by Sarah Monzon
Too bad the odds of winning the lottery weren't more in Summer’s favor. Of course, one had to play to win. As it was, she barely scraped enough together to pay for her own studio-slash-apartment.
She opened the door. The pungent smell of sautéed garlic and onions filled her nostrils. Heavenly. Mom must be making her famous lasagna.
Giggles erupted, but the opened door blocked her view of the kitchen. She closed the door, and the smile on her face froze. It wasn’t her mother’s back she saw standing in front of the stove, but that of a man. The white Chevy, the blue Hawaiian shirt hanging from broad shoulders. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to deduce this one. But why was Mark standing behind her mom, his arms wrapped around her middle, and, oh dear, bending down and nibbling on her neck?
Summer’s body involuntarily convulsed as she imagined his scratchy beard on sensitive skin. Another shiver. If only she could banish that image forever.
More giggles.
Summer looked around uncomfortably. What should she do? Clear her throat? Open and close the door more loudly? Melt into a puddle right there on the spot?
Mark raised his head. Drat. Caught with her hand halfway to the door handle.
“Hey, girlie, are ya comin’ or goin’?”
If it were possible for her burned skin to feel hotter or turn redder, it would have. “Coming. I just got here, in fact.”
Mom turned around, a hand to her mussed hair. Her cheeks had color to them, and her eyes sparkled. She looked happy.
Which made Summer feel even more guilty about the churning in her stomach. The aroma in the tiny trailer was mouthwatering, so why was she feeling nauseous all of a sudden? It couldn’t be because of Mark. She liked Mark. He was a good friend. One she’d looked up to and considered a father figure. Then why did she have such a difficult time catching her breath? And what was that ringing in her ears?
She managed to push her wobbly lips up into what she hoped looked like a smile. “It smells good in here, Mom. Lasagna?”
Mom nodded, but clouds of concern rolled in and dimmed the shine of her eyes. “Yes, but look at you! Your face! Your arms! You’re burned to a crisp.”
Summer winced. “Four hours in the water with no sunscreen will do that.”
Mom punched her hands to her hips and opened her mouth.
Uh-oh. Here comes the lecture.
But no lecture came. Mom simply shrugged her shoulder and shook her head.
Mark opened a cabinet and pulled out three plates. “Want to help me set the table?”
He knew where the plates were? She watched, stunned, as he pulled out a drawer and removed the silverware, then another drawer and brought out napkins. It was like he was at home here. In her house. No. In her mom’s house. Just how much time had he been spending here anyway?
Her feet moved on their own past the brown sofa with a neatly folded hot-pink afghan draping the back and past the peninsula of blue laminate countertop. She watched as her hand reached for the glasses as if unattached to her body. All her real focus was trying to wrap her mind around what was happening and picking at the knot that had coiled tightly in her chest.
The small round table in the eat-in kitchen was soon set. Now what? Summer sat down and fiddled with the edge of the off-white lace tablecloth. She didn’t know where to look. How could two people that meant so much to her make her feel so uncomfortable? And why did she nearly cringe when Mark ran a hand down Mom’s arm as he passed her in the kitchen on the way to grab the salad?
Stop it, Summer. Get ahold of yourself.
Mom approached the table, a steaming casserole dish in her oven-mitted hands. After she set the lasagna on the table, her eyes darted up and fastened on to Summer’s.
Summer read the message there. Please be okay with this.
She gave a small smile and pushed down the coiled knot. Ignoring the budding relationship in front of her was not an option, but ignoring the roiling in her stomach and the tightness in her chest was.
Mark sat down beside her, and Mom sat across from Summer. He grabbed the spatula that lay across the dish and rocked it into the bubbly cheese, oozing sauce, and al dente noodles. Everyone passed their plates and was served hearty portions.
Summer slid her fork through the lasagna layers. “So,” she said, then waved her fork between Mark and her mom. “How long has this been going on?”
Ouch. She meant for the question to be playful, but must have forgotten to add a smile to her voice. Instead the question sounded accusatory. Real smooth.
Mom patted her lips with a napkin, then took time arranging it back in her lap. She looked up, her eyes guarded. “We’ve been seeing each other for a while now.”
Summer watched as Mark reached over, her view of his hand hindered by the table. He either held Mom’s hand or put his hand on her leg. Both supportive gestures.
A strand in the knot loosened the same time a knife nicked her heart.
“Awhile? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
Mom’s gaze pierced her. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react.”
Like a petulant child, apparently. Surely it was just the shock. Once it wore off, her equilibrium would return to normal.
“I’m happy for you.”
Mark threw his head back and roared. “Woo-wee, girlie. Do I need to grab a fire extinguisher for your pants?”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
Summer grinned, the knot loosening by degrees.
“I’m just surprised, is all. I love you both, so I am happy for you.” Or at least she would be.
Mom’s face relaxed. “We love you too, sweetheart.”
Maybe she could throw Mark off as much as they’d thrown her. “Does that mean you’re my new daddy?” This time her grin wasn’t forced.
Mom’s face blanched. “Summer!”
Mark didn’t blink an eye. He reached out, his warm hand gentle on her burned shoulder. The lines around his eyes softened as his gaze bore into her. “You’ve always been like a daughter to me.”
Her eyes moistened. She was twenty-six. Too old to need a father, and yet the father-sized hole in her heart ached. Could Mark fill the emptiness she’d been carrying around all her life? What would that even look like? Feel like? She’d spent a lifetime imagining what it would have been like to be tossed up in the air and caught in strong arms that wrapped around her in comfort and safety. To be hoisted onto steady shoulders and carried when she was too weak to continue on her own. She’d had to pretend no interest in fancy dresses and father-daughter dances. That she didn’t care there wasn’t an imposing male in her life to scare boyfriends into treating her right.
The air grew thick around them as the weight of the conversation hung on every molecule. Mark sat back, the intensity in his gaze lessening. His mustache twitched.
“So, Jonathan tells me something happened between you and Trent on your little trip to the Bahamas.”
Mom’s head swiveled in Summer’s direction, her eyebrows raised.
Okay, so not having an overprotective male figure in her life might have been a good thing. She squirmed in her chair.
“I’m not sure I’d go that far.” Would she? A few kisses and meaningful looks didn’t add up to something. Besides, she’d told him no when he offered a relationship. Trent was a player. She was sure he’d done a lot more somethings with other women without it meaning anything to him. The fact that he hadn’t called since they got back proved she was right about it. He didn’t have the staying power.
Mom passed the breadbasket but retained her grip on the end of it. “Just be careful with him. From what Jonathan says—”
What Jonathan says? What’d he do, come back and tattle on her to her mom and Mark like she’d been a naughty little girl? Her defenses rose higher than mercury on a thermometer in July.
“And what exactly did good ol’ Jonathan say?” Sarcasm dripped from her voice like the tomato sauce oozing from the tines of her fork.
Pain flashed in Mom’s eyes. "Not
hing to bite my head off about, that's for sure."
Summer squeezed her eyes shut. What was wrong with her? "Sorry, Mom, but you don't need to worry. Trent and I might have had a…moment…but we haven't talked since we got back so, as I said, it was nothing. You have nothing to worry about."
Of course, if that were true, then why were her eyes burning with unshed tears?
Chapter Seventeen
Bam, bam, bam. Trent pounded the nails through the two-by-sixes covering the space that would become his parents’ deck. The sun baked his bare back as he knelt along the rough-hewn planks. If only he could drive out his rolling thoughts with force. He was a man of action, not contemplation. Soul searching? A snort vibrated his chest. Not something he wasted time on. So what explanation was there for the past week? Body snatchers? Obviously the real Trent Carrington had been replaced by a wimpy, sniveling, tender-footed, sorry excuse for a man. Otherwise the week wouldn’t have passed without him having picked up the phone and calling the woman who haunted his nights and days.
He still didn’t know why he hadn’t called. He wanted to—couldn’t get her feisty green eyes out of his mind. Torturously, he replayed the heated moments they’d shared on the beach. But every time he picked up the phone, his heart started to race. Every suave pickup line, every piece of alluring dialogue he’d ever used to make a woman turn putty in his hands flew from his mind. Truth be told, he didn’t want to say those things to Summer anyway. But the things he did want to say? That he couldn’t stop thinking about her. That he loved the way she looked first thing in the morning, hair wild about her head. That she’d had him captivated from the first moment they’d met when she hadn’t fallen for his smiles and charms. That he wanted to taste her sweet lips and feel her body melded to his again.
“Can’t say as I’ve ever seen you work so hard.”
Trent welcomed the interruption and peered over his shoulder. His older brother, Adam, leaned against the doorjamb, a smirk on his face.
Trent shrugged and smiled. “You know my motto, work smarter, not harder.”
Adam pushed off the doorframe and held out a glass, jiggling it so the ice cubes floating around tinkled against the sides.
Arching his back, Trent stretched sore muscles, then stood from his kneeling position and slid the hammer through the loop in his tool belt. He took the proffered drink, the glass wet and cool, condensation beading along the outside. He downed the liquid in one gulp and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Handing the glass back, he found his brother watching him.
“I’d ask who the woman was, but I know you better than that.”
Trent tried to look as if his brother’s words hadn’t hit their mark. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Adam held his gaze. “You know exactly what it means.”
Trent bent down and retrieved his balled-up shirt he’d tossed over an hour ago. He wiped it along the back of his neck and across his chest. A cool cloth would feel better, but the shirt would work to wipe away some of the sweat and grime. Buying time hadn’t worked. He still didn’t have a clever dodge from his brother’s line of questioning. “You forget that I don’t have a fancy law degree like you. I’m just an ignorant treasure hunter.”
“Oh please.” His brother rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll spell it out for you. You’re wound up. Inside your own head. You’re doing manual labor, for crying out loud.”
Well, that was mildly offensive. “Don’t sound so surprised. I’m not some suit who works in air-conditioning all day.” Trent looked pointedly from the top of his brother’s perfectly gelled hair, over his expensive tailored gray suit, down to his black patent leather shoes. “Besides”—he shrugged—“I need the money for an upcoming exploration.”
“I’m just saying that you’re acting different. And for most guys, that usually means a woman has him all tied up. But I’ve never seen you react in such a way to any woman. So I guess you’re just inside your head thinking through the logistics for your next hunt.”
Trent looked away and followed a passing car with his eyes. Logistics for the galleon dive had been figured out a while ago. True, he needed to reschedule, but that couldn’t happen until he had money in his pocket. Better to let Adam believe that was the reason for his preoccupation though. The car turned the corner, and Trent pulled his gaze back to his brother.
“Naturally.”
Adam stared at him, his eyes narrowing. “You’re lying.” A grin spread across his face before he barked out a laugh. “There is a woman involved.”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“Trent, I’m a defense attorney. I can tell when someone is lying, and you, my brother, are so not telling the truth.” His smile lightened every word.
Trent crossed his arms over his chest.
Adam looked like a kid in a candy store. “So, who is she?”
“I’m not talking about this with you.” No way, no how.
A smirk lifted one corner of Adam’s mouth. “Would you rather I go tell Mom?”
Trent unfolded his arms and huffed out a breath. “Oh, grow up, why don’t you.”
“Why? This is too much fun.”
“Ha-ha.”
Adam leaned back against the doorframe again. He wasn’t going anywhere. The gleeful sparkle in his eye didn’t diminish, but he managed to temper his wide grin. “Who is she? Someone we know?”
Trent looked past his brother’s shoulders and watched as Mom passed through the living room and down the hall. This wasn’t something he wanted her to hear about…yet. He’d never brought a girl home to meet the family before. Had never discussed any woman with them, really. If she overheard, she’d start making a big deal about it, and he’d rather avoid that, if at all possible.
“Shut the door. You’re letting all the cold air out.”
Adam stepped onto the unfinished deck and closed the door behind him.
“Her name is Summer Arnet, and no, she isn’t someone you know.”
His brother rubbed his hands together. “When do we get to meet her?”
“Umm, how about never?”
“What? Afraid she’d take one look at me or Michael and realize you aren’t the good-looking brother?”
“Ha! Like that would happen. You look like the backside of a horse, and Michael, while slightly less hideous, is still on his tour of duty.”
Adam punched his shoulder. “So what’s stopping you? You like this girl, right? I mean, really like her. You’re not just messing around?”
It would be a lot easier if he were just messing around. Then he’d know what to do. How to act. With Summer he was in uncharted waters. He looked his brother in the eye. “I really like her.” He’d even told her so, and she…well, she’d said he wasn’t the type of guy for her. So far he hadn’t done anything to prove her wrong either. What a putz he was.
Adam pumped his fist in the air. “Finally! I know you don’t want to hear it, but we’ve all been praying for you. Hoping you’d settle down, realize God isn’t your enemy, and find a good woman.”
Trent held out his hands. “Whoa, dude. She isn’t some Bible thumper like y’all are. She’s nice, but I know what you guys consider ‘good.’”
His brother waved away the comment. “You should bring her to the Fourth of July picnic this weekend.”
Hmmm. There was an idea. “You don’t think that move is too…I don’t know…serious?”
Adam frowned. “I thought you said you weren’t just messing around with her.”
“I’m not, but meeting the family is a big deal.”
“Now who needs to grow up?” Adam pierced him with a look. “You’re twenty-seven, not seventeen. Start acting like it.”
Maybe Adam had a point. If he showed Summer that she was different, that he was taking what they had between them with grave intention, then maybe that would prove he was the kind of man she needed in her life.
“Okay, Mr. Defense Attorney, you can stop staring me down li
ke you do the jury. You’ve won your case. But the thing is”—he pulled a hand across the back of his neck—“even if I invited her, I don’t think she’d come.”
Adam’s eyed narrowed. “Why not?”
Pride was a hard pill to swallow. He hated admitting his unmanly behavior the previous seven days where Summer was concerned. Especially to his older brother. “It’s possible I haven’t called her since I saw her last week.”
“And she was expecting your call? You didn’t…you know…and then not call?”
“No, I didn’t have sex with her. And again, no, she probably wasn’t waiting for my call. But I should have, to prove her wrong.” He looked down at his feet. “Instead I only proved her right.”
Adam gave a small shrug of his shoulders. “Better late than never.”
“I doubt she’ll see it that way. She has this idea in her head about the type of guy I am, and she’s determined to say no to me at every turn.”
His brother grinned. “Since when have you ever taken no for an answer?”
Chapter Eighteen
The white sand burned Summer’s feet as she half walked, half skipped her way down the beach toward the surf. Once she reached the packed, moist shore where the tide had touched, she ceased her manic maneuvers and walked like a sane person again. Finding a spot not too crowded, she unrolled her beach towel and tossed a book and bottle of Gatorade on top. She pulled her bathing suit cover over her head, then unscrewed the lid to her sunscreen and applied a thick layer across her skin. No need for another sunburn. She stretched out over the towel on her tummy and wiggled until the sand contoured to her shape. Perfect. Now for her book. She opened it at the bookmark.