past year had been heavy and tiring, and one of the major reasons he’d left LA at the beginning of the summer.

  “I lost you,” Sophie said, and Mont shook away the memories of Amber.

  She stepped back to her prep station and continued chopping. “Where’d you go?”

  Mont cleared his throat. He wanted to confide in Sophie, make her his new Amber, his new safe place. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to talk about Amber, or if Sophie was ready to be the place he unloaded all his baggage.

  But he wanted to try.

  “I was thinking about my ex-girlfriend,” he said.

  “Ah,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “Go on.”

  “Not because you remind me of her or anything.” Mont suddenly realized how his words sounded. “She was a huge support to me.” He cleared his throat. “She, uh, Amber cheered me on, and I needed that. I appreciated it.”

  “What happened with you guys?”

  “My roommate decided he liked her too.” Mont shrugged, surprised that the pain he expected was dulled, almost nothing. “And well, she chose him over me.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s fine.” Mont waved like the end of his two-year relationship meant nothing. “I’m used to someone getting chosen over me.”

  Sophie set down her knife and turned toward him deliberately. “No one gets used to that kind of rejection.”

  A rus
h of appreciation flowed through Mont. “Maybe I’m tougher than I look.”

  “Maybe you’re not.” Sophie lifted one eyebrow. “Besides, you look pretty tough.” She slid her gaze down to his feet and back to his face. “Very solid.” She cleared her throat and returned to her work.

  Mont’s cheeks grew hot. “Anyway, I was thinking of her, because well, you’re—” Mont didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

  “I’m what?” Sophie asked over her shoulder.

  “I don’t know,” Mont said, but my favorite person to talk to bounced through his head.

  Or such a great support to me, and I love that about you.

  Or perfect.

  Any of them would’ve worked.

  “Nothing.” He put on his apron, picked up his pen and discreetly opened the cash drawer to put back half of the money Sophie had given him last night. He’d been doing so for weeks, and she’d said nothing.

  “Stop it.”

  He turned at the sound of her voice. “What?”

  “I know you’ve been putting your wages back.” She held up a bulging envelope. “You’re not the only one who can count money.”

  Annoyance swept through him. Why couldn’t she just accept her own money? “I don’t need it.”

  “Your dad does.” It was a low blow, and Mont felt every syllable of it.

  “He’s doing better,” he lied. In reality, his dad’s heart disease was killing him.

  “If you don’t take this money, I’ll—”

  Mont stepped closer, effectively silencing her. “You’ll what?” There were a lot of things they hadn’t done that he’d like to do. But something told him she wouldn’t promise any of them if he didn’t take the money.

  “I don’t need it,” he stated, sealing his fate. “And you do. It’s your money.” He snatched the envelope from her and tucked it into the drawer. “You’re keeping it.” He opened the window so she couldn’t continue the argument.

  “I gotta say, I’m going to enjoy a few days off.” Mont rolled his shoulders, trying to ease out the stiffness.

  Sophie laughed, and he suddenly didn’t want to leave at all. He’d resorted to reminding himself about his father and the surgeries he needed, though if he really wanted to help, he’d go back to school, finish his law degree, and get a high-paying job in a firm. He’d warred with himself enough over the years, and now he remembered how long he’d worked for an opportunity like this. He had to go. Had to try.

  “Felix?” Sophie had been guessing names that began with F for two solid weeks. Forest? Frank? Finn? Fred? Fabio?

  He’d laughed at that one, struck a pose like a sexy male model and enjoyed the roses that bloomed in Sophie’s cheeks. Then he’d kissed those cheeks, and her neck and ears, finally ending with her mouth. How he loved kissing her.

  Ferris? Findlay? Fletcher? Flint? Fraiser?

  Mont knew she’d land on the right one eventually. There weren’t that many male names that started with F. He still hadn’t decided if he’d lie and say “Nope,” like he had every other time if she ever guessed Francis.

  “Not Felix,” he said. “Practice with me one last time? Tonight?” Mont didn’t want to be alone with his self-doubt.

  “Sure,” Sophie said. “Let’s finish up here, and then we can go back to my place.”

  Mont followed Sophie, his thoughts running through his packing list, his lines and a new idea that maybe he could wake up in Sophie’s bed, with Sophie curled into his side. He swallowed hard, this new turn in his mind dangerous—and utterly impossible.

  Sophie hadn’t opened up to him about any of her past relationships. She gave him small details about her life, but nothing of importance. Sure, she was fine with the kissing, but she was waiting to see if this audition turned into a job, and Mont knew it. He hadn’t pressed her, not even once. He didn’t want to hurt her any more than he wanted to get hurt. He’d decided to keep things simple between them, and that meant nothing more than kissing.

  He also knew she wanted him to get the job, even though that meant he’d leave Redwood Bay—at least for a little while. Filming was set to take ten months, in Spain.

  Though he knew all these things, as soon as he entered her house and closed the front door, he took her in his arms and covered her lips with his. She’d never let him in the house after work before, and now he knew why. His resolve to keep things simple wasn’t as easy inside these walls.

  “Mont,” she breathed between kisses, as he pulled the band keeping her hair back and ran his fingers through her hair. “I thought you wanted to study your lines.”

  “Later,” he whispered, his hands pushing under the hem of her tank top to find the soft skin on her lower back. He wanted to explore all of her. He deepened the kiss, encouraged when she responded. Enthusiastically, too, in his opinion.

  She gripped the bottom of his shirt, and he broke their kiss so she could lift it over his head. Her fingers explored the hard ridges on his chest and stomach; his skin felt like fire wherever she touched.

  “Soph,” he said in a low voice. “If you don’t want to…I mean, it’s fine.”

  He was giving her a way out. He didn’t want her to take it, but he didn’t want her to have regrets.

  Mont could see indecision in her eyes, despite the low light in her living room. He felt naked, and technically, he was halfway there. His shirt lay on the floor a few feet away, and he stooped to retrieve it.

  “I didn’t say I didn’t want to,” she said.

  “But you didn’t say you did.” Mont pulled on his shirt and flashed her a grin, trying to keep the hurt out of it. He felt so foolish. Of course she didn’t want to get too involved with him—she had said as much several weeks ago. She was here permanently; he was not. Everything about their relationship danced around his impending departure. This was no exception. He wondered why he thought it would be.

  “I’ll call you as soon as I can,” he said, moving toward her. He drank in her wide eyes and loose hair, breathed in her flowery and spicy scent, and gave her a chaste kiss on the mouth before heading for the front door.

  “Miss you,” she said softly from behind him, but he couldn’t summon the courage to repeat the endearment back.

  Mont woke the next morning, very much alone, by five-thirty. Right on schedule. Sophie would be so proud.

  Bitterness coated his throat, but he couldn’t help it. He showered, packed and headed to the airport by six-thirty, briefly considering stopping by Sophie’s to say good-bye.

  You already said good-bye, he told himself. No need to further embarrass yourself.

  With a cup of coffee in hand, Mont waited for his flight to LA. Lars called with thirty minutes until departure, and Mont confirmed he was indeed at the airport, ready for a full day of travel.

  “When will I be able to return to Redwood Bay?” Mont asked.

  “Who cares?” Lars said. “It’s time to come home anyway, Jack. Just getting into the audition pool for this role has increased your profile. I’ve had three calls about you this week. “

  “Really?”

  “Really. So when the audition is over, you need to get your butt back down here. I can’t keep paying for flights out of Del Norte.”

  Mont shifted in his seat. “Well, I might need another month or two up here.”

  “What’s more important? Your acting career or traipsing along the beach?”

  “I’m not just lounging on the beach, Lars.” Mont pressed his eyes closed. “I sort of promised this woman I’d help out at her taco stand until the season ends.”

  Lars laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Oh, I see. There’s a woman.”

  “No—”

  “Listen, Mont.”

  When Lars used his real name, Mont knew his agent was about to get serious. Mont imagined Lars, with his slicked back, black hair and sharp, green eyes. He’d be leaning forward, resting his elbows on his massive desk as he looked out his twentieth-story window.

  “We’ve been w
orking together for a long time. You’ve had some decent roles in comedy, but this is your time for action. Hollywood is looking for a fresh face, and it’s yours. They’re ready for you. So you have to decide which is more important. This woman, or what you’ve worked to achieve these past five years.”

  “Summer’s almost over,” Mont said weakly. “I’m planning to return to LA in October.” Though he hadn’t made any such plans.

  “Your career might be over by then.” Lars sounded stern, and he spoke slowly. Mont knew he was serious, knew Hollywood moved at the speed of light, knew sometimes an opportunity was only available for a limited time.

  “Call me when you land in Madrid,” Lars said, and he hung up.

  Mont pocketed his phone and sipped his now lukewarm coffee. Last night, he’d been ready to commit to Sophie. Go all the way. Stay in Redwood Bay and build a life around the taco stand.

  Now, he was considering never coming back.

  Don’t be stupid, he told himself as his flight got called. This summer was never meant to include anything permanent.

  With mixed emotions, Mont boarded the plane. He couldn’t help sending a text to Sophie before he set his phone on airplane mode. Then he focused his attention on studying his audition notes for the hundredth time.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sophie woke to the chime of an incoming text. She suspected it was Mont, and her heart flipped before she could tell it not to. She’d lain awake for hours, imagining how the evening could’ve gone differently if she’d only said yes.

  Or nodded.

  Or kissed him.

  Or pretty much done anything but stand there and stare when he said they could read lines later.

  Later.

  Now there might not be a later, and her heart turned into a raisin. Shriveled and small.

  Sophie got out of bed and retrieved her phone from her bathroom counter. The message was from Mont. Just boarding the plane. Wish you were coming with me. Miss you.

  She looked into her own eyes, her reflection showing what she hadn’t been able to see before. She was falling hard for Montgomery Winters.