If the Summer Lasted Forever

by Shari L. Tapscott

  “I’m Landon,” my incredibly good-looking, faux boyfriend says, giving Betta a smile.

  Properly charmed, she laughs like she’s happy to make his acquaintance, but I know she’s actually delighted for new gossip. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Landon. Are you staying in Gray Jay long?”

  I freeze as Landon casually drapes his arm over my shoulder, pulling me to his side like an affectionate boyfriend would. He gives me a squeeze, reminding me to play along. The problem is that I’m trying not to swoon.

  He doesn’t need to know that though.

  Betta nods as Landon tells her about his family’s summer plans, and I stand next to him, trying not to breathe in the clean scent of his deodorant. Who does that?

  Another couple steps up behind us, and Betta realizes she better get back to work. “What can I get you two?”

  We order, and then Landon pays before I can stop him.

  “Why did you do that?” I hiss while we’re waiting for Betta to make the drinks.

  “Because we’re dating,” he whispers back.

  “I’ll pay you back,” I whisper.

  He flashes me a flirtatious smile. “Don’t worry about it. I got it.”

  If he keeps looking at me like that, I’m going to forget this is a ruse.

  Betta hands us our drinks after a few minutes and commands us to go enjoy the sunshine while it lasts.

  Landon holds the door for me as we leave the coffee shop, and then we amble down the road, sipping our drinks.

  “Busy place,” Landon says. “Does she handle it all by herself?”

  “Paige and a few other kids from school help out when she needs it. My mom steps in every once in a while too.”

  “Doesn’t your mom have her hands full with the campground?”

  “Yes, but it gives her a chance to talk to the people who ask about her sculptures in person. She enjoys it.”

  “Can I ask you something?” he says after another long moment.

  I nod.

  “Where’s your dad? You mentioned him at the falls, but I didn’t want to pry.”

  The question doesn’t sting anymore, not like it did when I was little, but I miss him, miss the idea of him. Things would be so different if he were still alive.

  “He passed away when I was six. He had a rare form of pancreatic cancer.”

  “I’m sorry,” Landon says, at a loss for words, as most people are when they first learn.

  I tap his arm. “It’s okay—I’m okay.”

  “So, your uncle came to live with you after that?”

  “Yep. Mom couldn’t manage the campground and take care of me at the same time, so she was going to have to sell. Uncle Mark knew how much it meant to her and Dad, so he stepped in, started taking care of both of us.”

  “And he’s your mom’s brother?”

  “Dad’s brother.”

  People don’t always know what to say to that at first. They jump to conclusions, assume that Mark and Mom’s relationship is romantic because Mark moved all the way to Colorado to help Mom out after Dad died. But it’s not like that. It would be weird if it were.

  Mark’s become like a father to me, but he thinks of Mom as a sister, nothing more. We’re a strange little family—but a family all the same.

  Landon says something else, but I don’t know what because I spy someone on the street I’d rather avoid.

  “Let’s go this way—” I begin, already nudging Landon down a quaint, vegetable-garden-lined alley. But I’m too late.

  “Lacey!” a girl calls in greeting, waving her hand to make sure I don’t miss her.

  I growl under my breath, and though I think I’m quiet, Landon turns his head like he heard it. “Friend of yours?” he asks, saying “friend” in a questioning way.

  The girl trots toward us, making her long braid bounce back and forth. She’s super short, barely five-foot, and her hair is naturally the shade of platinum blond the Hollywood types would kill for.

  “Hey, Gia,” I say, working up a smile.

  Landon’s lips part with understanding when he hears the name, but he doesn’t let on that we’ve talked about the home-wrecker before.

  Gia stops in front of us, catching her breath. “I haven’t seen you in forever!”

  She looks cute today, as usual, in short leggings, a jersey skirt, and a tank top that it’s not quite warm enough for. She’s always reminded me of those eighteen-inch dolls I used to play with—the quintessential girl next door…except she’s got curves in places those sorts of dolls don’t usually have.

  She rocks an innocent yet flirty vibe that a lot of guys can’t get enough of, and I wasn’t ready for Landon to meet her. He’s only fake-dating me— nothing is keeping him from real-dating her. And the thought of Landon with Gia is enough to make my blood boil.

  “I’m Gia,” she says, clasping his hand, holding it for a second longer than she should before she releases it.

  “Landon,” my fake boyfriend says with a nod.

  She eyes him, giving him a come-hither look that unsuspecting guys might misconstrue as friendly when it’s actually predatory. “Are you staying in Gray Jay?”

  “At Lacey’s place,” Landon says. Then, smooth as ever, he wraps his arm around my back, resting his hand on the curve of my waist and pulling me to his side.

  A little nervous Gia’s going to see right through the charade, I almost let out a slightly hysteric giggle. His hand is right above my hip, warm through the thin fabric of my T-shirt, and it’s making my mind wander in directions it has no right going.

  I’m so preoccupied, I don’t register the next several moments of the conversation until Gia says, “So you’ll come?”

  I stiffen. “Where?”

  She laughs at my absentmindedness and tosses her braid over her shoulder. “To my great aunt’s house next Friday.”

  Oh, no.

  Misty Maguire’s teen nights are the lamest thing ever. The woman isn’t a day under eighty years old. Occasionally, she gets the wild idea to invite all the local teens and gives them free run of the big white barn on her property. She picks out a movie, creates a theme to go along with it, and shows it with a big projector on the side of the building.

  The problem is, most of the movies are more age-appropriate for kids around Caleb and McKenna’s ages. Most of the couples end up sneaking into the barn to find a private corner of the hayloft, leaving the rest of us to drink juice boxes and silently bemoan our single status.

  Yet all the local kids go because it’s impossible to have a social life here, and we’re that desperate for entertainment. But it’s not an event you bring summer boys to—not unless you’re trying to scare them away.

  “Sounds great,” Landon says.

  For just a second, Gia’s eyes flicker to the hand holding me close, and she frowns. Then she brightens again and gives us—more Landon than me—a big smile.

  “Great!” she chirps and then holds up the shopping bag at her side. “I have to get back, but I’ll see you there.”

  We say our goodbyes, and I watch her leave, my eyes narrowed and an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  “So, that’s Gia, huh?” Landon asks, his arm still wrapped around my back.

  “Yeah.”

  “The one who stole your last boyfriend?” He says it with a teasing glint in his eyes—a sweet, affectionate glint I find most confusing.

  “Yeah.”

  He tugs me tight one last time before he lets me go. Then, lightly, just before taking a sip of his rapidly melting iced coffee, he says, “Well, no worries. She won’t steal me.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  I’m in the middle of cutting up chicken for dinner when my phone rings. Though I’m unable to answer, I glance at the screen to see who it is. For a moment, my stomach flutters with the hope that it might be Landon. Which is ridiculous because we haven’t exchanged numbers and we’re not actually dating—something it seems I must remind myself continually.

  See
ing that it’s Paige, I go back to the cutting board to finish before I call her back. I’m slicing the last piece when she calls again.

  It must be important because she’s not usually this needy. I dump the chicken cubes into the hot skillet and hurry to wash my hands.

  Quickly, I answer her call, only to realize I was a moment too late. I dial her number, starting to worry there’s some kind of emergency.

  “You’re dating Landon?” she demands the moment she answers the phone. “And what the heck, Lacey? I found out from Gia.”

  I almost laugh with relief that she’s not sick or dying in a hole somewhere, and then I step onto the back porch where I hope my mom won’t hear me. “We’re not actually dating. We’re just making people think we’re together so our mothers will quit playing Team Matchmaker.”

  She’s quiet for a second as she processes it. Then, apparently confused, she asks, “Why don’t you just date him for real? Even if you won’t admit it, I know you like him.”

  Sighing, I sit on the swinging bench. “He just broke up with his girlfriend a few months ago, and he’s not over her. And I don’t date summer guys anymore—you know that.”

  “Yeah, but it’s a stupid rule. You can’t assume every guy is like Thomas.”

  I know she’s right, but it’s not that easy.

  “I saw him yesterday,” she says, her tone too casual.

  “Who?” I ask, but I already know.

  “Thomas.”

  “His family’s back then? At Upper Ridge?”

  “Yep.” She pauses. “There’s a girl with him. Gia thinks she’s the girlfriend.”

  Surely it’s not the same one.

  Guilt cloaks me. I really didn’t know Thomas had a girlfriend when I was dating him. For obvious reasons, he didn’t inform me. But I still feel like a cow.

  “What were you doing at Upper Ridge?” I ask, changing the subject. “Traitor.”

  She laughs, and it’s a tinkling, happy sound. “Tanner asked me out.”

  Poor Jarrett, I think.

  “So, you went out with him last night?” I ask, going inside to stir the chicken before it burns.

  “Yes, and it was amazing,” she gushes.

  Properly distracted, she goes on about her date for the next fifteen minutes. Every time it seems like she’s going to return to the subject of Landon and me, I steer her away. I don’t want her dissecting my feelings for him.

  “Are you going to Misty’s thing next Friday?” I ask when dinner is just about finished.

  “She’s planned one already?” Paige groans. “Summer just started.”

  “Yep, and thanks to Gia, Landon and I are going.”

  “I’ll bring Tanner,” she says. “We’ll make it fun.”

  Then she suddenly laughs like she’s just thought of something.

  “What?” I ask, nervous.

  “You’re going to have to take Landon into the barn, or no one will believe you’re actually dating.”

  My chest tightens, and my stomach grows warm. “The only one I have to convince is my mom.”

  “You know how gossip spreads in this town. But if you don’t want to make it believable…”

  “You are such a brat.”

  I can practically hear her grin. “I know, but you love me anyway.”

  I growl, reluctantly agreeing, and then we end the call.

  “Who was that?” Mom asks, startling me as she walks into the kitchen.

  “Paige.” I flash her a guilty look, hoping she didn’t overhear that last part.

  Oblivious, she fills glasses with ice and puts the silverware on the table. “What do you need to convince me of?”

  Crud.

  I dish the chicken pasta onto three plates and set them on the table. “To let me go to Misty’s for her teen night next Friday.”

  “Why couldn’t you go?”

  Suddenly, I realize my out. “Because of our s’mores bonfire! That’s my evening to host it.”

  She waves her hand like it’s no big deal. “I’ll take care of it. Go ahead.”

  Well, drat.

  “I’ll do tomorrow’s bonfire,” I offer, feeling guilty for pawning off my night on her.

  “If you want.”

  Uncle Mark comes in, thankfully announcing there’s an electrical post that needs replacing, and he and Mom begin a conversation about updating all the electrical in A Loop.

  I’m quiet through dinner, but neither of them notices. Though I don’t want it to, my mind wanders to Landon, next Friday night, and Misty’s hayloft.

  ***

  “Don’t feed that to Candy,” Hunter tells his sister in the snottiest voice imaginable.

  McKenna glares at him as she takes a bite of her ooey, gooey, I-can’t-believe-she-used-two-roasted-marshmallows-on-that-thing s’more. Chocolate and marshmallow squish out from between the graham crackers, threatening to make a sticky mess.

  “Hunter,” Mrs. Tillman says in the universal mom voice that basically means stop talking immediately or you’re grounded.

  The sun only set about fifteen minutes ago, and it’s the most pleasant time of the day—still warm, but just starting too cool off for the evening. Since I traded with Mom, it’s my night to host the Friday night bonfire, and my fire is puny. The small crowd doesn’t seem to mind though.

  We’re gathered near the gazebo, in the area Uncle Mark built years ago just for this. He crafted long seats from four massive logs, and they make a square around the huge, brick fire ring.

  Tonight, we don’t just have families with kids. Mr. and Mrs. Murray are here with Todd, the fancy-pedigreed golden retriever. Greg and Hallie Hendrick, the couple I initially mistook Landon’s parents for, brought their Greyhound, Bark, with them as well.

  And of course, McKenna brought Candy. Tonight, the cotton ball is stuffed into a red and black checkered vest, the kind that screams iconic camper. To top off the outfit, Candy wears her usual diamond-rhinestone-studded collar. It’s a Barbie-goes-camping, canine fashionista kind of style, and it’s obvious Candy thinks she’s pretty hot stuff. She won’t even give the other dogs the time of day, and they want to play with her so badly.

  “He’s really well-behaved,” I say to Greg and Hallie when Bark noses my leg, wanting attention.

  “He’s the best dog,” Greg answers. “Even if he has terrible separation anxiety.”

  “What do you do when you have to go grocery shopping?” I ask. “Or sight-seeing where dogs aren’t allowed?”

  Greg scratches the dog’s shoulder. “He has a crate that he feels safe in, and we give him toys. He does all right as long as we’re not gone too long.”

  Mrs. Murray ends up continuing the conversation, asking about Bark’s lineage. Apparently, he’s a retired racer. He’s about nine now, so he can’t move like he used to, but back when he was young, before the Hendricks adopted him, he was a champion.

  “Where’s George?” I ask Landon as he plays the part of my doting boyfriend and offers to roast a marshmallow for me. It’s too early—we should really wait until the fire dies down and the coals are glowing, but the kids hate waiting, and so do I.

  Landon kneels by the fire. “He’s scared of the dark—we leave him in the camper at night because otherwise, he’ll refuse to move, and you have to drag him.”

  “But he’s huge,” I say with a laugh. “What’s out there that he could possibly be afraid of?”

  Flashing me a smile over his shoulder, Landon shrugs. A few minutes later, he stands, offering me the perfectly browned marshmallow.

  “Impressive,” I say.

  He gives me a crooked grin and leans a smidgen closer. “I’ve had some practice.”

  I realize he’s playing it up for his family, but for some reason, my breath catches. I glance toward Mrs. Tillman, self-conscious. A part of me, a teeny-tiny part, feels kind of guilty. She just wants Landon to be happy, and we’re lying to them.

  What’s she going to think about me when she finds out we were never together?


  “Make me one next!” Caleb begs Landon.

  “You’re already roasting one,” I point out.

  Landon’s little brother gives me a look. “I’m burning this one.”

  “Don’t waste other people’s marshmallows,” Mrs. Tillman says.

  Caleb’s face falls. And why wouldn’t it? What kid doesn’t love watching a white, fluffy marshmallow turn into a torch? It’s the only time you’re actually allowed to play with fire.

  “We don’t care,” I assure Landon’s mom.

  She purses her lips and then shrugs, giving him permission. A few moments later, Caleb’s wielding an impressive flaming marshmallow.

  “Look!” he exclaims, so excited he ends up whirling around, taking the mass of burning sugar goo with him.

  “Keep it over the fire!” Mr. Tillman commands. “And don’t shake it.”

  For some reason, Landon’s mom looks a touch nervous. Even Bark moves away from the boy.

  “Can I have another s’more?” McKenna asks through the final bite of her first one.

  “No,” Mr. and Mrs. Tillman say at the same time.

  McKenna pouts for several seconds, and then she turns to Hallie Hendrick. “Did you know Irish Wolfhounds are the tallest dogs? They’re even bigger than Great Danes, though there was a Great Dane that was taller than any other dog ever.”

  Hallie’s about five years older than I am—maybe twenty-two, twenty-three—and kind of quiet. But she has a kind smile, so I think she’s nice enough—just shy. She brushes her chin-length, light brunette hair behind her ear and says, “I did know that. Did you know English commoners were forbidden from owning Greyhounds in medieval times?”

  Finding a kindred spirit, McKenna moves next to Hallie and starts an in-depth conversation about dogs. The girl pets Bark, making Candy jealous. Not about to be ignored, the tiny dog makes friends with the Greyhound. Soon the two are playing—well, Candy plays. Bark lies on the ground and paws at her as she jumps around him.

  Caleb’s burning marshmallow finally turns black and falls into the fire to join the coals, and Landon roasts him a proper one. A few more families join us, and the sky darkens to velvety indigo.

  It gets cold as the light fades. I forgot to grab a jacket before I left the house, so I hug myself, rubbing my arms to keep warm.