Once Upon a Summer

by Brooke Moss

  The way he talks causes his "aww" factor to raise. There's something sweet about him letting the residences have their independence, even though I'm sure it costs him time and money. As much as he jokes about the people here, he clearly loves them.

  His weight shifts as he stuffs a hand into the pocket of his shorts. He looks like something out of a magazine. "I have to go repair a sink, but would you want to get out of here when I'm finished?"

  I blink. Is he asking me out? I'm not sure if it's possible, but I stutter out a nod.

  "I'll text you when I'm done," he says.

  I stare at the door long after he's gone then let out an embarrassing shriek which I'm glad no one’s around to hear. "I'm going on a date!"

  My fist pumps and victory rounds immediately end when I realize I'm going on a date.

  By the time Aunt Isla makes it back to me—Arthur-less—I'm somewhere between floating on cloud nine and hyperventilating. I haven't been on a date since I was a high school senior two years ago which doesn't really mean anything considering all of my former dates were horrible. I'd honestly rather say I've never been on a date than admit what occurred on them.

  The one where I thought the guy was into me, but only wanted to talk about Chloe.

  The one where the guy shut the car door on my hand and broke my finger.

  The one where I was set up with a guy who I was told was my age, but was creepily younger.

  Rather than sitting at zero in terms of dating, I'm in the negatives. It doesn't matter how outgoing and handsome Paul is, or how dreamy the beach, or how Aunt Isla dresses me—I'm going to be a flustered, inexperienced dud.

  How's that for self-confidence? Yeah, screw self-confidence. I'm pretty sure it's officially time to punch in my socially-awkward-and-self-deprecating card.

  I'm in such a fog of fear, I somehow sleepwalk through Aunt Isla dressing me, then doing my hair and makeup. When she claps her hands, I jolt.

  "Aren't you gorgeous, Hope?" she says.

  I force myself out my daze to try to see what she's seeing. She curled my red hair so the waves in it are more natural and even, rather than a tangled, misshapen mess. By adding a layer of foundation to my face, my natural paleness glows. She even managed to find a lipstick shade which looks good on me—something I've always struggled to do. With her magical make-up talents, she makes my dull, brownish-greenish eyes stand out. My aunt must be some kind of witch with skills like these. Or she forgot to share about her years working at the Sephora counter.

  She surprised me by getting giddy over an outfit I actually really like—a black buttoned-down dress which is formed fitting with a thicker material so not show any lumps or bumps. After buckling me a in a brown belt, she finished my ensemble with the tallest sandals I own.

  "Wow..." I say in awe. I run my fingers through my hair, which feels softer and more voluminous than ever. I almost can't believe I'm the girl looking back at me, but I somehow feel more confident than ever. Maybe I need to start giving myself more credit. "You're a sorceress."

  "Sweetie, I'm no such thing. This is all you—you were perfect pre-makeup and clothes. I think you just needed to see it."

  My mom says similar things all the time, but it feels better hearing it from somebody who doesn't have to say it. "Thank you."

  "We both know dressed up or not, Paul thinks you're pretty."

  I blush. I hope to goodness she's right. "Do you think he'll be dressed this way, too? What if this isn't that sort of—"

  She shushes me. "Paul’s a gentleman, so I'm sure he'll look just as nice. And if he doesn't, I will take him to his apartment and dress him myself, whether he's in his mid-twenties or not."

  I have no doubt she would, either. There's a knock at her door and my heartbeat accelerates to rabbit-speed. He texted me when we were finishing up my hair to say he would be here in about ten minutes.

  I check the clock on the mantle—he's on time. It's like he's somehow ticking off all of my boxes.

  I follow Aunt Isla to the front door, ankles and legs shaking. I shouldn't be nervous. I already know he's nice, cute and he likes me, too. It should make me feel calm and ready to embrace the moment. I'm about a million miles away from either of those.

  When she opens the door, Paul stands on the other side holding a makeshift bouquet of flowers which I'm pretty sure came from the front lawn. He's wearing a pair of khakis again, only these are more formal looking. He also has on a blue button down shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows. This is somehow better than I'd hoped he'd look. In between the last time I saw him and now, he went from dreamboat to dream-yacht.

  He holds the flowers out to Aunt Isla, giving us both a sheepish grin as he rubs at the back of his neck with his free hand. "These are for both of you. I figured I take care of the grounds, so..." He trails off as she takes them and smells them. "Let's just keep it between us."

  "As long as you're defacing the property for my niece, I suppose it's fine," Aunt Isla agrees, looking as if she's been bitten by the love bug herself. "Well, you two have fun." Paul steps out into the hallway, but she stops as me as I pass. "Do everything I would do," she whispers into my ear. "Find yourself a little, darling."

  I'm speechless as she shuts the door. Did she just tell me to...yep, she definitely did. It's a good thing there's a layer of makeup on my face, or my blush could guide the ships to the shore.

  Paul waves at a few of the other residents as we walk down to the main lobby. The woman behind the desk, different from the woman who I first met, eyes Paul longingly, but he just nods at her as we pass. He leads me to a tan Jeep, which has the zip in and out windows.

  He follows me and goes to open my door just as I do. Our hands collide in what isn't exactly a romantic moment as much as it is a painful one. When I wince, he reaches for my hand and twines it with his, running his thumb over my injury.

  The pain immediately dissipates and a numbness takes up the space instead. Not from our little accident, but from the way his rough, calloused skin feels against mine, which look like a child's compared to his. The sudden connection transfixes me. I’m amazed how contact so minor can make entire body feel as if it's been lit on fire. This isn't electricity, like I've heard talked about with romance, but closer to a burning which infiltrates every layer of my body. Electricity is fleeting, but this feels infinite—an immortal flame.

  My breath hitches when I catch him watching me with an intense expression. Is this what they mean by a smoldering gaze? "Not used to a gentleman?" he asks.

  "Not used to a man," I answer breathlessly before I can stop myself. My eyes go wide, but I can't steal my gaze away from his. "I don't know why I keep letting my mouth run amuck."

  "I like it," he says, stepping closer into my space. I feel my own body incline toward his. "I think it's adorable."

  "Adorable like toddler-adorable?"

  "Adorable as in you make me laugh. You're beautiful, too." He reaches up with his free hand and tucks my hair behind my ear, then runs the length through his fingers.

  I put my hand on his chest, bracing it there because I want to touch him, too. I'm met with one-hundred percent muscle. Somehow, though, I can feel his heartbeat thrumming wildly. I'm glad he's just as nervous as I am, even if he's better at hiding it.

  "You look handsome, too."

  I'm not sure which one of us takes a step back first. Disappointment at leaving his closeness, I let out a breath. While I would have longed to spend longer in his arms, but, I'd bet good money Arthur, Marilyn or Shirley has the perfect view of us from their apartment and Aunt Isla's camped out at their window watching.

  He goes to open the door and this time it's a success, no hands harmed in action. I get in and buckle myself, but he doesn't shut my door.

  "I should mention now, car rides with me can be difficult." He leans against the door, ever the king of leaning and looking perfect. He taps scarred ear. "I'm deaf in this ear, so with you in the passenger seat, I can't hear much. You'll
have to talk loud." For some reason, he looks a little embarrassed about his disability. I think he's more bothered I'll have to deal with it, than he is about having to live with it. "Sorry."

  I reach out and take his hand again. I smile at him. It's nice to be the one with the higher ground for once. "It's fine—you're fine."

  "Some people get a little fed up with it," he says. By some people, I wonder if he means past girls he's gone out with. I don't want to compare myself to them when I'm the one with him right now and they're not, but it's hard not to think about what those dates meant to him. It's horrible of people to make him feel self-conscious about something he can't help.

  "When I'm nervous, I don't have a filter," I tell him. I tilt my head, willing him to look at me; he does. "Everyone has something that makes them unique. So if my mouth makes me adorable, your ear makes you brave."

  His back straightens. "The world would be a better place if everyone spoke their mind."

  "And the world would also be a better place if everyone accepted everyone's differences."

  His eyes dilate and for a split second, I expect him to kiss me. I want him to. Who cares if we're in a parking lot? His gaze falls to my lips and I focus on keeping my breathing steady and not passing out. I'll bet he's a world-class kisser. If he's "handsome like Cary Grant," I bet he kisses with all the passion of a black and white movie.

  Only he doesn't kiss me. Instead he shuts the door and walks around the Jeep to get in. I let out a rush of air and squeeze my eyes shut, a total ball of frustrated and missed opportunities. I think I hear him curse in a low tone just before he takes his seat. Me too, bud, me too. There's a similar string of curses going through my mind I would never say for fear my dad's ears will start burning.

  When he backs up the car and pulls out on the main road, taking the same direction as the bus did, I decide it's time to woman-up and get over all my fears. He may be cute, but if there's one thing I can do, it's talk. Not that I'm good at talking, but just that I'm capable of it.

  "My aunt mentioned you're deaf in one ear," I explain, trying to talk louder than usual.

  He turns his head slightly to hear me, but still keeps his full concentration on the road. "Probably something else to make you think I was old."

  "Yeah," I say a little too quietly. I raise my voice. "I still can't believe I thought that."

  He shrugs. "It makes sense." I can't help but notice he's talking a little louder, too. I guess the acoustics are a little off in here for him. "I enlisted in the army when I was eighteen and about a year and a half ago, my unit was in a village when a bomb went off. They say I'm lucky to have hearing in my other ear and the scarring wasn't worse."

  The scars on his body aren’t the only scars he’s sure to carry. A sweet, smiling, and kind man doesn't really pair with army and bomb in my mind. I guess you hear so much about the casualties of serving in the military, you forget some people come out better than they were going in…or at least stronger. His hearing might have been damaged, but not his heart or his resilience.

  Thoughts barrage my mind, making it hard to come up with a good follow-up comment. I want it to matter. He's opening up to me about his history, so I should follow up with something equally meaningful, but compared to him, I don't think I've really lived.

  "I think you're lucky you made it home with your spirit." I'm not sure if he hears me or if I want him to. "How did you come to work at a retirement home?"

  "I grew up here. My parents passed away in a car accident when I was about three and I was sent here to live with grandpa. He passed right before I enlisted."

  "I'm sorry about your parents and your grandpa."

  "Thanks, Hope. It's something I've had to work through, but I realized along the way no matter what you believe in, you can't deny they're still with you." He smiles at me, as if to show me he's okay, while he waits for a red light to turn green. "I started doing stuff around the retirement home when I was in my teens—repairing things, mowing the lawn, doing whatever I could to earn my keep. I'm not sure I was even technically allowed to stay with him. When I enlisted in the army, I wanted to see the world and experience something outside of a retirement home. But the second I was discharged, I came back here. I realized this is my home and the residents are my family, you know? So they hired me and let me have one of the apartments." He sighs as we start moving again. "What does it say about me if I like living there?"

  "That you have an old soul?" I offer. I'm not sure where he's taking me, which I probably should've clarified up front. If Paul weren't such an upstanding guy, I could be a 48 Hours victim. I don't have the heart to ask now. I watch as we pass the grocery store we were at earlier, heading away from the commercial part of town. "I think it's nice you know where you want to be."

  "Yeah. The army showed me the world, but I just wanted to come back here." He pulls onto a small patch of concrete off the road, where there's a little building designed to look like a sundae complete with a cherry on top. It's surround by nothing except sand and the ocean. It's so picturesque, it's romantic. "This is the best place for ice-cream in the area. Figured we could eat some then walk on the beach."

  "Sounds perfect."

  "Wait there a second," he says and winks at me.

  He gets out and walks around the Jeep to open the door for me. "Thank you," I whisper. It's almost embarrassing how little experience I have with outright kindness. Nowadays, the idea of a southern gentleman seems closer to a fairy-tale.

  We get in a several-families-deep line leading up to the window. This place is definitely a hot spot.

  "You don't sound like you know where you want to be," he points out. He brings his hand up to squeeze his neck. "Not to offend."

  I have the urge to reach up and grab his arm to comfort him. He doesn’t seem the nervous type, which throws me off. "No, you're right," I admit. "I'm just at this crossroads. I'm bored, but I'm also comfortable—and it's hard to decide which one I'd rather break free from."

  "That feeling led me to the army," he agrees. "I made the big jump, but maybe you should just try exploring your boundaries."

  "Coming here was supposed to test my boundaries,” I tell him. The trip was supposed to encourage me to get out of the house and visit somewhere new. I didn't expect to meet a guy.

  It dawns on me no matter how much I like Paul, this will never really be more than two weeks. Maybe we'll go out on another date or maybe we won't, but I'll eventually go home and he'll stay here. My heart is betraying me by fluttering and pulling me toward him, because I can't give it to him. First date or not, I already know this won't amount to anything.

  #

  Our conversation lightens while we eat our ice cream cones. I tell him about my parents and Chloe. When I talk about Sam, Paul assures me he used to hide away, too.

  "Boys are weird. I was just dramatic," I tell him, giving him a window to my teenage years—not that they're far behind.

  He laughs, but doesn't say anything.

  "Okay, maybe I still am."

  "You have a way of making things...interesting," he says. He sounds as though he genuinely likes it. I'm glad someone does. I'm too busy wanting to bury my head in the sand.

  I lean my elbows on the table, staring at my cone where the ice cream is beginning to melt and ooze down the sides. Probably not appropriate to lick at it. "I meant dramatic in the world-is-ending-sense. Not where I blurt random things out."

  "Interesting in a good way, Hope. I'm used to honesty. All my life people pretty much say whatever—it was that way in the retirement home and in the army." He finishes his cone and the scrunches up his napkin to wipe as his mouth. "It's nice to have it, you know? It's a constant."

  I nod, even though I don't really know what he means. My world is always the same, so I don't need a constant. I finish up my cone and go to throw away my napkin. When I turn back, he's standing and looking out at the beach.

  "Ready for our walk?" he asks.

  I answer him by starting
toward the beach. I look over my shoulder at him, hoping my smile is somewhere close to as bright as his. He jogs to catch up, masterfully navigating the sandy parts like he was born here or something. I have to slow down, nearly tripping over my own feet. I stop, slip my sandals off and carry them. My toes slide into the deliciousness of the cold sand.

  He surprises me by doing the same thing. Evidently his feet were going au natural, in his brown shoes. Ouch. He catches me watching and shrugs. "If you've had to walk as much as I've had to, your feet can withstand about anything," he explains. Personally, I don't believe him. This might be his one and only flaw.

  We walk along the edge of the ocean so every once in a while it creeps up and submerges our feet. The water manages to catch me by surprise and make me gasp, each time. Even if the water "granted wishes," there was also a dangerous mysticism around it. As though it would rise up and pull you into its dark depths at a moment’s notice. As much as the water gives, it can also take.

  I laugh as a wave licks at my ankles then jumps up my leg. Paul chuckles, too, watching me closely. "Do you even notice any of this anymore? The ocean, I mean?" I question.

  He turns my question over in his mind for a second. "Sometimes. Not before I left for the army, but when I came back, yeah."

  "I don't think I'd ever get tired of this."

  "I don't think you would, either," he agrees.

  His hand brushes against mine and for a second, I pretend it's gravity, the wind, or some sort of invisible person. It's easier to believe in all of those things than to believe he's going to hold my hand. There have been times where I've thought something was going to happen and nothing. His hand brushes mine a second time, except his fingers link through mine, followed by a suave move and he’s holding my hand completely. Something so small shouldn't make my whole arm tingle, shooting a bolt of lightning straight from my hand to my heart. I bite my lip, trying to tamper down the wave of giddiness overtaking me.