The fact was, Matt had been sweet and cute and we’d been a good fit when we were together, for part of junior and most of senior year. We’d been each other’s firsts: first “I love yous” and first times. He was the type of boyfriend who would meet me after class to see how I did on a test, who always let me pick which movie to see on a Saturday night, who opened my car door for me without fail. But when I compared the way I’d felt with Matt to the way my body rattled, thrumming with energy, whenever I thought of Ryan, it struck me that we’d always been more like good friends—and that that was why it had been so easy to break up. “I’m not really ready for a relationship,” I said with a finality that I hoped read as me not wanting to talk about my ex, though not for the reasons Jessica probably thought.
She patted my arm gently. “Poor baby. We can talk about it when you’re ready,” she said. “But summer flings aren’t relationships. Just ask Aaron.”
I thought of Ryan and his smile as he took my phone number. I’d settle for a summer fling.
I was a little sunburnt, a lot parched, and completely starving when I stepped onto the patio of the beach house, hoping someone had gone to the store to pick up food for dinner. My towel was around my neck and a fine layer of sand and salt coated my legs, despite the fact that I had taken one last dip in the ocean to rinse it off. I glanced over at the Landrys’ house, hoping for a Ryan sighting, even though I had already noticed his truck wasn’t parked out front when I walked up the street.
Before I even got my key in the door, it swung open and Eliza yanked me inside. “You’re here,” she said urgently. “Come in.”
“Okay,” I managed, feeling my neck get warmer. Did she know about Ryan already? What did she, have spies everywhere?
I was between her and the front hall closet, feeling trapped and looking at a framed family picture from before Eliza had her braces off. She was going to be so mad at me. I looked her in the eye, trying to get my bearings. But she just said, “Dad’s here.”
I released a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “Oh, that’s great,” I said.
“Yes and no,” she said, reaching out to brush some sand off my shoulder.
Becca made her way into the hall. “Did you tell her?”
“Yeah, Dad’s here, so?”
“Well, we’re going to Landrys’ tonight,” Becca said, looking at me like I’d understand.
“Oh.” I did. Every summer, we used to make a point to have a Sunday meal at Landrys’ Restaurant. Even though they would often cook for us in their own kitchen, it was always a treat to eat hot buttered bread as we overlooked the ocean. The restaurant occupied a prime spot at the end of the pier, and the views were magnificent. But I understood why Eliza and Becca were worried. At our first dinner of the summer, Mr. Landry used to arrange for us each to get a piece of their famous molten chocolate birthday cake, and have the staff sing to our whole family, to make up for the fact that all the Sommers’ family birthdays occurred in the winter.
But keeping up the traditions we’d had with Mom had been especially tough for Dad. Harder than for any of us, it seemed. Where Eliza, my sisters, and I clung to doing things Mom’s way, Dad just seemed more acutely pained by her absence when we did the things she loved.
In other words, a dinner like this was going to be really hard for him.
“Well, it’s still a big step that he’s here,” I said, not convinced. “I’ll go say hi.”
My dad was in the kitchen, standing at the counter with a glass of water. He smiled as I came in, but he had a faraway look in his eyes. I gave him my brightest smile in return.
“Just got back from the beach,” I said, kissing him hello. “Today was beautiful.”
“Yeah,” he said. “And Becca’s going to show off at Landrys’. She’s quite the cook, she said. I’m glad you’re all having a good time.” His voice was even as he spoke, but there was a hollowness to it—and to him. He’d lost twenty pounds after our mother died, and he still hadn’t gained it back.
“You should get to the beach for some R and R,” I said. “You’ve been working too much.”
Then I excused myself to get ready, dodging the look in his eyes that made me unsure of what to say next.
We’d made it to Landrys’ before the dinner rush, and Becca had proudly given us a tour of the kitchen and shown us her regular station in the kitchen. Unsurprisingly, she was a star at the stove, managing two burners at once while making a hollandaise sauce under Ryan’s instruction.
I’d been nervous to see Ryan when I was with my whole family, wondering how he’d act. Getting ready had been nearly impossible, and walking into Landrys’ had been one of the hardest things I’d ever done in my life. He’d said hi to me in the same warm but casual tone he’d used for the rest of my sisters, and it was making me paranoid. What did it mean? Were we back to just being friends? What had I screwed up?
Now, I tried to act normal, and quietly sipped my Diet Coke as we waited for our food. We were on the deck, occupying our usual spot and watching the sun sink below the horizon. The sunset, as always, was stunning. Strong magentas and orange clouds—colors that I knew my mom would have wanted to bottle in a jar. From this vantage point, the ocean looked like it went on forever, but somehow my dad seemed like he was actually able to stare beyond it, to something no one else could see. I could tell my sisters were noticing his mood, too, and our table was oddly silent. I thought of the lively meals we’d had here in the past, and the memory pinched at the edges of my heart.
Two waiters delivered a massive seafood platter, setting it in the center of our table. The aromas—of grilled shrimp, oysters, and seared scallops, my favorite—took hold of my nostrils and my stomach rumbled. Worrying why a guy hadn’t called certainly burned some extra calories.
“That takes three cooks to prepare in order to get the timing just right so everything comes out together,” Becca said, grabbing an oyster. “I helped with one the other day.” I was relieved that our food had given us something to talk about. Becca swallowed her oyster with gusto, and I waited for my dad to seize one, too. He loved oysters.
“That’s nice,” my dad said. His hands stayed folded in his lap.
Eliza looked at me across the table. “Speaking of the other day, did you even get to see Devin when he was here, Kate?”
I nodded. “Yeah, we bumped into each other at the party. He was having a great time. It sucks that he already had to head back to the city.” I didn’t add, I saw him right before Ryan Landry got jealous of me and Morrison, which was just before Ryan walked me down the beach, and I said weird things about science and he kissed me better than I’ve ever been kissed.
Becca grinned. “It was a fun party. I had to keep Tea out of trouble.”
“Whatever, I keep myself out of trouble,” Tea said. “You were the one flirting with Garrett Landry. Is that why you wanted to come here? You don’t see him enough at work?” Tea knocked her skinny arm into Becca’s. She was also working at Landrys’ as a part-time hostess, but had been complaining about not having enough hours.
I didn’t hear Becca’s response because I was distracted by my dad as he quietly tucked into his broiled sole. Usually, he and Mom would share a surf-and-turf platter along with the oysters. Today, he’d barely looked at the menu before ordering the plainest thing on it.
I squeezed a lemon over my oyster as I looked inside the restaurant. Through the big glass windows, I could see past the dining room into the kitchen. Every so often, I caught a quick glimpse of Ryan. He was in constant motion, chopping vegetables one second and checking a cook’s sauce another. He didn’t seem to register me at all.
“So, next time, it would be nice if you could at least spend a little time with Devin. Becca and Tea went to breakfast with us today.” Eliza looked at me expectantly, as if waiting for me to apologize. But it wasn’t even like I’d been invited to go with her an
d Devin—they’d left while I was out for my morning swim, and I’d missed them. I enjoyed seeing Devin, but I was doing my best to get to know him on my own time. “He might fly in again if he can get Wednesday off work.”
“Well, the two of us will braid each other’s hair and talk about boys, I promise.” I stuck my tongue out at Eliza, trying to lighten the mood.
“Good,” she said, even though I could tell she was still annoyed with me.
I heard my phone ding with a text message and unzipped my purse to peer at it, expecting another set of gifs from Matt.
But no. It was a text from Ryan: “I’m trying not to get distracted by how pretty you look.”
I glanced up and saw that he was now just inside the window in the main dining room, showing a few first-day busboys where the place-setting supplies were kept. He was looking right at me and gave me a wink. If I couldn’t eat before, I definitely couldn’t now.
“Thanks,” I covertly texted back. Across the table, Eliza rolled her eyes. “Can’t it wait?”
“Sorry,” I muttered, though I wasn’t sorry at all.
Another text from Ryan followed. “Free Wednesday? Before sunset?”
Taking my chances with Eliza, I texted back: “Definitely.”
I pressed send and looked up again, trying to keep my smile in check. I felt like my face would reveal everything. Ryan was looking back at me with a grin of his own. “Can’t wait,” he mouthed.
Neither could I.
CHAPTER EIGHT
RYAN PICKED ME up at Smokey’s at four-thirty on the dot. He had a picnic basket on his arm and he looked both cute and ridiculous at the same time, like a macho version of Little Red Riding Hood.
“So, do you think it’s okay if we use some bikes? I know yours is busted and I came right from work.”
I nodded. “One of the many perks of working for Smokey,” I said. “The contact high is optional.”
Ryan laughed as I signed out two beach cruisers and told Smokey I was headed out for the day.
“Be good,” he said. Even though it was a typical Smokey good-bye, I felt the slightest twinge of guilt, like he somehow knew I was doing, getting involved with my sister’s ex.
But then I saw Ryan waiting patiently at the counter and as his sea glass–green eyes looked me up and down, I felt warm inside, and suddenly not worried about being good at all.
We rode down the beach slowly, Ryan insisting he was fine carrying the picnic basket in one hand. He ably steered the bike with the other. “How are you doing that?” I asked.
“A lot of practice maneuvering with Sommers girls on my handlebars,” he grinned. “You could probably hop on right now and I could manage. Though I might be thrown off by the spectacular view.”
Was I the spectacular view?
“No need to show off,” I teased him instead.
“Oh please,” he responded. “If I recall, you were the queen of no-hands steering, daredevil.”
It was true—I had always been the most stunt-attempting of my sisters. I loved that Ryan knew that about me.
We rode to the bikeway that went through town, only pedaling back toward the shore when we reached our spot. This far out some of the coast was rockier, and only locals and lifers knew where to find comfy places to sit. The privacy was part of the appeal.
We stopped at a tiny enclave with big boulders and lots of pebbles. It was low tide, and up toward the top of the shoreline, you could find small sandy spots clear of rocks. The houses along this beach were much farther apart than in Harborville proper. Most days, you could have an entire stretch of beach to yourself.
“Here,” Ryan said, laying out a blanket and handing me a bottle of chilled white wine. “You can sit down, and open this.” He handed me a corkscrew and two plastic cups.
“Wow, you come prepared.” I got to work on the wine, impressed and maybe intimidated by how adult the date suddenly felt. Eliza would expect this kind of thing, but it was new to me. Matt and I had been regulars at the movie theater and the mini golf course, but our most adult date had been going to Bacino’s before prom—the same Italian restaurant I’d gone to after eighth-grade graduation.
“Well, I started planning this the day I got to walk you home from Smokey’s, so I’ve had some time.” I didn’t know how to respond to his admission. What could I say? “I’ve been planning our first date since I used to spy on you and Eliza”? Creepy.
He started to pull items from the picnic basket. “This is a goat-cheese-and-arugula tart, with a lemon–olive oil aioli.” He opened the container to reveal a delicious-smelling pastry. “And this one is a chicken cordon bleu wrap.” The wraps looked like something he must have picked up at a gourmet shop. Main Street had several new places since we’d last been here, each one with a wooden sign or a chalkboard advertising farm-to-table ingredients. I wondered where Ryan had picked all this up and couldn’t believe all the trouble he’d gone to. “And this is heirloom tomato salad with seared scallops.” My mouth watered at the perfectly cooked scallops. “And for dessert, I made flourless chocolate cake with raspberries.”
“You made dessert?”
“I made everything. I know how much you love scallops.” He gave me a plate and utensils and urged me to take what I wanted.
I made myself a heaping portion, looking at the food—and Ryan—afresh. I’d always thought Ryan’s work at his family restaurant was out of a sense of duty, or tradition. I had never realized his interest in cooking was more of a skill than a job he’d been handed down.
As I ate, Ryan watched my reactions to the food. Fortunately, every bite of it was delicious. I think I even hummed appreciatively when I bit into the first scallop.
“So, is your family having a good time being back, or is it weird without your mom?” Ryan asked, as I dabbed my face with a napkin. As if there was anything dainty about me, after I’d just eaten two helpings of everything.
“Sorry if you don’t want to talk about that,” he added, holding up his hands. “Just tell me and I’ll ask you something else.”
“No, it’s fine,” I said, setting my napkin on my plate. “It’s different when it’s with someone I know—someone who knew her. You know, the whole thing is weird because we don’t actually talk about it. It’s like my mom’s presence is looming, but no one ever wants to bring it up, including me. It’s too daunting to talk about the big stuff. I guess, sometimes I just wish we were really and truly dysfunctional, so feeling weird like this would just be normal. Like The Royal Tenenbaums or something.”
“I love that movie,” he said, surprising me. “But I have to say, I’m glad you’re not in a weird relationship with your adoptive sister.”
I laughed, knowing he was talking about the Gwyneth Paltrow–Luke Wilson roles, and tried to hide my surprise that he had seen a Wes Anderson movie. I’d just always thought of Ryan as more of an outdoorsy type, who preferred to spend his time playing sports instead of watching movies, but it occurred to me how little I really knew about him.
“If I was, I supposed I wouldn’t be out on a date with you,” I said, wondering if it was okay to call this a date. It was, wasn’t it? “So what about you? What’s new with the Landrys?”
He shrugged. “We’re kind of the same, kind of not. My parents are little more checked-out about the restaurant, that’s for sure. So they leave stuff up to me, but then when I do things my way, they comment on it,” he said.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, like, to get business in the winter months, our slow time, I did some advertising in Provincetown to get an artier crowd in and held these theme nights with special menus based on books. The Great Gatsby one was really cool,” he said.
My mind went to an image of Ryan Gatsby-ed up in a tux and bow tie. “That’s so cool,” I said. “I would have loved to see that.”
“Yeah?” He said, with
obvious pride. “I’m glad you think so.”
I looked at him, with his button-down shirt rolled up to the elbows and his muscular legs stretched out in front of him. He had the perfect balance of muscle and lean in his forearms and calves. With his windblown hair, he looked like a model in a men’s fragrance ad. And he was worried what I thought? “I’m impressed,” I said. “Really. So tell me . . . What else do you have up your sleeve?”
He smirked. “That’s about it. I could show you all my Harborville High trophies if you come over.”
I imagined going to Ryan’s carriage house and being alone with him there. Even staring at the top few buttons of his shirt made me blush. “I hope they’re dramatically lit.”
“Yeah, music plays and they rotate on pedestals whenever someone comes to my room,” he said.
“Do you still play baseball?” It had always been Ryan’s best sport. He’d helped coach Pete’s Little League teams.
“I was in a league for a while after graduation,” he said. “But it’s just too much, you know? I started to feel like I was still in high school, seeing so many of the same people all the time. So, now I mostly run or bike, or just work out. Sometimes I’ll do a game of pickup basketball if Morrison wants to play.”
It was another surprise to learn that as much as Ryan embodied Harborville to me, he was keeping part of himself separate from his town. He was in it, but growing beyond it. I admired that. “We should go running sometime,” I said, hoping that I wasn’t pushing it.
“I’d love that,” he said. “If I can keep up with you. You got skills, Sommers.” As he was saying this, he cut a piece of chocolate cake and offered it to me.
The first bite was enough to make me never want to eat anything else for as long as I lived. The man could kiss and he could cook. Stick a fork in me and call me done.
The Summers Page 6