Once Upon a Summer

by Brooke Moss

  Glancing at the side of Preston’s face, and judging by his somber expression, he likely wanted to get back to Becker’s party now that I’d shot him down.

  “You can just drop Liza and I off outside my building,” I finally said, voice tight and tense as he turned east beyond the freeway, toward the poor side of town—my side of town. “I’ll take it from there.”

  Preston scowled and watched the road, in all of his sopping wet t-shirt and dripping pair of khaki shorts glory. Preppy to the forty-seventh degree. So not my type. At least, not usually…

  Gah! What was wrong with me? My interest in him was clearly the result of acute loneliness. I was eighteen. It was the last summer of my youth. I was supposed to be sowing all of my wild oats, and instead, I was working overtime, peddling flowers to (mostly) old people and the occasional rich boy looking to impress.

  We stopped at a red light, and Preston turned to me. “What floor do you live on?”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. Why did my heart clunk inside of my chest when our eyes connected? I was losing it. Losing it, I tell you.

  “Second,” I finally replied. “And my mom’s gone now.”

  “Where does she work?” he asked lightly, tapping his fingers on the gearshift.

  “She waitresses at Glenn’s Diner by day, and works at the Pine Grove at night.”

  “Pine Grove Motel?” Preston laughed. “Isn’t that the… you know, the…”

  I pressed my lips together. “The roach motel near the interstate? Yes. What about it?”

  “Well, I don’t know if I’d qualify it as a roach motel, per say—”

  “Please.” Snorting, I brought my eyes back to his. “I don’t see you spending a night at the Pine Grove.”

  “I have!” His smile returned shyly. “Junior year of high school. My friends and I stole his big brother’s I.D. on prom night to rent a room for an after party. We got ratted out three hours in, and my dad came to drag me out.”

  “Classy.” My lips twitched as I fought a grin. Why was my resolve crumbling? “So if you’ve been inside, then you know it’s a pit, right?”

  “Not a pit. Just cheap.” His eyes twinkled as the light went green and we moved forward. “Kind of felt like the movies. Like the motel in Cars, minus the giant cones. What does your mom do there?”

  “Night desk clerk,” I told him. “She used to bartend nights, but it was too hard, so…”

  When my voice faded off, Preston nodded. “Understood. My dad stopped taking as many business trips after he stopped drinking.”

  “Were you glad he stayed home more?” I remembered when my mom stopped drinking, and suddenly she was infinitely more accessible.

  “It was different.” Preston hit the blinker and turned. “It drove my mom crazy at first, but then we adapted. Now they like each other again.”

  I drew in a deep breath of cut-grass scented air as we sailed past a community with freshly manicured lawns. “My mom’s whole personality changed. Like… she became a totally different person when she became sober. Did that happen to your dad?”

  “Uh huh.” He raked his hand through his damp hair. “My dad got crabbier. Like he missed being hammered, and was pissed off at us for it. It didn’t help that he was grieving and beating himself up for Elizabeth dying, too. But after a while he also became more…” Pausing to consider his words, Preston sighed. “More present, I guess. He came to my wrestling matches, my debate team things. You know, stuff like that. So even though we were going through the worst experience of our lives, he actually started to give a damn.”

  I nodded. “I totally get it.”

  “What did you do in school?” he asked casually.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I did wrestling, debate, and student council. Now at BSU, I do student government and even wrestled my freshman year.”

  “Why did you stop?” I asked, watching as the houses we were passing grew shabbier and shabbier. “I didn’t do too many activities in high school.”

  He rested his elbow on the open window. “Couldn’t maintain my grades and do a sport. Something had to give. So wrestling gave.”

  Another weakness for the Golden Boy, color me surprised yet again. “Smart choice.”

  “Surprised?”

  “A little,” I admitted, flipping down the mirror and making sure my dunk in the lake hadn’t left me looking like Gene Simmons. “I was never one for organized sports. Tried soccer when I was little, but wound up making daisy chains in the grass while everyone else played. In high school, I was more of an art class kind of kid, but then funding was cut, and we lost the class.”

  “That sucks. What kind of art did you do?”

  My mouth twitched. “Sculpting. I liked working with clay.”

  “No kidding?” He flexed an arm. “Want me to be your model sometime?”

  “See!?” Cracking up, I threw up my arms. “You slide so easily back into the role of the cocky frat boy, it’s embarrassing.”

  “Sorry,” he said quickly, fighting a smile. “It’s always worked for me in the past.”

  “It’s not going to work with me.” I pushed his flexed arm back down. “Let me guess, you’ve never taken an art class in your life?”

  “Not yet, but I have to this year. Gotta get my art credits finished. Been putting them off.”

  “Those likely would’ve been the first ones I would’ve taken care of, and I would’ve put off my math and science credits for last.”

  He looked at me. “Are you going to school this fall?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t have time. My mom needs my help too much.”

  “Not even night classes?” Preston stopped at a four-way stop and looked both ways. “North Idaho College is right here in town. You could take a few courses here and there.”

  “I want to.” I fidgeted in my seat. The subject made me squirmy. My guidance counselor in high school had said the same thing no fewer than twenty times, but my answer was always the same. Without my financial help, my mom wouldn’t be able to stay afloat, and if she started drowning in bills, she might start drowning her problems in boxes of wine. I didn’t want that on my conscience.

  Between working full time and being there for my mom when she had a bad day and needed to talk it through, I was busy enough. The only reason I’d agreed to go out with Liza that night, was because my mom was working, and I’d assumed we’d be home—sober—eating Thai food. Over the years, I’d inadvertently become my mom’s sponsor, and I had no idea how to balance it with the typical life of someone else my age. One night class gone late, one essay I needed to focus too intently on, and the carefully crafted house of recovery I’d constructed would come toppling down.

  “It’s not the right time for me.” I sighed as we passed a house with a burnt out car on the front lawn. We were closer to my apartment now. “Maybe someday.”

  “Wish I’d been given the choice,” Preston mused, shifting down. “My dad’s head almost exploded when I quit the wrestling team. He had an image of what my life needed to look like in his head, and when I wasn’t doing it right, it drove him crazy.”

  “Sounds like he’s living vicariously through you.”

  “He is.” He nodded. “Like my success is living proof he might’ve killed one of his kids, but damn it, look how good the other one is turning out.”

  I let his heavy words marinate. “My mom is dependent on me, too. She talks to me about everything, runs every decision past me, even the simple ones like which brand of bread to get. It’s exhausting.”

  “It is exhausting, isn’t it?” Preston slowed down as we rolled past some duplexes with kids playing in the yard. “I literally never tell people at school about my family. And very few people here in Coeur d’Alene know the details of what happened with Elizabeth. It’s nice to talk about it.”

  “Agreed.” Smiling to myself, I added, “And I’m here anytime you want to talk, you know. It doesn’t have to be… like, limited to tonight, or whate
ver.” Liza rolled over and mumbled in her sleep behind us, and my underarms pricked with sweat. “I mean, you know. As a friend, or like, as someone who gets the whole alcoholic parent thing, or whatever.”

  “Okay.” Giving me side eye, Preston turned down my street. “Is this the place?”

  “Uh huh.” The closer we got to the edge of town, the thinner and more potholed the road became. “Do you think you’ll ever live in a place like these?”

  He looked at me quizzically. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, do you think you’ll ever live like the other half?” I gestured to my building. The grey paint was peeling and the miniscule wood balconies all sagged. “You know, when you graduate from college? Will you have to hoof it for minimum wage like the average peon, struggling to make rent and keep the lights on at the same time?”

  He put the car in park. “Or will mommy and daddy foot the bill?”

  “Are you a trust fund baby?”

  “You think I’m a Kardashian, don’t you?” He laughed, resting his head on the back of the seat. “The lost Kardashian brother. Kreston.”

  “Oh, is that your story?” I giggled. “Is that why you think you’d complete my life so much?”

  “I’m not a socialite. Can guys even be socialites?” He shook his head. “And that’s not what I meant back at the lake.”

  “Why don’t you enlighten me?”

  “I only meant that if we dated—” Preston gestured between the two of us. “I would make sure you were so happy you’d never want to get over me.”

  I sat in silence, unsure what to say.

  “I’m sorry,” I finally blurted. Clamping my mouth shut, I peered ahead. I could hear the sound of some television show lilting out of an open window nearby. After what felt like an hour, but was likely more than five seconds, I turned to face him. “I really am.”

  One of his blonde eyebrows rose on his forehead. “I’m not a prick now?”

  I looked away, ashamed. “You’re actually a pretty decent guy. Inexplicably human.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Shrugging, I unbuckled my seatbelt. “I’ve always assumed guys like you were omnipotent. Untouchable. Perfect.”

  Preston rolled his deep brown eyes. “Not hardly. That’s about as accurate as assuming all girls like you are tough and mouthy.”

  “Aren’t I?”

  A smirk tickled at his lips, and he reached for my hand. “Not as much as you pretend to be.”

  A warm sensation spread through my middle, making me feel weightless. “There’s more to me that meets the eye, Wallingford.”

  His fingers played with mine. “That so? What’s one thing about you I wouldn’t have assumed?”

  I thought for a moment, enjoying the sound of crickets outside. “I love doing funeral flowers.”

  He waved a hand dismissively. “Pssh. Not shocking at all.”

  “What? Why?”

  Gesturing at my hair and clothes, he explained, “You have a vampy look going. Your makeup and clothes are sort emo-vintage, it’s-not-just-a-phase-mom, style. You’re like a prettier, younger version of Abby from NCIS. Of course, you want to do funeral flowers. It’s part of the whole goth gig, isn’t it?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “I never took you for an NCIS fan.”

  “My roommate at school is. Watches them on a constant loop, and when he catches up, he just starts them over again.”

  I sat up straighter in my seat. “Actually, I love doing funeral flowers because it’s the most emotional event ever. It’s the time when your loved ones celebrate your whole life, however long or short it was, and my job is to create a visual representation of their love for you. There’s nothing better than funeral flowers.

  A slow smile appeared across Preston’s face. “I’ve never thought of it like that.”

  “Most people haven’t,” I conceded. “Honestly, most people don’t think about funeral flowers. Then when they come into the shop, all weepy and distraught, they’re sort of blown away by the cost. Which is why, when I open my own shop, I will have affordable, but gorgeous funeral packages. Because when you’re fumbling your way through planning a funeral, the flowers shouldn’t be an extravagance. They should be an expression.”

  He blinked at me a couple times. “I had you all wrong.”

  “Told ya.” I bit my lip to keep from grinning. “I also collect stuffed animals, know how to play a harmonica, and belong to a roller derby league.”

  “Not a surprise. You have roller derby written all over you.” He laughed, and Liza sighed in her sleep. “Well, I collect sports bobble heads. I have boxes of them at my parent’s house. I think I’ve got almost two hundred. My favorites are my Randy Johnson, and my Steve Young.”

  “Bobble heads?” I covered my mouth, snickering. “Not what I expected.”

  “See? Just a normal guy.” Preston moved my hand away from my mouth. “Don’t do that. Don’t cover up your smile.”

  My hand landed on the armrest, but his fingers didn’t release mine. “Tell me something else that makes you human.”

  Preston thought for a moment. “My dad wants me to get my degree in finance, but I want to be a teacher.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “Well, he wants me to be to work for the family business,” he explained. “He, my grandfather, and uncle run an investment firm, and then on the side they do real estate investing.”

  I turned my palm upward, allowing him to lace our fingers together. “So what kind of teacher do you want to be?”

  The side of his mouth picked upward. “Special education.”

  “No kidding.” I shook my head. “Didn’t see that coming.”

  “I love special needs kids.” He laughed. “I love watching their little minds turn, and helping them become self-sufficient. There’s a level of joy in kids with challenges that just… I don’t know… fills me. All kids have to learn, but special needs kids want to learn. It’s awesome to be a part of. I did some volunteer work in the special services when I was in high school, and then again last year for community service in my humanities class. I wish I could do it permanently.”

  “Why not?” I asked. “It’s your life.”

  “Not that simple.” His smile faltered. “I’m a Wallingford. I have a legacy to uphold. Columbia Academy, BSU, you get the picture. It’s everything my father did. I’ve been told since I could walk I had a job waiting for me.”

  “So go a different route,” I told him. “Make your own path.”

  He shifted closer. “I don’t know if I’ve got the balls.”

  “Well, you should.” I could feel every curve, every wrinkle on his hand, and my skin scorched in response. “Teaching special ed is infinitely more noble than helping people buy stock.”

  He sighed. “Agreed.”

  His thumb traced a prickling line of heat from one side of my knuckles to the other, and back again. I could feel my pulse thudding in the side of my neck. “You make me nervous,” I whispered. “I don’t know why.”

  “You make me nervous, too.”

  I went to pull away, but Preston didn’t release me. “Guys like you don’t get nervous.”

  “They do when they’re out with the girl they’ve been checking out the whole summer.”

  My heart leapt into my throat. Okay, so yeah. I kind of liked him. For the briefest of seconds, I wondered what it would be like if he reached for my face and kissed me.

  The hell with this, my brain screamed. Why wait? Kiss him!

  Our faces started to move closer together, like magnets were pulling us. “You’re not out with me,” I reminded him, quietly. “Liza’s your date.”

  “Liza’s passed out in the back seat.” His spare hand slid up to the side of my neck, and his fingers threaded through my still-damp hair. “You’re here with me.”

  The pads of his fingers created sparks underneath my locks. I held my breath. “I… I should take Liza inside.”

  His face was so close I coul
d feel his breath tickling my lips. Again. “Not just yet.”

  I shifted my body closer. “Why?”

  His gaze flicked down to my mouth and back. “Because I—”

  I brushed his lips with my own, cutting off his words. They were warm and soft, and the contact triggered an earthquake inside of my core. Sure, this was wrong. But for a split second, I didn’t care. I only cared about feeling Preston’s mouth on mine, and—

  “Unnhh…” Liza rolled onto her back behind us, her arms flopping over her face. “Don’t feel good. I want to go to bed.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  In a flash, I slid away from Preston. “Hey,” I said in a falsely cheerful voice. I turned to face my best friend, praying she couldn’t see the sparks of electricity popping and snapping between mine and Preston’s mouths. “You awake?”

  Did you hear what your date and I were talking about? Did you see him holding me? Oh, good Lord, did you see him kiss me?

  She groaned from underneath her arms. “Too bright…”

  Preston frowned. “It’s almost eleven.”

  I pointed through the open sunroof. The streetlight was directly above us. “I… I should probably get her inside and into bed. Come on, Li.”

  She groaned, and flopped onto her other side, her face pressing into the back of the seat.

  Preston adjusted the rear view mirror. “You don’t really think you’re going to get her up the stairs by yourself, do you?”

  I glanced wearily at my best friend. “Um, I hope so?”

  “Super confident.” He gave me side eye. “She’s in great shape. She’ll skip right up those stairs for you.”

  I opened my mouth to offer a smart retort, but came up with nothing. “Can you help me get her upstairs?”