Once Upon a Summer

by Brooke Moss

  “Thanks. It was a long, hard road. She was even on anti-anxiety pills for a while, but my furbaby is out of the woods.”

  Dave relaxes against the step. He was worried about the ladies getting on, but Arianna has managed to roll with it. She’s got a lot of heart—or what’s the word… empathy.

  The next thing he knows, Arianna is weaving over his way. Maybe she’s a tad tipsy because she throws her arm around him. “Your turn, Dave. Want to see what I’ve done with Fred and Wilma?”

  Dave laughs a bit nervously. “But they’re not here!”

  She leans nearer and whispers, “Want to come across the street? I’ll make you a pomegranate daiquiri and show you the photos there.”

  Dave is in shock. Trills of pleasure roll through him. She beat him to the punch at inviting him over. He’s too surprised and flattered to refuse. “Let’s go,” he whispers back. He doesn’t care who’s looking.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I’m freaking out! I can’t believe I’ve invited Dave over. It’s more than the liquid courage called beer. It has more to do with my misgivings about Merry and the clock ticking down my all-too-brief time with Dave.

  I pack my beach tote and leash Bart. Dave locks up his truck for now, and we walk silently down the tree-lined path back to Lakeview Drive. I’m acutely aware of his tall, strong, and sexy presence, walking close enough that a few times our arms brush against each other. The very air between us is steamy.

  There is something about Merry. She’s surely in love with Dave. The way she stares at him, the oozing honey in her voice when she speaks to him. I can’t say any of this to Dave. I don’t own the guy. It will make me sound paranoid, fixated and territorial. He doesn’t act toward Merry the way she acts toward him, so hopefully there’s nothing on his end.

  I simply need to get him—get us away and on our own. To continue this thing and see where it takes us. There’s so little time. The Pooch Palooza is the day after tomorrow, and once that’s over, soon I’ll be packing my bags for the city. It breaks my heart. I hear a moan and realize it’s coming from me.

  “Something wrong, Arianna?” Dave pauses on the dirt path and stares at me.

  “Did I say something?” I clap my hand over my mouth as I feign innocence, amnesia, stupidity. Moaning! Good god, that’s one-step away from a sexual grunt!

  “No?” With a look of confusion, he turns toward the road and we keep on walking.

  I unlock the cabin door, let him in and call for Tinsley, hoping she’s going for a long walk with Lyric. I scout around the bedrooms, the bathroom. All of her makeup is strewn about on the vanity to the sink, and some outfits have been carelessly hung on the towel rack. Looks like she was getting ready for a date. But that makes no sense. “Hmm, she went somewhere. C’mon in the kitchen and I’ll fix us some daiquiris.”

  Dave sits on a tall stool by the kitchen island. “Here’s a note from your friend.” He holds it up.

  I take it and read parts out loud. “Went to meet Bearhug for a business lunch.” That’s right. Don’t laugh. Wink, wink. The dude at the general store introduced us. The hot lead singer was buying a carton of milk. “Took Lyric. It’s at their place on the lake. They might even ask me to write a song for them!” Wish me luck. Later, Tins

  “Bearhug has a great sound,” says Dave. “I can’t believe we snagged them for Pooch Palooza. They moved here last year after their southern tour. They must want more of a local fanbase because lately, they’ve been playing gigs around here. Is Tinsley a songwriter? I can’t remember, did you tell me before?”

  “Yup, she’s a big deal down in Nashville. She writes for Janey Thorpe, Sister Brother Cousin and um… Camino Real. Ever heard of them?”

  “Of course! I listen to Camino Real all of the time. Bearhug will be duly impressed.”

  I feed Bart who inhales his dinner and then almost instantly conks out in his dog bed. “The little guy is pooped,” I say.

  “We ran him ragged,” Dave agrees. “So, Arianna, show me your wicked daiquiri recipe. What’s your secret ingredient?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know,” I tease. But then, I lay everything artfully on the table, like on a TV cooking show: the crushed ice, limes, sugar, the pomegranates and the rum. I point to the kiwi and thin slices of ginger. “Those are my signature add-ons.” I blend the ingredients with crushed ice and pour him a tall glass. And pour myself one.

  His blue eyes get big when he takes the first gulp. They even water.

  “Uh oh, is it too strong? Don’t you like it?”

  “Whoa! It’s superb.” There’s an awkward silence for a moment, but then he says. “Not as superb as you, though.” His fiery gaze heats me up.

  Where’s my snappy comeback? This man has taken my breath away.

  Dave leans forward and lightly places his large hand on mine. “Is this okay?”

  “Yes,” I manage to squeak as I sit on the stool by him. Our legs touch and it sends sparks all through me. Breathe, Arianna, breathe!

  “I’ve been having a really fun time getting to know you, and helping you train Bart.” His expression is so earnest. Clearly, this is not something he does often or easily.

  “Me, too. This week whizzed by way too fast. I’m not glad I had an accident, but I’m glad I met you through it.” That sounds lame-o. Dave smiles his lopsided grin, which melts me.

  “Yeah, karma has a funny way of unfolding,” he says, “and it’s such a coincidence we’re both into beagles. Car wrecks and beagles.” We laugh.

  “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

  “’Course not.” He strokes my hand super-slowly and it’s getting me hotter than all get out.

  “It was interesting today meeting some of your friends. They’re all nice, especially Merry.” I take a deep breath. “But um… do you like her? Because, she sure seems into you!” There, I’ve said it. I can’t take the words back.

  He lets out a low groan and abruptly looks down at his drink. “She does seem to have a crush on me. I trained her dog, Clara last year. I think it made a huge impact on Merry… in ways I didn’t intend.” He slips his hand off mine and as soon as he does, I want it back on me. “I never dated her though. We were never a thing.”

  “Oh. That’s good. I’m sorry for prying.”

  “No worries.”

  We’re quiet, with only the sound of Bart’s snoring and birds chirping outside.

  “Your photography’s fantastic,” he says. “I think you even impressed Gail.”

  “Ooh, she was quite suspicious of me at first. Questioning the prices and making cutting remarks about me trying to fetishize the dogs—making them too human.”

  Dave shrugs. “It seems like a country versus city tension. These people have lived up here their whole life. They get used to their ways and don’t know how to deal with people who seem more sophisticated, more fashionable or, as they assume, snobby. Maybe they feel judged, too. So, some have a knee-jerk attitude toward big city types.”

  “Do you? Oops, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

  “No worries.” He swirls his drink. “I’m sure I’m as guilty of it as anyone up here. Though when I have these thoughts, I walk them back and logic my way through them. How about you? Are you prejudice against country folks at all?” His deep-blue eyes lock into mine, challenging me, studying me. It makes me squirm in my seat.

  I think of the guy at the general store in the green hoodie and how I had a negative attitude about the junk food. And then, when I saw the gourmet farm-to-table items I was surprised, shocked even. I think of Ed Flanagan’s big beer belly hanging out and how I wondered if he was going to pull his shirt down or if he didn’t care how he looked. Aw, hell, I know guys in the city who let themselves go. “Maybe sometimes,” I admit. “When I do, I feel ashamed.”

  “It’s only human. Could you ever see yourself living in a rural area? Fitting in?” His eyes fix on me as he sips his daiquiri.

  “I don’t know. It’s beautiful with al
l of the trees and nature. Bart sure likes it. But…”

  “But what?”

  “I’m not sure I’d be able to sustain a pet portrait business in the country. You heard Gail. She was wary of the prices I’d charge without even hearing what they were. Would enough people be able to afford my photos? If they had extra cash, wouldn’t they prefer to spend hard-earned dollars on family photos, and not pet photos?”

  “Hard to make a blanket statement.”

  I pause to drink my daiquiri and to check Dave’s reaction. He’s handsome inside and out with his dark curls framing his kind face and his patient way of letting the words sink in before he says a definitive yes or no. “What about you?” I ask him. “Could you see yourself living in Philadelphia? In any big city?” Now it’s my turn to study him. It’s not an inquisition, but it seems inevitable if we are going to admit we like each other, and visualize being a couple.

  He shrugs. “I like to visit big cities—Chicago, Boston, Philadelphia. I’ve had good times in Philly—seeing Independence Hall, hiking in Fairmount Park. Lunch in Reading Terminal Market and the Amish booth was cool, too. I love their shoe-fly pie, sweet and sour cabbage and freshly made sausages.”

  “Mm, yeah, eating lunch at Reading Terminal Market is a blast.”

  “But my auto body business is up here.” He looks down at his drink and rubs his forehead. “I’m not sure I’d be able to afford the commercial rents in a place like Philly.”

  “There’s always the suburbs.”

  “True. Honestly though, I’d love to get out of the car biz and fully into dog breeding.”

  “Like me and teaching. I love it, but I love photography even more. It’s time to follow my passion. You, too.”

  Dave looks up and nods. “I want to do it all, but I also want to be realistic. Kennel equipment isn’t cheap. Dogs need tons of space, to run, to board, to breed.”

  With the word breed, he flushes and I feel my neck heat up. I take this moment to pour us one more round.

  “Nothing’s impossible,” he says after he’s gotten his drink refreshed and taken another gulp.

  “Yeah. Never say never.”

  He puts his big hand back on mine. It’s warmer than before, and I really like having it there. “By the way, your car is all done,” he says, giving my hand an extra pat.

  “Great! When should I come get it?”

  “At some point tomorrow? I’ll let you know.”

  “Okay, sounds good.”

  He slides his hand further up, to my wrist and then along my arm. And then, he leans even closer and brushes my hair back.

  He kisses me.

  It’s everything I imagined it would be. Hot, divine, nerve-wracking and intensely satisfying. We deepen the kiss, teasing with our tongues. His hand goes to the side of my head and cups it. My hand goes up into his mop of curls, slowly stroking them. He smells of sand, sunblock and of earthy lake water.

  “Arianna,” he murmurs, “Arianna.”

  And then, over the birdsong we hear the clacking of heels climbing the porch stairs and the screen door slamming. We pull back and move our hands away. “To be continued very soon,” he manages to whisper in my ear before Tinsley and Lyric burst into the kitchen. Lyric bounds over to Bart and jumps on him. He rolls over sleepily.

  “Oh!” exclaims Tinsley. “I hope I’m not intruding!” Her expression shifts from shocked to sly-dog.

  “It’s fine.” I try to be kind, but it’s hard. Who knows how far we might’ve taken our affection. Who knows how much more we could’ve talked about?

  Dave gets up and hugs me in his chummy way that doesn’t reveal how deeply we just connected. He’s obviously trying to be polite. “I have to get back to the shop anyway,” he says and gives me a secret wink.

  A wink Tinsley can’t see.

  It thrills me all over. I walk him to the door and watch his fine, firm butt walk away down the walk to Lakeview Drive.

  “What happened?” Tinsley asks as soon as Dave left. “May I?” She helps herself to a daiquiri.

  “Go for it. Dave and I had a great but heavy talk about city versus country. And then we made out. Things are happening.” I feel like I’ve said enough. Tinsley is nosy and it’s so new I want to keep something for myself. I smile at her. “What happened with the guys from Bearhug?”

  She does a twirl around the kitchen, which makes the full skirt of her dress fan out like a colorful umbrella. “Oh. My. God, Arianna. The lead singer, Caleb is dreamy, and talented, and has a voice like… like a hot, ripped shirtless angel singing bass in an Italian opera, but like, just to me!”

  “Sounds rather odd,” I say and we launch into our raunchy cackling.

  “So, was Dave a good kisser?” she asks, her eyes gleaming.

  “Uh, yeah. I take it Caleb was, too?”

  “You bet your sweet bippy! Plus…” She rifles through her overstuffed satchel and pulls out some papers. She wags them at me.”

  “Huh?”

  “They hired me to write three new songs for them. Contract time!”

  “Wonderful!”

  “We wrote one for the Pooch Palooza already.” She chuckles. “It’s a funny ditty about dog tricks and stuff. On a more serious note, Bearhug be coming down to Nashville to check out what I wrote and book some studio sessions. Who knows? Maybe they’ll even put one of my songs on their next album.”

  “So amazing, Tins!” We clink glasses in a toast.

  Bart and Lyric are cuddled together, sleeping. I nod toward them. “So cute, these two. Hey, this vacation is epic, and it’s not even over! One more day to Pooch Palooza. They’ve already set up the Palooza booths, agility course and stage at the lake beach. Have you practiced today with Lyric on her swimming?”

  “No.” Tinsley groans. “Kind of busy. Have you practiced yet with Bart?”

  “Yup. Dave’s good for that. We even trained Bart a little on the agility course.”

  “Wow. Maybe I’ll head over to the lake for swim training with Lyric.”

  “Lots of locals are over there, so you’ll have plenty of company. Do you mind if I don’t go? I’ve had a few beers and a couple of these daiquiris. Kind of need a nap.”

  “No problem.” She hugs me, and goes to her room to change.

  I wander into my bedroom, kick off my sandals and turn off the light. I flop down on my bed, luxuriously spread my arms and legs and lazily stretch as if I’m doing snow-angels in the snow. I wriggle my toes and breathe in the clean, cool air wafting through the opened window. Life is good right now.

  Dave is everything and more. We do have differences and obstacles but… if we work at them nothing’s impossible, right?

  A fun idea pops in my head. What if I go to Jensen’s tomorrow and surprise him? After all, my car is ready, and he did whisper he wants our little love-fest to continue very soon.

  I could make a bunch of my tasty muffins and bring them over. Nab some hot coffee from the general store on the way. Men like home cooking and surprises, right?

  I fall into a peaceful half-sleep, visualizing Dave and I spread out on his office couch in a hot and heavy make-out session.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Dave can’t wait for Arianna to pick up her car. He’s wiped the counter down twice and swept the place. Geez, I should always be crushing hard, my office and my home would be spotless.

  He’s hoping to drive with her to the lake after she drops off the rental car and picks up her spiffed-up Rogue. Finally, he would get the chance to show her his lake bungalow, fling all of the windows open and clear the stuffy air out. Put a clean set of sheets on the bed and hop into bed together. Cuddle and kiss for hours. It’s been so long, he can hardly remember what it feels like—skin on skin. Two bodies warming each other, rubbing on each other, loving in any way that suits their fancy. He’s finally pushing through his trauma. His therapist will be proud.

  When he gets to the shop, his fantasies grind to a halt and reality sets in. Bobby’s there, but he’s grumpy, not
his usual friendly self. Dave guesses Bobby and Roxy have been staying up late, enjoying themselves on his dime and he’s fine with that. His son deserves it.

  The normal hectic car rentals and drop offs keep him busy, and people coming in for them to fix a simple flat or ask how much bodywork might run.

  It’s about noon when the call comes in. It’s Gail and she’s had a bad crash at the intersection of Foxrun and Fisherman’s Road. “Some jackass ran right through the stop sign,” she wails over the line. “I’m okay, maybe some whiplash, but heck, Dave, my car is a giant mess. And I’m worried about Snowball. Hurry.”

  “I’ll be right there.” He hangs up. Shivers chill him. He’s relieved his friend is okay, but hell, the very name of the road Fisherman has given him the willies ever since Marilyn died out the on the lake fishing. He avoids Fisherman’s Road like the plague. He knows it’s pure superstition, but his body—the chills, the shakes, the cold sweats—convince him it’s more.

  A bad omen. Rotten luck.

  “Bobby?” he calls, looking over his shoulder toward the back room. Bobby’s not in either office. Dave jogs out to the lot, where his son is chatting with a customer about the cost of a new tire.

  “Hey, Bobby,” he interrupts.

  “Dad, I’m in the middle of—”

  “It’s important. I’ve got to go tow Gail’s car, like now. She was in a bad smack up. She’s not hurt but she’s really shaken…”

  “Okay.” Bobby’s brow unfurrows. “Gotcha, pop.”

  “Hold down the fort, will you?”

  His son nods and then goes back to relaying the various price points of tire brands.

  Dave is almost to Foxrun and Fisherman’s Road when he thinks of Arianna. Darn, he was going to call her and tell her when to come over. He’ll have to do it later. After all, he didn’t mention a time.

  When he sees the wreck, it’s so horrific everything else leaves his mind. Gail’s sedan is a twisted mess, as is the other car. Oil and gas are seeping all over the road. Good God, he hopes no one is dumb enough to light a cigarette. Where’s Gail? He spots her sitting on large boulder at the tree line. She’s cradling her dog, Snowball, whose white fur is tinged with bloody patches. He jogs over.