Just a Summer Fling

by Cate Cameron

  Ashley nodded. She’d come to the pottery studio on a whim; she’d been walking down Main Street, celebrating her first day as a sort-of local and getting a feel for the town, when she’d seen the window display. She’d thought maybe she’d pick something up to send to her mother, if she could get it packaged securely enough to ship. But the potter had been at work when Ashley arrived, and had just nodded her invitation for Ashley to look around before going back to her wheel. Ashley had found herself more intrigued by the work in progress than she was by the finished pieces. Laurie had started talking, explaining what she was doing, and Ashley had pulled up a stool and watched. Laurie was about Ashley’s age and size but she seemed more substantial somehow, as if she’d drawn the solidity out of her clay and imbued herself with it. Ashley had asked about classes as a general possibility, but Laurie had tossed her a smock and told her to give it a try right then.

  “There’s something really satisfying about it,” Laurie said now, handing a fist-sized chunk of clay to Ashley. “Technically it’s inorganic, but it feels like it’s alive, you know? You warm it up, work it for a bit, and it changes, becomes more pliable. So even before you put your creativity into it, you’re already adding a part of yourself to the project. And then when you start shaping it . . .”

  “I totally know what you mean!” Ashley was probably a bit more excited than a conversation about clay warranted, but she didn’t care. She felt like she’d found a kindred spirit. “I’m an actor, and I feel like when I read a new script—a really good script—I feel like there’s a symbiosis. The script and I work together. Technically I guess a script isn’t organic, either, but it feels like it’s growing and changing as I work with it.”

  “Cool,” Laurie said. She sounded like she meant it. “Maybe we should trade lessons—I can teach you pottery, you could teach me acting.”

  Ashley laughed. “I wouldn’t know where to begin. But isn’t there a community theater or something up here? There must be something.”

  “The high school puts on a play each year. That’s about it. Damian Forrestal used to run a bit of a community thing, but he quit a couple years ago after his wife died and I don’t think anyone’s really picked it up since then.” Laurie shrugged. “Okay, then, no trade. You can just pay me for the lessons. First one’s free, though. Play around with that chunk. See how it feels now, and then just squish it and knead it and work with it for a few minutes and see how it feels then. Try to make a little pinch pot with it.” She made a gesture with her hands, showing how her thumbs would make the inside of the pot while her fingers smoothed the outside. “And then crumble it up and try again. Add some water, but not too much. Then add a little more and see what happens.”

  Ashley complied and they worked in friendly silence for a while, until Ashley finally held up her goo-covered hands. She’d added water until the clay had turned into a near-liquid slurry, and she had no idea how to do anything constructive with what was left. Laurie saw the mess and grinned. “Okay, good. A bit of water is useful, but don’t get carried away. Everything in moderation.”

  “I’m not too good at moderation.”

  “Mistakes are how you learn. Sometimes you’ve got to just go for it.” Laurie nodded toward the deep metal sink at one side of her shop. “And then you just clean up and move on.”

  “Nice philosophy,” Ashley said. She was pretty sure she meant it. Maybe she needed to adopt it a little more fully in her own life. She couldn’t worry about making mistakes; she’d just make them, and then clean up. It was the only way to learn.

  She arranged to come back to the shop in a couple days for her first real lesson, and then stepped back out onto Main Street. The day had warmed up while she’d been inside the studio and now it was hot enough for Ashley to start thinking about getting back to the cottage and having a swim.

  That was when she saw him. He was across the street with the guy who’d finished spreading the mulch at Jasmine’s place, and they were leaving the little café with paper bags in their hands. Josh looked across the street and saw her, and she had her hand half raised, her lips starting to curve into a smile, before she even thought about it. It was just instinct. She liked him, damn it.

  But she liked him a good bit less when he jerked his head in a tiny quarter-nod of acknowledgment and then turned away as if he’d done the bare minimum and had no interest in doing any more.

  It was the bet. He didn’t like her because of the bet, and that was just so stupid! She wasn’t sure she’d even made the bet, and if she had it was just to get Jasmine off her back. He’d understand that, surely, if she could just get him to sit down and listen to her explanation. She’d tell him the whole story and they’d laugh, and they’d figure out the rest of their alphabet of Vermont hazards and then move on to talk about other things. They’d be friends again, and then something more.

  She hadn’t even realized where she was going until she had her hand on the door of the little café. A bit worrisome to realize she didn’t clearly remember crossing the street, but obviously she’d made it safely. She pulled the door open and stepped inside the too-warm, wood-paneled interior. Well, now that she was there she could buy something for lunch, at least, and take it back to eat on the dock. Then she saw the sign on the wall behind the counter and everything in her mind stopped for a second, then spun back into gear. The sign was a message, surely. A suggestion from the universe. She just needed to get Josh to sit down and talk to her. And maybe, with a little help, she could make that happen.

  * * *

  IT was amazing how long she managed to keep herself from realizing it was a bad idea. A really, really bad idea. And even after she realized it she still seemed unable to stop herself. She could have called it off with one phone call, but she didn’t. A couple days between conception and execution apparently wasn’t enough for her to come to her senses.

  “Yeah, right there,” she agreed as the server from the catering company looked over with a question in his eyes. “That’s a good spot for watching the sunset. And then there’s white linen for on top, right?”

  “And flowers,” the server confirmed. “A low arrangement, so you can look over it and still do as much gazing-into-each-others-eyes as you want.”

  Oh, it was a terrible idea. But Ashley really wanted to gaze into Josh’s eyes. She wanted to explain herself. Most importantly, she wanted to know if what she’d felt was real, and if it was, she wanted to figure out a way to get a constant supply of it.

  “Josh Sullivan is here,” the chef said as she poked her head out the cottage door. She worked at the café in town and had taken all the information when Ashley had asked about the catering poster behind the counter. Now, at the cabin, Ashley had assigned the chef to be her spy, since there was a window in the kitchen with a view of the driveway. But she didn’t sound too pleased with the report she was making. “Is he . . . Is this all for Josh?”

  The server and the chef exchanged looks, making Ashley even more nervous than she’d already been. “I didn’t know you knew him.”

  “He’s my cousin,” the chef said. “He went to school with Paul.” She nodded toward the server.

  “I thought his cousin was a man.” Ashley’s brain wasn’t working properly. “There was a man who spread mulch for him, and they said he was Josh’s cousin.”

  “It’s a big family,” the chef said. “That would have been Kevin. He and his sisters are on the other side of things. I’m from Josh’s dad’s side. There’s not as many of us.”

  There was a knock on the door then, and Ashley didn’t have time to figure out any more of Josh’s family relations. She ran her hands over her cream linen dress—it was designer but looked simple, and she knew it hugged her curves just right—and then headed for the front door. She’d committed. She’d made the call, and now she needed to follow through.

  She ignored the instinct to run upstairs and hide in her bedroom unti
l everyone just went away.

  “Josh!” she said as she opened the door. Her voice was too loud, too excited. She sounded like she was on coke. “It’s good to see you.” And by trying to be more sedate, she’d ended up with a voice that made it seem like she was about to pass out. Damn it, she was better than this! “Come on in,” she managed in a fairly moderate tone.

  “You’ve got a leaky pipe?” He stepped inside and she noticed the large metal toolbox in his hand.

  “Actually . . .” Oh God. He already thought she’d lied to him about the bet, and now she was going to have to tell him she’d lied about the pipe as well. How the hell had she thought this was going to work? In her ridiculous plan, she was supposed to just laugh now, admit her trickiness, and he’d laugh along with her and join her for dinner. Was she insane? That would never work.

  But maybe she could bluff through it. “Yeah. A leaky pipe. In the . . . the downstairs bathroom.” But she didn’t want him looking at the toilet. That was too gross. “The sink. There was a puddle of water under it, and I cleaned it up. But then it came back.” She was walking as she talked, leading the way to the bathroom with the nonexistent leak. “So I cleaned it up again.”

  They reached the bathroom and both looked in at the bone-dry floor. Ashley tried to giggle. “Oh. Wow. It’s . . . Did it fix itself?”

  “That doesn’t usually happen,” Josh said. He set his toolbox on the floor and bent to peer under the pedestal sink. He reached up and ran his hand over it all, the pipes and the wall and the floor, and then he looked up at her. “How long since you cleaned it up?”

  What was a good amount of time? She had no idea. “Uh . . . an hour?”

  “And how long was it the last time, between cleaning it up and the puddle coming back?”

  “An hour?” It had worked the first time, so she was going to keep using it.

  “So it should be wet again by now.” Josh turned both of the taps on, then crouched down again and felt around.

  Ashley wondered if she could distract him somehow and then splash a little water onto the floor. There had to be something.

  “There’s no sign of it coming through the wall,” he said. “How much water was there? It might have just been condensation, if you were running cold water in the sink.”

  “I was running cold water!” She seized on the idea like a life preserver. “And it was really humid earlier. And I guess there wasn’t really that much water on the floor. Maybe I panicked a little.” Damn, she was going to get away with this!

  Except that, as usual, she wanted more. “I feel like an idiot,” she said. “I dragged you out here for nothing. But, look. I was expecting someone for dinner, and he’s cancelled on me. If you wanted to join me—”

  “I’ll bill Cullen for the trip,” Josh said. “Just travel time, unless there’s something else you need me to look at while I’m here.”

  The sunset. She needed him to look at the sunset. And her eyes. Hell, she’d settle for him staring at her boobs. “Just a snack?” she suggested. “Something for the road?”

  “I’ve eaten. So, if there’s nothing else you need . . .” Then he stopped and looked behind her.

  Ashley turned to see the chef—Josh’s damn cousin—standing by the kitchen door, smiling neutrally. “Appetizers in here or on the deck?” she asked.

  Josh stared at her, then back at Ashley. Everything was fine, Ashley assured herself. She’d said she was expecting someone for dinner. Her story still held. But then Josh turned and squinted at the sink. Then he turned back to Ashley, and she knew that he knew.

  “Sam Curran’s a good guy,” Josh said quietly. Ashley couldn’t tell exactly what emotion was simmering beneath Josh’s still surface, but she was pretty sure whatever it was would boil over if she wasn’t careful. “He trusts me. I assume he trusts you. I wouldn’t want to bill him for something that was . . . something that didn’t have anything to do with his house.”

  She stared at him. “Bill me!” she blurted out. “I’ll pay for your time. I’m sorry. I just . . . I thought . . . there was water!” But he just looked at her, and she had to drop her eyes. “No,” she admitted. “Sorry. There wasn’t water.”

  She heard the chef easing back into the kitchen, retreating from the tension. But Josh didn’t retreat. He stepped forward, closer to Ashley, close enough that she could smell him, soap and wood and other things she didn’t recognize but wanted to understand. She could practically feel the heat of his body and she felt herself swaying toward it.

  “Stop it,” he said quietly.

  She looked up at him and felt like a little girl being scolded by her teacher. Her hot teacher.

  “There’s lots of people up here who’d like to spend time with you. Lots of men who’d like to take you to bed, if that’s what you’re looking for. Find one of them.”

  “I found you,” she said. It seemed stupid, but it was true. She’d found him, and she didn’t want to lose him.

  “I’m not interested.” He bent down and picked up his toolbox. “I’m not playing this game.”

  She had her mouth open to argue, but then she shut it. Had she really been going to claim she wasn’t playing a game, when she’d lured him over to the house on false pretenses? When she’d maybe made a bet about sleeping with him? “I’m not . . . I’m not doing it on purpose,” she managed.

  He snorted. “Fine. It’s all an accident. Just have your accidents with someone else, okay? I’m out.”

  And then he left. His broad shoulders, his tight ass, the shaggy hair that would give her a great grip for controlling where his mouth went . . . She watched it all walk away. And there was nothing she could do to stop it from happening.

  Six

  “YOU BACK AT it, Joshy?” Abigail was Josh’s cousin, and they usually got along. But she had a wicked tongue and as much of a love/hate relationship with summer people as he did. “Hanging out with the rich and famous?”

  Josh had known it was coming. He’d thought about buying his lunch somewhere else, but he knew he’d have to deal with her sooner or later, and Abi’s café had the best sandwiches in town. So he’d come in before the lunch rush and braced himself. Now he said, “I was there to repair a leak.”

  “Was it a leak in her heart?” Abi asked with exaggerated concern. She snorted. “Mom and Dad say you should go for it. They can’t keep her DVDs on the shelves at the store ever since she came to town. They want to know how long she’s staying so they know if they should order more.”

  All summer, Ashley had said, but Josh didn’t think his aunt and uncle should be making business decisions based on that report. “Don’t be so stingy with the turkey,” he said instead, frowning at the sandwich Abi was making him.

  “It’s a careful balance, Joshy. For the flavors to blend properly, ingredients need to be kept in proportion.” But she slipped another couple of chunks of turkey onto the bread. “You should have stuck around for dinner the other night. I made that cold soup you like, and some really tasty ravioli. Actually, if she’d told me the food was for you, I wouldn’t have had to make many changes to the menu. It was pretty much all stuff you like anyway.”

  “So you didn’t know?” He’d been wondering about that a little. “You weren’t part of the setup?”

  “No. Honestly, the way she was fussing, I thought somebody really important was coming over. When I saw you pull up, I figured there was a mistake.”

  “There was,” he said. Then he added, “A bit more bacon wouldn’t kill you, would it?”

  Abi looked at him thoughtfully as she added a few more crisped strips. “You know, she was actually pretty nice. And she was nervous about it all. It was cute. And after you left she just sat there on the deck by herself, staring out at the lake. . . . Paul and I ended up eating the dinner. Which was delicious. You missed out on good food, at least, and probably on good company.”

 
; Josh squinted at her. “Are you serious? You practically threw a party when I stopped hanging out with the summer people. You said I’d dragged the family name through the mud for long enough. Now you’re saying I should be going back to that?”

  “Not to all summer people. Not to that McArthur dragon lady. But Ashley seemed different.”

  Josh thought of the bet and shook his head. “She’s no different. She’s just a better actress. Besides, I thought you were trying to fix me up with Martina Walker?”

  “You were too slow on that one. She gave up on you and she’s dating that new guy, the dentist. What’s his name, again?”

  Josh had no idea what the dentist’s name was and didn’t really care. It wasn’t like he’d been interested in Martina in the first place. She was a nice enough girl, but there was no spark, nothing. . . . Damn it. He was back to thinking about Ashley Carlsen. But it was true. There hadn’t been a connection with Martina like there was with Ashley.

  But that was too damn bad. “Toss in a couple butter tarts, okay?” Better to think about food than women. “And maybe one of those big cookies.”

  “Careful, Joshy,” Abi said as she wrapped up his food. “Ashley’s used to all those Hollywood hard bodies. If you get pudgy, she won’t want you anymore.”

  At least they both agreed that she was only after him for his body. “Make it two cookies,” he said.

  The bell on the door rang as Josh was paying for his lunch, and he glanced over to see Scott Mason walk in with his arm around a vaguely familiar woman. He and Josh had been in the same class all through school and gotten along fine until somewhere about sixth grade when they’d both liked Wendy Trainor and she’d decided to like Josh instead of Scott. Scott had held a grudge ever since, even though he and Wendy had ended up dating all through high school. Now Scott saw Josh and leered. “I lost twenty bucks on you the other night, Sullivan! What the fuck happened with you and Ashley Carlsen?”