Until Summer Ends

by Elana Johnson

“Table for two?” Lucy raised her eyebrows, but simply led the way through the dining room. The locals had eaten and gone to work an hour ago, so there weren’t many people to stare as Mont followed Sophie.

  “So you’re eating normally again?” she asked as she opened her menu.

  “Somewhat,” he said. “Part of my contract is to keep my body up to a specific standard during filming, as well as a year afterward.”

  She choked as Lucy set down two glasses of water. Sophie reached for her water and started slurping it. The blush returned in full force, and Mont slid her a grin.

  “So have you two decided what to have?” Lucy asked.

  “Bacon and eggs,” Sophie said. She hadn’t even looked at her menu, though it lay open in front of her.

  “And for you?”

  “Make me something,” he said.

  Lucy cocked one hip and glanced at Sophie. “Make you something?”

  “Yeah. What would you eat for breakfast at your own diner? I’ll take that.”

  “OK.” Lucy started to move away.

  “And bring milk with it,” he called after her. When he looked back at Sophie, she was shaking her head. “What?”

  “I don’t know how you do that,” she said as her phone chimed. She checked it and hastily flipped it over so he couldn’t see the screen.

  “Do what?”

  “I don’t know….” She waved in the direction Lucy had gone.

  “Sure you do.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You know I hate it when you do that.”

  Mont carefully peeled the top of the paper off his straw. “That’s why I do it.” He blew the wrapper at her and laughed when she flinched as the paper hit her on the cheek.

  She couldn’t fight back, because she’d already unwrapped her straw—and twisted the paper into a neat bow. Mont felt a rush of love for her exactness, for her.

  “What do I do that you don’t understand?” he pressed, more to have something to say so he wouldn’t blurt out something embarrassing, like a marriage proposal.

  “Let her choose what you’re going to eat.” She fiddled with her phone, and he wondered who had texted her. She seemed more nervous than he’d seen her recently.

  “It’s just food. I like almost everything.”

  Sophie shook her head again. “That’s not it at all. It’s…I don’t know what it is. I find it fascinating that you didn’t choose your own breakfast.”

  “I’d let you choose my breakfast,” he said. If you’d let me sleep over, he added mentally.

  “See, but that’s different.”

  “How?”

  “I know you. Lucy’s met you, what? Twice?”

  “A lot more than that, actually.” Mont leaned back in the booth and smiled like an idiot. He loved it when Sophie was perplexed, trying to reason through something that didn’t come naturally to her. “And I like trying new things. Whenever I travel—which isn’t very much, by the way—I always try something I haven’t eaten before.”

  She sipped her water and plucked a lemon wedge from the bowl Lucy had brought. “Well, that will change. You’ll be flying all over the world for your career now.” She smiled and it looked genuinely happy.

  Mont’s phone buzzed with three short bursts—an email. He checked it, his mood dampening as a frown creased his eyebrows. “Probably best not to talk like that.” He flipped the phone around so Sophie could read it.

  Her eyes ping-ponged back and forth as she read the rejection. “Oh, Mont. I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged as he read the message again. Montgomery is a fine actor, one that will have many films to his name. Unfortunately, we’re looking to cast a hero, and as Montgomery has recently been cast as the villain in the forthcoming James Bond film, we feel he cannot make the leap to hero in a film that will be releasing only a few months later. We’d love to see him again for any villainous roles in our films.

  Great. So it had taken him five years to bridge the gap from comedy to action. Now it seemed like he couldn’t be the bad guy and the good guy.

  He placed the phone face down and looked up. Sophie finished her text, sent it, and met his eyes. A warm feeling filled him, and he realized losing the fireman role didn’t matter. “It’s OK,” he said. “That rejection means I won’t have to film eighteen hours a day for the next eight months. It’s a good thing.” He reached across the table and covered her hands with his. “It means I’ll be able to spend more time with you.”

  She dropped her eyes to the table, her cheeks housing that beautiful blush.

  “Bacon and eggs.” Lucy set down a plate of steaming food. “Pancakes. And for you, a breakfast I would make for myself. In fact, I did make this myself.”

  Lucy placed country fried steak and eggs in front of Mont. He groaned. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  “You said to make you what I’d eat.” She pointed at the mouth-watering food. “That’s what I’d eat.”

  Mont picked up his fork, ready to devour everything. “It looks delicious. I just have a certain physique I need to keep up.” He glanced at Lucy. “Though I guess if you eat this, it must be fat free.”

  Sophie laughed, a true laugh from her gut. “Physique?”

  “Eat up, mister.” Lucy sashayed away, her thin figure a testimony that Mont could eat whatever he wanted.

  At least for today.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  With Mont’s help, Sophie kept The Sandy Tortilla open for both lunch and dinner service through the middle of October. There were still enough tourists in the Redwoods—especially on the weekends—to make it worth her time.

  She asked Mont to work the lunch shift when she wasn’t at the diner, so Jenna could work at dinner. It had been a change, and Sophie discovered another difference she could live with.

  Sometimes Mont came down to the shack at closing time and did her finances for her. Sometimes he met her at her car with a balloon animal that didn’t look like a toddler had mashed it together with their fists. Sometimes he was sitting on her front porch, a glass of wine on the table for her and a bottle of water for him.

  She noticed that he never drank. When she asked him about it, he said, “I used to have a problem. Now I don’t.”

  She’d asked him follow-up questions, and they’d had a nice conversation about his once-drinking problem. Sophie was realizing that it felt good to have a real conversation with someone, really get to the root of how they felt and what made them the person they were.

  She’d been doing the same with Jared, at both Polly and Mont’s insistence. Her brother still hadn’t quite been able to articulate why he’d never gotten in touch with Sophie, but he had apologized and he had expressed his desire to make it up to her.

  Meanwhile, Mont ran every morning and did more push-ups and sit-ups than she thought a human could do. He took her to lunch after they closed the taco stand, but as November drew closer he cut out the bread, pasta and sweets.

  He flew down to LA twice, always on the weekend so Blaine could take his shift, to meet with his agent and sign papers. She’d signed papers herself, this past weekend while he was gone.

  Shawn had called at the beginning of October, with an offer from a restaurateur looking to expand his franchise. He’d likely transform the stand into something completely different, but his offer had been fair—if below her asking price—and she’d accepted.

  She’d had to excuse herself to take the call, and when Mont asked her about it, she’d breezed over it with, “Just my mother. I can’t wait until you meet her.” She’d artfully steered the conversation in that direction, a sense of guilt snaking through her.

  But she had plans to surprise him with the sale of the stand when they went to LA for the red-carpet event in just three days. They were flying down tomorrow so she could shop for something red-carpet-worthy to wear. Mont had told her she could wear her yoga pants and a tank top. Every time he said it, she rolled her eyes and insisted he find her another department store in LA to try.

/>   She stood in The Sandy Tortilla, alone, having told Mont she needed a few hours to finish cleaning it before winter. She’d finished all the real degreasing work, repaired the broken tile in front of the grill and refueled the generators that would keep the fridge from going moldy.

  The only thing she had left to do was say good-bye and take the key to Shawn. Foolishness raced through her. It was a taco stand. A shack, Clint used to call it.

  But it was her shack, and had been her second home for a decade of her life. This place had been her way of proving to her father, to herself, to the world, that she could do something he thought she couldn’t. It was her safety net. Her protector. Sadness dragged at her, and she worked to push it away.

  She ran her hand along the stainless steel counter where Mont had stood, taking orders. She opened the empty cash drawer, then closed it. The fryer sat empty, ready for its new owner. Turning away, she faced the grill. She couldn’t count how many hours she’d stood here with the sound of sizzling steak in her ears, the smell of caramelized onions teasing her—and the weight of Mont’s presence so close.

  With this sale, she could be near Mont all the time. Not just at dinner, and not just in the summer. But forever.

  She stepped out of the stand and locked the door. She was ready for a new chapter in her life, the pen poised to make the blank page exactly how she wanted it.

  Loud knocking on her front door stirred Sophie from her thoughts of dropping off the key. Shawn had said the money from the sale would be in her account by the end of the week.

  She’d just pulled a suitcase from the closet and had spent ten minutes cleaning off the dust and cobwebs. Before she’d even entered the hall, Mont burst into the house.

  “Soph!” he called, his voice breathless.

  “Yeah?” She increased her pace and found him in the living room, panting, shirtless, clearly having added her house as a pit stop on his daily run. Her heart almost leaped out of her chest at the sight of all those abs. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He strode into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. “Just thought I’d stop by and say hello.” He uncapped the bottle and started guzzling.

  Her fingers tingled, itched to touch the ridges of his muscles like she had so many weeks ago. She hadn’t said yes that night, and he hadn’t asked again.

  She smiled as she watched the Adam’s apple in his throat bob up and down as he swallowed. He was tall, tan and lean, and she felt very self-conscious about going to Los Angeles as his date.

  Sophie wanted to be the woman on his arm, but she wasn’t sure if she met the standard for who famous actors were seen with. You just need a great dress, she told herself for the millionth time.

  And a smaller waist. She ran her hands over her stomach and hips.

  “You still freaking out about what to wear?”

  She glanced up to find Mont staring at her chest and torso, his water long gone. “Yeah. I mean….” She let her words die, not sure what else to say that she hadn’t already said.

  “I honestly don’t care what you wear. That tank top would be fine.”

  “Be serious.” Frustration boiled inside. “I want your advice. These are your people.”

  “I am serious, Soph.” He took her in his arms and swayed back and forth. His chest was a rock hard slab of muscle, and a thrill squirreled down her spine.

  “I fell in love with you while you were wearing that tank top. Or maybe the turquoise one,” he said. “Everyone in Hollywood will too.”

  She stiffened, her cheek now uncomfortably pressed against his bare chest. “You—wait—what?”

  Mont stilled too, but his arms tightened around her so she couldn’t escape. She needed to see his face. Right now. She squirmed, and he relaxed so she could take a tiny step back.

  He swallowed hard, his eyes unmasked, his emotion raw. “I love you, Sophie. I don’t care what you wear to the press release.”

  Her feet felt numb; her stomach clenched; her face split into a smile. “You love me?”

  He ducked his head, but his voice was strong when he said, “Yes.”

  Sophie had a hard time breathing. The last time a man had said those words to her, she’d been ecstatic. Clint hadn’t said them until he proposed, but here was Mont, saying them without a ring in sight. Without any expectations at all. She wondered how long he’d felt like that.

  “OK, then.” He cleared his throat. “I’m gonna go get showered and take care of cleaning out the studio. If you’re finished at The Sandy Tortilla, you can come help at my place.” He moved toward the door, a bit too fast in Sophie’s opinion.

  She watched him go, the words she wanted to say to him clogged in her throat.

  I love you too.

  She hadn’t been able to vocalize them, because she’d just realized she loved Montgomery Winters, and she was ready to show him with actions that spoke louder than words.

  The missing key on her key ring proved that.

  Sophie hadn’t been on an airplane in a very long time. She kept crossing and uncrossing her legs, pushing her laptop bag further under the seat, checking her phone.

  Mont took her hand in his and stroked his thumb across her palm. “You’ve got to stop.”

  “I’m freaking out,” she whispered.

  “It’s sort of funny to watch,” he whispered back.

  “I just need—”

  “I’m right here.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “You don’t need anything else.”

  She took a deep breath and nodded. “But we’re going shopping this afternoon, right?”

  “If you ask me one more time, I can’t predict what I’ll do.”

  She gave a short laugh, but gripped his hand tighter and crossed her legs one more time. By the time Sophie deplaned, she’d decided that taking off and landing were the worst part of flying. Everything else didn’t elevate her heart rate—unless she thought about snuggling with Mont. Or telling him about the sale of her taco stand.

  As the hour drew nearer, she began worrying about how he’d react. Would he whoop for joy, scoop her up and kiss her until she couldn’t see straight? Or would he be angry with her for giving up something she loved?

  But for him, she wanted to. She’d just have to make him see that. Somehow.

  She considered texting Polly about it again, but didn’t want to miss anything in LA. Plus, the hundreds of texts she and her cousin had already exchanged on the topic were still on her phone. Sophie could read the words over and over if she wanted.

  As if she and Polly were connected, Sophie got a text from her. Good luck tonight! He’s going to be thrilled you sold the stand. No regrets!

  Sophie didn’t regret selling The Sandy Tortilla so she could be with Mont. It was the only thing in her life she’d felt one hundred-percent sure about.

  Text me all the details, Polly said next, causing Sophie to grin. I’ll keep you updated on how things go in Seattle. Sophie hoped they could both find their happily ever after, even if she did feel a little squeamish every time Polly went to visit Easton in Seattle. She wasn’t quite sure why, but she worried about her cousin going up there alone.

  “Soph, this way.” Mont nodded her toward the exit, and Sophie put her phone in her pocket, stuffing away her concerns about Polly at the same time. Mont’s agent, Lars, had sent a driver to pick them up. When Sophie saw “Winters” on one of those fancy cards, she squealed and dragged Mont forward. “We’re the Winters,” she said.

  “We are?” Mont asked.

  Sophie sucked in a breath and spun back to him, her eyes wide. He wore a questioning look in his eyes.

  “Of course we are, dear.” She gave him a tight smile before turning back to the driver. They’d never had that girlfriend conversation. She hadn’t really thought they needed to. She thought of herself as his, and he’d professed his love for her just a few days ago.

  “We are the Winters.”

  “I’m Montgomery Winters.” Mont stepped next t
o Sophie and extended his hand to the man.

  He tilted the sign forward slightly, nodded, and shook Mont’s hand. “Right this way, Mister Winters.” The driver moved toward the exit.

  “Mister Winters,” Mont said, threading his fingers through hers. “What was that? Did you think he wouldn’t believe us?” He laughed, the sound somehow dulling the rest of the noise in the busy airport. “This isn’t the movies, Soph.”

  “I’ve never had a driver,” she said, a bit stung.

  “I know,” Mont said. “Plus, I liked how you said ‘we’re the Winters.’ Makes me think…things.”

  “Things?” she asked. “What kind of things?”

  “Things we can’t talk about in public,” he said, his voice low and sexy.

  “Oh,” she said. “Things.” Her mind raced through the things she’d like to do with Mont. She’d been so focused on selling the taco stand without Mont finding out, catching up with her brother and learning about Mont that she hadn’t entertained her thoughts when they’d gone into that territory.

  Now she did. In fact, she could suddenly feel Mont’s muscles under her fingertips. She imagined how he tensed when she touched him. She wondered what it would be like to be with him without any barriers, without any past baggage, without worrying about what tomorrow would bring.

  Wasn’t that what he’d suggested? She had agreed to take everything one day at a time, and now she had nothing tying her to Redwood Bay. She could tie herself to him, go where he went, let him hold her at night, every night. A sense of rightness flowed through her, so tangible she felt like weeping. If she’d known what letting go would feel like, she would have done it a long time ago.

  Even as she thought that, she knew she was wrong. She wouldn’t have let go of The Sandy Tortilla for Clint. Or anyone else. Only Mont. He was the difference in her life, the one who had taught her that change didn’t equate to something bad, and that she could be happy without trying to prove to everyone how capable she was.

  After shopping, they would be sharing a single hotel room, which Lars had booked for them. Sophie’s mind churned so fast she didn’t see anything beyond the window, a fact she lamented when she realized she’d missed the Hollywood sign.