What Happens in Summer

by Caridad Piñeiro

  Despite his sudden and unexpected desire to not feel so alone, not that he was ready to acknowledge that emotion outright, something about the puppies failed to call to him.

  “Aren’t they sooo cute?” the too-energetic young woman said with a barely contained squeal in her voice that he was certain would shatter glass at full volume. The perpetual happiness of everyone connected with the shelter only seemed to reinforce that maybe the pets were responsible for the constant state of joyfulness. Which kept him advancing along the aisle to the pens with the older dogs that had been given up for adoption. The sad looks on some of them had his mind playing a woeful Sarah McLachlan soundtrack in his head until he got to one cage where a small, cream-and-white terrier ambled to the cage door. The dog leaned one paw on the wire and climbed up into a jaunty kind of position. With what looked like a wry grin, the dog gave one short, demanding bark.

  “This is Muffin. His owners only had him for a few months when they had to give him up on account of allergies, so he’s kind of still a puppy.”

  With a yip, Muffin confirmed her statement, only he didn’t seem much like a Muffin to Jonathan. He had too much attitude to be called Muffin. And what kind of name is that for a boy dog anyway? Jonathan thought as the volunteer, sensing interest, opened the cage and set Muffin on the floor.

  The pup took one look at him, obediently sat at a spot right beside his feet, and peered up at him in an adoring way that filled him with warmth and all kinds of gooey feelings that he refused to admit. He bent and rubbed the dog’s head. The fur was soft and curly beneath his hand. As the dog continued to gaze at him, brown eyes gleaming with admiration and possibly love, he was a goner.

  “I don’t have to call him Muffin, do I?” he said as he scooped up the terrier.

  “Actually, some people recommend changing the name to get past the dog’s past history, which may be negative,” the young woman said as she petted Muffin, but then she finally gave Jonathan her attention. Her very female attention if he was reading the vibes right. While she was a looker, he had no interest in responding to her subtle invitation.

  “Thanks. I guess there’s some paperwork we need to do,” he said and shoved off, eager to finish the adoption and be on the way.

  At the front desk, he filled out assorted documents and bought a collar, ID, leash, and squeeze toy. A different young woman at the desk handed him a can and a few small packets of dog food to hold him over until he got settled.

  Muffin obediently sat there as Jonathan secured the collar and ID around his neck and clipped on the leash. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” he said and rubbed a spot behind the dog’s floppy ear.

  The dog barked what sounded like a yes, and Jonathan smiled. “Come on, boy.”

  In no time, they had walked the few blocks back to Main Street, Muffin strolling beside him as if they had done it dozens of times before. He felt so secure with the pup that he walked with him into the surf and skate shop where the young owner, Sammie, immediately gushed over the dog.

  “He’s adorable,” Sammie said and glanced at Jonathan as he stood beside the dog. “What’s his name?”

  “Muffin,” he said, deadpan.

  Sammie rolled her eyes in disbelief. “No way, Jon. He’s so not a Muffin.”

  “For sure,” he said and gestured to the handcrafted longboard hanging on a wooden display stand. The maple and mahogany board with the deep-red wheels had caught his eye on another visit. “Can you ring that one up for me, Sammie?”

  “My pleasure. Do you want to keep those wheels, or can I change them out for you?” she asked as she walked over to the register.

  “These are good for now, right, Dudley?” he said, surprising himself with the name that sprang up in his mind and with the happy yip the dog gave in reply.

  Sammie laughed as she rang up the purchase. “I guess he’s got his new name.”

  “I guess,” he said. Once they were out on the sidewalk, he placed the skateboard down to try it out, and to his surprise, Dudley jumped up onto the very front of the longboard. Dudley gave a look over his shoulder that seemed to say Come on and Jonathan jumped on the board and pedaled off for home.

  Home.

  He almost stopped short, since it had been a long time since he’d thought of the shore house as home, although he was always drawn there to find peace. His loft in Manhattan was, for the most part, a place where he spent time between trips for work and time in Sea Kiss. With new insight, he said, “Come on, Dudley. We’re going home.”

  Chapter 6

  When the patio of Maggie’s New York town house started spinning into an Impressionistic blur of emerald grass, rusty brick, and pink, purple, and blue flower petals, Connie decided that maybe the last margarita had been one too many. Especially when combined with the cosmos she and Maggie had shared over dinner as they lamented the state of their lives.

  After a few weeks of dating that had been leading up to the big moment, Maggie had blown off the all-important first weekend alone at the Shore with Owen.

  Connie’s firm had blown off her participation in the big acquisition Perez had rubbed in her face days earlier. It was the second time in as many months that she’d been passed over to work on an important matter.

  “Fuckin’ men,” she said after a prolonged silence where she suspected Maggie might have passed out or fallen asleep. Either was a possibility given the liquor they’d imbibed and the lateness of the hour.

  “We’ve got to cut the Pierce boys some slack,” Maggie said drowsily.

  “Really? Says the woman who bailed on the very delicious Owen Pierce this weekend,” she parried, leaning forward to search her friend’s features in the dim light in the garden. A mistake, since that only made the world around her spin even faster, creating nausea-inducing blobs of colors. Taking a deep breath, she tamped down the whirl and found her friend scrutinizing her intently.

  “Jon is no slacker in the looks department either.”

  “Just all the other departments,” Connie said and leaned back in the Adirondack chair that was too much like the chairs they’d shared with the Pierce boys just a couple of weeks earlier.

  “Liar,” Maggie retorted.

  “Not lying. Hotness is no substitute for someone who will be there for you. I need someone who isn’t always looking for any excuse to leave.”

  Maggie turned in her chair and cursed when she knocked her knee against the wooden frame. “Darn it, that hurt.”

  “Just like it’ll hurt if I let myself have any feelings for Jonathan Pierce,” Connie emphasized.

  “Or if you let yourself fall for him again,” Maggie said.

  “No way! You knew too! When? How?” she said, the shock of her friend’s revelation like an ice-cold bucket of water, driving away some of her alcohol-induced numbness. She’d never suspected that both Emma and Maggie had been wise to her summer fling with Jonathan.

  “Owen told me the night he climbed up the wisteria vine to see me a few weeks ago. He said Jon used to do that when the two of you were a thing. Back in college. What happened?” Maggie asked. It was clear she was truly interested in helping and not just having Connie relive old hurts.

  “Shit happened. I was going back to college. Jon wasn’t. I had plans for my life. Jon didn’t,” she said matter-of-factly, although there was nothing so cut-and-dried about what had occurred so long ago.

  “He’s changed,” Maggie said in defense, both surprising Connie and annoying her that Maggie would be siding with Jonathan.

  “He hasn’t changed, Mags. He’s still a rebel even if he owns a billion-dollar business. Just look at everything in the papers. At his escapades. The only thing he’s changed is the magnitude of the trouble he gets into.” Her volume had risen with each word, to the point that by the time she finished, her head throbbed from the sound. Rubbing her temple, she said, “I’m sorry. I think it’s time
I got some sleep. And it’s getting chilly out here.”

  The mid-August day had been warm, but after the sun had gone down, the temperature had done an unseasonable drop. With the cold as an excuse, Connie didn’t wait for Maggie to respond and rushed into the house and up to the room that was usually hers when she stayed over. Since she had changed into comfortable clothes when they’d first gotten to her friend’s town house, she just plopped onto the bed and closed her eyes. She willed away the sensation of spinning and wished she could just as easily force away thoughts of Jonathan.

  Only it wasn’t as easy. Especially as she recalled the way he’d looked as she’d stormed out of the restaurant. There had been pain there. Hurt she hadn’t meant to cause, but of course, it seemed like that’s the one thing that always happened when they were together. They caused each other hurt because neither of them was really, truly whole. Neither of them really knew what it was like to have a healthy relationship with someone of the opposite sex. It was why she’d avoided commitment for so long by dedicating herself to her career. She suspected, based on the many photos of Jonathan with an assortment of women on his arm, that he’d avoided relationships in a different way—by skipping from woman to woman.

  Regardless, Jonathan could only bring her pain, so it was best that she plan and adapt to keep her life on course. But as she drifted off to sleep, a little voice in her head that sounded way too much like Jonathan said, “God laughs at those who make plans.”

  “Those who fail to plan, plan to fail,” Connie retorted, which effectively silenced that annoying little voice but left her feeling empty inside.

  * * *

  Jonathan watched as Owen devoured most of the grass-fed steak they’d bought at the butcher earlier that day during their stroll through town. The stroll had led to an enlightening talk after his brother had arrived on the doorstep, moaning about having been stood up by Maggie for their weekend get-together. After weeks of dating, spending a weekend in Sea Kiss was supposed to have moved their relationship to the next level.

  Or at least, that’s what Owen had been expecting. Maggie not so much apparently.

  “Hungry?” Jonathan teased and sipped his wine. He put down his glass to cut a piece off his perfectly done, incredibly tender steak and offered up the little bit of meat to his pup, who was sitting at his feet patiently. Dudley yipped excitedly and wolfed down the treat, then sat there patiently waiting for another piece. His furry little face was so hopeful as he gazed up at Jonathan that it was impossible to resist. “You know too many table scraps aren’t good for you,” Jonathan said as he cut off another piece of the meat, hoping Owen would let it pass that he was apparently having a conversation with his dog.

  Jonathan had prepared the steak flawlessly, if he had to say so himself, since his brother had barely mumbled a word during dinner. At least Owen’s appetite hadn’t been affected by Maggie canceling their weekend plans, but there was no denying based on their earlier talk that Owen was bothered by her desertion.

  Like you’re bothered by Connie? his annoying inner self asked as he fed Dudley yet another bite from his plate.

  Finishing his steak, he pushed away his plate and grabbed his wine. He reached down to stroke Dudley’s head. Jonathan could have sworn that his little dog smiled at him before lying down by his feet with a contented sigh. Peering over the rim of the glass, he considered his brother before he took another sip and then asked, “So she bailed on you. What are you going to do about it?”

  Owen finally looked up from his food and paused with his fork halfway up to his mouth. “It?” he asked obtusely.

  “Maggie. Dad,” he said. “Seems to me it’s a lose-lose situation any which way.”

  “I cannot argue with that, Li’l Bro,” Owen said around a mouthful of steak. Then he jabbed his fork in Jonathan’s direction. “You know what that old bastard said to me about Maggie? That I should fuck her, marry her, and get the properties he thinks they cheated him out of. All he ever thinks about is getting even with the Sinclairs.”

  “And you? What’s your plan for one Sinclair in particular?” Jon kidded.

  Owen arched a dark brow and laid down his fork. He picked up his glass and took a big swallow. His hand shook as he settled the glass on the tablecloth. “I’m almost afraid to say this, but I want to do forever with Maggie. Maybe it seems too soon to say that—”

  Jonathan shook his head. “Negatory. Even as kids, you clicked. I had a hunch you’d end up together.”

  Owen blew out a harsh chuckle. “Wishful thinking when I can’t even get the lady to spend some serious time with me.”

  “Patience, Bro. Rome wasn’t built in a day,” Jonathan urged.

  His brother snorted even louder. “That’s rich coming from you. You never wait to go after what you want. Do you know that the old bastard even said I should be more like you that way?”

  “No way!” Jonathan said, surprised his father thought he had any redeeming qualities. But regardless, he had been itching for something different in his life lately. “That was the old me. The new me is going to be more like you,” he reminded Owen.

  “Boring and responsible?” his brother challenged with another arch of his brow.

  Jonathan laughed. “More chill. Settled, you know.”

  His brother wagged his head so hard, Jonathan worried he might give himself whiplash. “You say you’re doing that,” Owen said.

  “I am. Why the hell do people think I can’t?” Jonathan replied, sudden anger laced through his words. At that, Dudley’s ears perked up, and the pup sat up in an attitude of alertness. Jonathan thought Dudley was gazing at him with a worried look, wondering where the threat was, so he patted the dog’s head to reassure him all was okay and resolved to stay chill in front of the dog. He’d never imagined that being a pet parent was going to require so much mindfulness.

  Shame filled his brother’s features. “I’m sorry, Jon. You’ve always done what you’ve said you’d do. And I appreciate that I’m part of the reason you’re staying put.”

  “Damn straight. You’ve always been my wingman. I am going to be here for you in case things don’t work out,” he said, echoing what he had told his brother earlier that day as they’d strolled through Sea Kiss.

  Owen stared at him intently, a weird kind of look on his face as he said, “And what if things do work out?”

  He was taken aback for a second about what his brother meant, but then it hit him as hard as a speeding freight train. “You mean Connie.”

  Owen nodded. “I mean Connie. After all, if it gets really serious with Maggie, you’re bound to have to spend time with her. They’re like sisters, you know.”

  He knew, Lord, how he knew. From the night of the dinner that the group had shared weeks earlier, he’d suspected that he was doomed to spend time with Connie when this thing with Maggie and Owen became more permanent.

  “It may get a little gnarly, but I can handle her,” he said, but even as he uttered those words, it was almost like he was trying to convince himself of the truth of them. That he could handle a woman who alternately made him angry as sin, weak with need, and joyful as the summer sun in a crystal-blue sky.

  “It’s only fair, considering all that you’ve done for me,” Jonathan added, thinking of the many times Owen had offered support after their mom had left. Remembering how, time after time, his big brother had stood up for him or deflected his father’s anger until the day that Jonathan had finally decided to leave. Even after that, Owen had been supportive, handling the family business and his father, both difficult jobs.

  “I’m your brother. I’d do anything for you, Jon. You should know that.”

  Jon grinned. “I do, Bro. Now how about those cannolis we picked up for dessert before this gets way too serious?”

  * * *

  Barely a week earlier, Connie had counseled Maggie to stand up to her father so she
could save the family retail stores that were almost on the verge of bankruptcy thanks to his mismanagement. Maggie’s father, Bryce Sinclair, had been running the stores just like he imagined his dear departed wife would. Only, times had changed, but Bryce refused to do so, which had severely impacted the viability of the business.

  The one way Maggie could take steps to save the stores was to confront her father. She had done so and was already implementing a wide series of ideas to save not only her legacy, but also the hundreds of jobs for the people who worked at the stores.

  Just like her friend had done, it was time for Connie to face the partner for whom she worked and convince him that she belonged on the team responsible for their client’s acquisition. Which was why she’d scheduled a meeting with him to discuss the project.

  “Mr. Goodwyn will see you now,” his assistant advised.

  Connie rose from her chair, straightened her suit jacket, and entered Mr. Goodwyn’s office.

  He was seated at his massive desk in his even more massive corner office. Size apparently did matter in the legal world.

  “Connie. What can I do for you today?” he said, barely raising his gaze from the file in front of him. As she walked toward him, he continued flipping papers and didn’t rise as she approached him. With a half glance, he gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk.

  She went to sit on the chair, but she kept on going lower and lower, since the height of the chair was anything but normal. It took only a second to realize that the chair’s configuration forced her to look at her colleague the way a penitent might gaze skyward at salvation. A power play for sure, but she’d deal with it.

  “I wanted to discuss the VCZ project,” she said, her tone measured and neutral. Nothing set Goodwyn off faster than the thought that he was being challenged.

  He finally gave her his full attention. He leaned back, placed his elbows on the arms of the leather chair, and steepled his hands before his mouth in what she knew to be his carefully rehearsed pensive pose. The one that said “I’m listening to you” when, in general, he rarely listened to anyone.