“Mac?” Damian called from somewhere above her.
“Yeah.” Heavy footsteps thundered down the central staircase.
Summer’s chest tightened. Despite moving into the house yesterday, she hadn’t had any time alone with Damian in two days. She wanted to see him. She didn’t want to see him. She didn’t trust herself to keep her hands to herself if they ended up in a room together again. And what would be so bad if she couldn’t?
“Gotta pick up Dinah from soccer practice,” he called from the foyer. “Be back in a few.”
“Okay.”
A chill spiraled down her spine. Wow, she had it bad. Even his voice turned her into a school girl, crossing her fingers and peeking around corners.
“I think I like the turquoise,” she said aloud. She piled the remaining tiles back into their box and lugged it into the center of the bedroom. Her stomach growled. She’d worked straight through lunch, handling two conference calls and trying to smooth out a mix-up with the Portland State Historical Society. Now four o’clock reminded her that a breakfast of day-old doughnuts and coffee left something to be desired.
A door slammed, and Damian stomped back inside.
“Thought you were leaving,” Mac said from the front room.
“Car battery died. I think I left my lights on this morning.”
“I’d offer you mine, but it’s a mess. The back and the passenger seat are full of stuff.”
Summer peeked into the foyer as Damian checked his phone. “She finishes in ten minutes. There’s no way I’m gonna make it.”
“What about your mom?”
“She went to Albany for the day to visit my great-aunt.”
Summer cleared her throat. “I can pick Dinah up if you want. I’m done here, anyway.”
“Really? You’re sure?” Relief spilled across Damian’s face. “I’d appreciate it. That way I can finish up here. They play over at the elementary school, behind the baseball fields.”
“I know where it is.” She reached for her keys. “You don’t think she’ll mind?”
“Nah. Dinah’s a little shy around strangers, but she likes you fine.”
“Okay. See you in a bit, then.”
“Thanks.” At the bottom of the porch steps, she glanced behind her and waved. Damian stood with both thumbs hooked in his belt loops and the strangest expression on his face.
Practice had ended by the time Summer reached the soccer fields. An emerald carpet stretched out beneath the afternoon sunlight, empty except for one small figure and Joyce Hadley. Shoulders slumped, Dinah sat on a bench beside her coach and kicked at the grass.
Summer left the convertible running and walked over. “Hi, Dinah.”
Joyce was jotting something on a clipboard. At Summer’s voice, she looked up and shaded her eyes.
“Summer!” The girl darted from the bench and slid one hand into Summer’s.
“Sorry I’m late. Your brother had a problem with his car.”
“It’s okay.” A warm shoulder pressed into Summer’s leg.
Joyce set the clipboard aside. For a minute she said nothing. Then, tucking her hair behind her ears, she smiled brightly and approached them. “I’m not really supposed to let her leave with anyone except her brother or her mother.”
Summer slid an arm around Dinah. “I understand. But it’s sort of an emergency. Damian’s car wouldn’t start.”
“Yes, I heard you.” Joyce nodded and frowned. “Those are still the rules.”
Oh, come on, Summer wanted to say. This is Whispering Pines. You know me, for goodness sake. Everyone knows everyone.
“I guess it’s all right.” Joyce kneeled and smiled up at Dinah. “Just this once, okay? But make sure and tell your brother he should call me if he has to change his plans, all right?”
Dinah nodded.
“As a matter of fact, why don’t you have him call me anyway?”
Summer lifted one eyebrow. Joyce Hadley fishing for a guy? Some things in Whispering Pines really did stay exactly the same.
“Okay. Bye, Coach Joyce.”
“Did you have fun today?” Back in the car, Summer helped Dinah fasten her seatbelt.
“I guess. Mallory Hawkins hogs the ball, so I don’t get to score very much. She and Taylor Boone think they’re the best players on the team. They’re not very nice sometimes.”
“Hmm.” Summer had known a few Mallorys and Taylors in her time. Back then, though, the snippy attitudes and cruel slights had taken place in the hallways and classrooms of Whispering Pines High, rather than on the soccer fields. Different year, different place, same story.
She found a jazz station and adjusted the volume.
“I like this,” Dinah said after a minute.
“The music, hon?”
Dinah traced the stitching on her seat. “Yes. And you picking me up from practice.” Her dimples popped as she turned to face Summer. “I’m glad you moved here. I’m glad you own that house.” The wind caught her hair and blew it into her eyes, and she laughed.
Summer said nothing. I’m glad too. But was she really? Or had everything become much more complicated since she’d stepped off the plane just a few days ago? Questions with no answers. Memories she couldn’t pin down. Beginnings and middles and ends of relationships, all looped together and choking the sense out of her. She wasn’t sure that coming back to Whispering Pines, even to collect her father’s ashes and sell a rundown house, had been a good idea at all.
“Summer?” A cool washcloth on her forehead. The sterile smell of antiseptic. An ache along the entire left side of her body. She moaned.
“Don’t move.” The voice soothed her, rocked her back toward deep slumber, and she welcomed it. But on the edge of sleep, right before she fell, she heard words she didn’t understand.
“...can’t give a statement to the police. Yes, it’s possible. Injuries look like she might have been. But until she regains consciousness, we won’t know. The boy’s confessed, hasn’t he?”
Again. Always when she least expected it. Summer squeezed the steering wheel tightly as they arrived back at the house. By now she was used to the flashbacks, though they still made little sense. Talk to Gabe. That will clear things up. With a heavy heart, she climbed from the car. She could tell herself that all she wanted, but she had a sinking feeling that talking to Gabe again wasn’t going to make things easier.
Instead, she suspected it would only make things much more complicated.
Chapter Twenty-two
Summer hung up with Gabe and tore a round loaf of rye bread into pieces.
“Coffee? Sure,” he’d said. “How’s tomorrow afternoon sound?”
So tomorrow it would be, her day of reckoning, of finding out once and for all what had happened to them that night so long ago. She would ask him straight out and hope he told her the truth. She took a long breath and tried not to think about how that might change things.
She eyed the array of breads and vegetables spread across the counter, pulled a brand new knife from its wrapping, and began to slice off the top of another loaf of bread. Damian and Mac had finished all the kitchen work the day before, and she was throwing a dinner party for Rachael and Nate to celebrate.
Hammering sounds came from somewhere above her, and she smiled and moved on to slice a brick of sharp cheddar. Maybe the guys would want to join them for dinner. Her cheeks warmed. Maybe Damian would want to stay longer than dinner, even.
She placed the bread bowl and two plates of cheese in the fridge to chill, then unwrapped a container of fresh strawberries. She was about to set a pan on the stove to melt chocolate when her cell phone rang.
“Listen, Summer,” Rachael chattered before she could say hello, “I totally forgot I promised Mom and Dad we’d do the family thing tonight. Games, fondue, the whole nine yards. My brother got roped into it too. Can we come over tomorrow instead? I’ll bake a cake, bring some balloons, make it a real celebration.”
“Oh. Um, okay.” Summer tried to hid
e her disappointment. “Of course. Have fun. Tell your parents I said hi.”
“I’m really sorry.” Rachael feigned disappointment, but Summer knew what family dinners were like at the Hunter home. Stories shouted one over the other, food passed around the table, followed by card games and Monopoly and backgammon. Mr. Hunter took his backgammon very seriously; she’d lost her fair share of quarters to him back in middle school.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“’Sounds good.” Summer slipped her cell phone into her pocket and reached across the counter, preoccupied. She wondered if the bread dip would keep. She wondered if she should open the big bottle of Merlot and celebrate anyway. Distracted, she closed her hand on the knife blade by mistake. “Ow!” Blood seeped from between her fingers, and she reached for a paper towel. But then her vision went a little dotty, and she fought to draw a deep breath. It’s okay. It’s just a little blood. She reached for the counter but misjudged the distance and tipped over the bowl of strawberries instead. Her fingers closed on air, and she slipped and hit her head against a cabinet. Hard.
“Summer?” The voice came from far away. “Hey. You all right?” She blinked and looked up. Damian’s face sharpened into view. “What happened?”
She touched the back of her head. “I fell. Ouch.” Suddenly, she noticed the strong smell that surrounded them. She pulled her hand away and saw red staining her fingers. “Oh, thank goodness. Just strawberries. I thought maybe I’d hit an artery or something.” Idiot. Every other time she saw this guy, it was like she tripped over her own two feet.
He tore off a fresh paper towel, crouched down, and blotted her hands as she sat up.
“Thanks.” His touch, as always, sent shivers through her.
“You’re more than welcome.”
“I’m not really this clumsy.”
He grinned. “Happens to the best of us.”
“You’re being kind.”
He pressed the paper towel to each finger and then examined the cuts along two fingers on her right hand. “Looks okay. I don’t think you’ll need stitches.”
“Well, thank goodness for that.” She grew suddenly tongue-tied, aware of the few inches between them as he knelt on the floor beside her. He smelled good, like sawdust and soap. But he kept his eyes on her hand, rather than her face. Or her lips. Look at me, she willed him. Kiss me again.
But he only helped her up and then began to collect stray strawberries, tossing them one by one into the nearby garbage can. “You have bandages for those cuts?”
“I think so. Somewhere.”
“Were you making something?”
“Trying to. Rachael and Nate were coming over for dinner. But they just canceled.” She reached for a towel and scrubbed away the red spots of strawberry juice that covered the new floor.
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll bring in some cleaner tomorrow.”
“Oh. Okay.” Summer abandoned the towel, now stained pink. She felt unsteady. Maybe this had been a bad idea, moving into the house. Staying here at all. Every step seemed wrong.
Damian scratched his face and left a streak of dust from temple to jaw. When he grabbed the edge of his T-shirt to wipe his brow, Summer glimpsed rock-hard abs, slick with sweat. Just like that, her mind wheeled again, and desire replaced doubt.
“Would you like to stay for dinner? I mean, I already have all this food.” The words came out almost before she knew it.
“Ah, so I’m your second choice?” He leaned against the new stainless steel refrigerator and grinned.
If you knew what my choice really was, I wouldn’t be standing here talking about dinner, and you wouldn’t have any clothes on. “Definitely not. I just figured you already had plans.”
“I don’t, actually. And I’d love to.” He glanced down at himself. “I gotta run home and take a shower, though.”
“Sure.” She busied herself with wrapping a fresh paper towel around her hand. The image of Damian standing naked under a spray of water threatened to turn her dizzy all over again. “No rush.”
“You sure you’re all right? Don’t want to have someone look at that bump on your head?”
Only you, she almost said. You can look all you want. She bit her lip to keep from uttering the words out loud. Maybe she’d suffered some head trauma after all.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll take an aspirin. Thanks for rescuing, me, though.”
“Anytime. I’ll see you in a few. ” He walked through the foyer and was gone.
Anytime? Hope you mean that. Actually, Summer could use a shower of her own. A good cold one, to keep her fantasies at bay until she could fulfill them once and for all.
Chapter Twenty-three
An hour later Damian pulled open the back screen door. “Hi there. How’re you feeling?”
“Better, thanks.” Two Tylenol and a glass of wine had chased away Summer’s headache. She’d wrapped Band-Aids around the two fingers she’d sliced open, and the bleeding had long since stopped. The embarrassment of fainting in the kitchen might last a little longer, but he had come back for dinner. That meant he didn’t think she was a complete idiot, right?
Damian stopped on the threshold, inches away from her, and her gaze traveled downward before she could stop it. Faded jeans hugged muscular thighs. A white polo shirt contrasted with his tanned arms. Faint scents of soap and deodorant mingled above the hint of sawdust and paint she’d come to associate with the house. With him.
“It looks great out here.”
“Thanks.” Summer had dragged the folding table from the kitchen onto the porch and tossed on a new checked cloth. No chairs, but she’d guessed they could sit on the steps. Better view of the yard and the setting sun, anyway. “Help yourself.” Settling herself on the top step, she nibbled and sipped and waited to see where he would sit. How close.
“Heard my mom spent a lot of your money yesterday.” Damian sank onto the step beside her, his own plate piled high. Their legs brushed, and he didn’t move away. Neither did she.
She laughed. “Probably more than I wanted to, but that’s okay. She was right about everything.”
He cleaned the nachos from his plate. “She’s good at that. Has a really keen eye.”
“Yes, she does. You’re lucky,” she added. “My mom died when I was born.”
Damian whistled. “Haven’t had it easy, have you?”
“Stuff happens to everyone. I never knew it any other way.”
“It’s still a lousy break.”
Summer studied her wine glass. A few feet away, she saw a braided rope of flowers Dinah had made for her earlier. The wildflowers twined around the railing, a little faded in the afternoon heat but still fragrant. “Your sister’s adorable.”
He popped two stuffed mushrooms into his mouth. “Yeah, she is. Tries to set me up with all the wrong women, but she means well.”
“Like Joyce Hadley?” Summer recalled the look on Joyce’s face when she’d picked up Dinah from practice.
“Dinah doesn’t know too many women my age. She thinks we’d make a good couple, mostly because Joyce wears a lot of makeup and has pretty fingernails. Oh, and makes a mean chocolate chip cookie.”
“That’s not what does it for you?”
He glanced over. “What do you think?”
Her stomach tightened in desire. “Well, I do think Dinah has good taste. All the Hadleys are beautiful. You might be missing your chance. Most of the guys in this town would give anything to go out with one of them.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m not most of the guys in this town.” His gaze steadied on her mouth. “I think I’ve already made it clear who I want to spend time with.” He moved an inch closer to her. “So what was this place like years ago? When you and Mac were kids, I mean.”
“The house? Or the town?”
“Both, I guess.”
Summer didn’t answer for a moment. Ask me about San Francisco, and I’ll give you a history lesson. I can tell you which restaurants have the best pa
sta or where to buy designer shoes at half the price. But Whispering Pines? It’s too colored, too shaded, too jaded—or maybe I am—by everything that’s happened. What was this place like? I can’t answer that without remembering what I was like. And I’m not sure I want to do that.
She took a deep breath. “Well, this house was always a mess. Run-down for as long as I can remember. The story goes that a big steel family from New York City built it as a vacation getaway sometime in the 1800s. Your house was the caretaker’s place. But when the only son died, the daughter who inherited it didn’t want it, so I guess no one lived here after about 1920 or so. Weather and local kids took their toll on it after that. After a while, people just avoided it.”
“The haunted house of Whispering Pines, huh?”
“It really was. In middle school, kids used to dare each other to come up on the porch and look in the windows. In high school, they’d sneak in and drink until the cops came by and threw them out.” She remembered something else. “And sometimes couples came here. You could see the entire sky at night from one of the bedrooms upstairs.”
I came here once with Gabe. Summer’s knee jittered with the memory, and she twisted her fingers together. She’d almost forgotten the night they snuck in, just before graduation. They’d crept up the dusty stairs, her heart in her throat the whole time, until they reached the very top floor. How ironic. Maybe destiny had a stronger hand in things than she wanted to admit.
“I know that room,” Damian said. “It has an amazing view.” The early evening sun played across the bridge of his nose, where a few freckles sketched a connect-the-dots from cheek to cheek. A sudden urge to reach over and kiss him seized her.
“Did you like growing up here?” he asked before she could give in to the urge.
“It was tolerable.” Summer stretched out her legs. “Same as any other small town, I guess. Lots of stories and rumors, but most people had your back when you needed them to. What was it like growing up in Poisonwood?”
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