Summer Flame: A Steamy Romantic Comedy Beach Read (A Season's Detour, Book 1)

by Hayleigh Sol

  After wrestling with canvas and aluminum for another hour, I finally stood back to admire my handiwork.

  “Aw, crap.” The tent was on a slope. I could’ve sworn I’d found the flattest spot in the campsite. Fine, I’d just have to position my air mattress and sleeping bag with feet pointing downhill and hope for the best.

  Gulping down the last of my now watered‌–‌down tea, I finished unpacking the car. Which consisted of chucking most of the contents into the tent or haphazardly on the picnic table. I headed for the restrooms armed with a bar of soap. It was funny how some things about camping, like carting my own soap to the bathroom, came back so easily while others‌—‌stupid freakin’ tent‌—‌were completely foreign. The facilities in this campground didn’t offer showers but they had flush toilets‌—‌thank God‌—‌and I was able to take a bird bath in the sink.

  Naturally, the faucet sprayed my entire front side, mostly the crotchal region, before I realized it would be in my best interests to stand to the side. At this point, I didn’t even care that it looked like I’d wet my pants. The cool water on the back of my neck and on my face had me feeling slightly more human and a tinge less sweaty.

  Despite my growling stomach, I took the longer arc of the looping road back to camp, letting the breeze dry the dampness still on my skin. I’d remembered the soap but forgotten a towel.

  In one of the larger campsites I passed was a boat on a trailer hitched to a hybrid SUV. Admiring the paint job‌—‌probably vinyl decals, actually‌—‌on the boat, I wasn’t expecting the torso that appeared.

  A very nice, shirtless, male torso. With‌…‌yep, a bona fide six‌–‌pack. And I don’t mean he was holding a yoke of beer. Side note: the plastic rings that hold six aluminum cans in a bundle, which take more than four hundred years to decompose, are called yokes. When I’d first learned the term, I’d wondered if that had been the origin of using “yoked” to describe a guy with excellent muscle tone.

  Like the one I was currently ogling.

  A knee‌–‌jerk splash of guilt washed over me, until I remembered Brad and I weren’t together right now and I’d seen proof that he was doing more with members of the opposite sex than checking them out. So I leaned into it.

  Glancing around, I confirmed there wasn’t anyone around to catch my voyeurism, then continued walking past the campsite, very slowly.

  Hot Boat Dude was turned slightly away from me, wearing board shorts in different hues of blue‌—‌my favorite color, naturally‌—‌and those bad boys were riding low on his hips, just teasing a hint of that chiseled V any woman with a pulse would appreciate. A narrow waist, nary a love handle in sight, tapered down from a sculpted chest and toned shoulders. I may have whimpered at the sight of this specimen of male perfection. My heart rate definitely increased.

  What he was doing on the boat I couldn’t tell but, as I drew even with the trailer, Hot Boat Dude disappeared from view. I craned my neck as I passed, hoping for one last look, when he suddenly stood and turned in my direction.

  Eep! I faced front immediately. His eyes were obscured by sunglasses so I couldn’t be sure if he’d seen me staring. Willing myself not to glance back, I put one foot in front of the other in the direction of my monster tent. When I was unable to resist a second more, I did look over my shoulder‌—‌casually, subtly. The picture of cool.

  Hot Boat Dude was looking right at me, hands perched on those hips I’d just been admiring. As if he needed to draw any further attention to them or his edible abs. He smiled and gave me one of those single‌–‌nod guy greetings, more friendly than flirty. With a smile and a little wave, I turned away, mortified that he’d probably known exactly what I was up to. Once my embarrassment eased‌—‌what felt like about three hours later‌—‌the memory of the view I’d enjoyed brought a smile that lingered on my face.

  Sleeping on the ground, even on an air mattress on said ground, wasn’t for the faint of heart. Nor for the aged of body.

  The groan that came out of my mouth when I turned over in the morning was one I could honestly say I’d never made before in my life. I sounded like a damn moose in heat. At least, what I imagined one would sound like. Now that I’d moved, lying here for the next several years seemed like an excellent plan.

  Eventually, and mostly because nature was calling, I grunted and dragged myself to a sitting position. From there, I ended up on all fours, before finally pushing my aching self into something that resembled standing. Years of routine had me reaching to check my phone but bending over only proved that my bladder refused to be ignored. In the middle of the night, as was my habit, I’d needed to use the restroom but hadn’t wanted to rummage through my bag for the flashlight I’d forgotten to leave out. Not to mention putting on shoes and trekking over to the bathroom in the cold and dark. I’d forced myself to ignore the need and go back to sleep; I was paying for that decision now.

  After speed‌–‌walking to the building, morning needs were taken care of and my sore neck and back began to loosen up. I still dreaded the idea of sleeping and waking like this for the next two weeks.

  Once I’d set up camp and fed myself yesterday, I’d taken a towel and my Kindle down the trail to the lake. A quick text to assure Mom I was fine‌—‌she’d sent a few of her own asking if I’d arrived, how the drive had been, and, basically, was I still alive‌—‌and I slipped off my shoes to stand ankle‌–‌deep in the cool water. That was my family’s ritual whenever we’d come to Bass Lake: we unpacked, then headed down to put our feet in the lake.

  Cell service was in and out, as expected. I’d scrolled through a few emails as I sat on my beach towel, none of which seemed urgent, and a text from Brad assured me he and Evan were following up on Guy’s email by checking delivery dates from other vendors. It was something I’d done for my own peace of mind the day after the fiasco with the missing steel shipment but I figured it wouldn’t hurt if Evan and Brad verified all delivery schedules again. As I’d set down my phone and opened my book, I realized I hadn’t read anything for pleasure in months. Many months.

  On the few evenings I’d tried to read the suspenseful science‌–‌fantasy or sexy romantic‌–‌comedy I’d downloaded back around the holidays, I’d been so tired that I’d only managed a page or two before the inevitable smacking myself on the nose with the electronic device. Once, after Brad and I had put things on hold and I was alone in bed, I’d been so committed to reading a chapter that I’d hit the same spot on my face five times before I conceded defeat; there’d been a red mark on the bridge of my nose the next morning whose explanation had tickled Evan to no end.

  Yesterday afternoon, I managed to read three‌—‌count ‘em, three‌—‌chapters before the drowsiness hit. After the wrestling match with the tent from hell, a lovely lakeside nap sounded like the perfect way to kick off my vacation. I was drifting in and out, the sounds of a boat roaring past preventing truly deep sleep, when a plop hit the lens of my sunglasses. My eyes blinked open and the entire right side of my vision was obstructed.

  What the hell?

  Whipping my sunglasses off, I discovered a sizeable white and black birdie turdy splattered on the lens.

  Ewww!

  Also, why do I still call them birdie turdies?

  I rinsed my shades in the lake, then was totally grossed out when I found some spillover had gotten in my hair, which I tried to remove without tumbling, ass over teakettle, into the water. It was an ordeal.

  A flyby fecal bombing, now there was a way to start a vacation. As if I’d needed another sign that the universe was shitting on me.

  Once all traces of bird crap had been expunged, I hiked back up to my campsite and ended up spending the evening in front of the fire I’d proudly built. Evidently, I remembered how to stack kindling and make a teepee of firewood I’d gathered from the forest floor. Dad would be proud.

  My daydream from last week became a reality with the night sky even more wondrous than I’d imagined. The thoug
ht of all those unexplored galaxies out there made me feel small and insignificant, but in the best way. Challenges and stresses, the day‌–‌to‌–‌day worries of humans, were temporary and unimportant in the cosmic scheme of things. For a while, my mind was at rest and I simply‌…‌existed.

  That didn’t last long, though. Because it was so quiet, or because I was pondering life on a grander scale, I started thinking about the bigger picture I’d always envisioned for my business. It was easy to get mired in the details of current accounts and trying to gain new clients, but I’d always planned for more. Using my college degree and passion for green design was finally happening, to a small extent, with the hospital build. If all went smoothly, that project could be the springboard to greater things for Green for Green, a chance to work with architects and engineers before construction began, offering my suggestions and advice for more sustainable buildings.

  The hospital project had the potential to make, or break, the company’s reputation. With that lovely threat in my head, I attempted to sleep. On the ground, separated from the great outdoors and all her creatures by a thin layer of canvas. My old friend, insomnia, had come along on vacation like an unwanted stowaway.

  Despite the insufficient sleep and body stiffness I’d awoken with, I was feeling invigorated by fresh mountain air this morning. Shouldering my laptop‌–‌containing backpack, I hopped on my bike and headed in search of wi‌–‌fi. We were going to kick ass on the hospital project and Green for Green would need to be ready for the next stage. I had work to do.

  There were a few options around the lake for food and shopping. We’d always favored The Forks. My dad would insist nothing beat a Forks cheeseburger, but Mom and I would argue their chocolate malts deserved the accolades. As an adult, I now suspected our devotion had more to do with the carefree bliss of summer vacation and the famishment a day on the lake usually created. While I’d be skipping the malt and burger, I was still looking forward to seeing the place.

  Before the trip, I’d looked up a few things online and been surprised‌—‌perhaps naïvely‌—‌by the modernization that had taken place around my favorite lake. At The Forks, there were still two side‌–‌by‌–‌side doors at the front, separate entrances to the restaurant and general store, but the cabins now offered air conditioning and free wi‌–‌fi.

  I arrived late for breakfast and early for lunch, which provided the perfect lull in a normally packed diner; I’d asked my server if I could hijack a picnic table outside for a little while and she’d waved away my concern about other customers.

  “It’ll be pretty quiet around here for the next two or three hours. You go right ahead.”

  Jill was the fourth generation of her family to own the resort and restaurant, something I’d learned from reading the menu, then confirmed with the woman herself as she refilled my water glass and picked up my empty oatmeal bowl.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to move inside, hon? The mosquitoes can be a real pain out here.”

  “I don’t want to take up valuable real estate in there; I’m sure you get really busy for lunch.”

  She laughed and gestured at the door with her head. “Come on, you’ll save me from coming out here to check on you. There’s a table in the corner we don’t usually seat customers at; you can use it for your work unless things get really crowded in there.”

  I couldn’t make the poor woman keep going in and out just for me, so I followed her inside and was immediately grateful for the cooler temperature. It was only eleven in the morning, but I could already tell the day would be hot and sticky. Tentatively planning on going for a swim this afternoon, I sat at the table Jill waved me toward and promised myself I’d only work for another hour before getting back in vacation mode.

  Near the end of my allotted research time, I came across a company in my neck of the woods that was implementing sustainable design in many of their new projects. Wondering if they’d be open to setting up a meeting to discuss what I might bring to the table, I set a reminder in my calendar to follow up once I was home. Curious to read more, I clicked around the website for a bit until I felt the weight of someone’s gaze.

  The diner had filled while I’d been engrossed in my work and I scanned the room, expecting to find that someone wanted my little table. As I looked to my left, I discovered a pair of amused eyes and a crooked smile aimed my way.

  My breath caught. Like some silly heroine in a romance novel.

  I would argue my involuntary response was entirely justified, though. Sitting at a barstool, turned fully around to face my little corner table with an elbow resting casually on the edge of the bar, was an alarmingly attractive man.

  Alarming in that my body reacted instantly to his attention.

  There were golden streaks through his tawny‌–‌colored hair and, though I couldn’t tell precisely what color his eyes were, they sparkled with a playfulness and, at the same time, an intensity that made me forget where I was.

  He wore shorts that displayed toned legs all the way down to his flip flops‌—‌in my opinion, very few men could pull off flip flops with their tendency toward hairy hobbit feet, but this guy was nailing it‌—‌and a white t‌–‌shirt that looked fantastic stretched across his chest and shoulders.

  What was it about a great‌–‌looking guy in a white t‌–‌shirt? Rawrrr.

  He smiled more fully and dipped his head and I felt my face heat at having been caught scoping him out. Exactly the kind of reaction I’d expect, having spent most of my life tongue‌–‌tied around attractive men.

  Was there some kind of outrageously handsome man convention up here? First Hot Boat Dude and now this guy.

  My abbreviated almost‌–‌smile‌—‌there and gone in a flash‌—‌was the kind of silent acknowledgement you give strangers all the time and the interaction usually ends there. This guy must’ve missed the memo because he got up and walked over to my table.

  “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of work you do that you’d have to bring it with you on vacation.” I opened my mouth to give a polite answer‌—‌one that would send him back to his stool so I could get my very interested lady parts to calm the hell down‌—‌but he peered intently at my face and grinned.

  Holy mother of panty‌–‌scorching perfection.

  “The more I watched you work, I realized you looked familiar.”

  It was that grin that jogged my memory. Jolted, actually, like a defibrillator.

  “Lukasz?”

  It shouldn’t have been possible, but his smile expanded. “Hey, Maya.”

  Chapter 10

  “Mind if I sit with you?”

  I must’ve been in shock. I’d been staring at Luka for‌…‌well, I honestly had no idea how long. Long enough for that megawatt smile to slip a notch or two and his feet to shift awkwardly.

  “Of course, sorry.” I sat up straight in my seat like I was being graded on my posture.

  He pulled out the other chair, which had been wedged nearly flush against the back wall. They really didn’t use this table; maybe it was good for assembling silverware‌–‌napkin rolls and refilling ketchup bottles.

  “God, Maya, it’s good to see you. You look‌…‌great. Amazing.” Since there was no way he’d have fit in the seat against the wall, he pulled the chair around and was now sitting six inches away from me. It felt like even less.

  “Oh, um, thanks. You, too. I just‌…‌can’t believe you’re here.”

  Jesus, I sounded like an idiot. But did he really use the word “amazing” to describe me?

  My hair was in a messy braid that worked best under my bike helmet, which was hanging, oh‌–‌so‌–‌coolly, off the back of my chair. I was wearing comfortable shorts and a concert tee I’d probably had since a year or two after I last saw him. I didn’t bother with makeup beyond the natural lip balm I always carried in my backpack or shoved in a pocket. Aside from the laugh lines and bags under my gunmet
al‌–‌blue eyes, which my mother had so helpfully and recently pointed out, I probably looked like the seventeen‌–‌year old girl he last‌—‌

  Anyway, moving on.

  He, of course, looked hotter than a roaring campfire with that strong jaw, teal eyes ringed in golden‌–‌brown, and lips that were still as sweetly tempting as a s’more.

  Focus, Maya. Do not lean across this tiny table and lick him.

  “Are you here with your family?” He glanced around, as if I’d mistakenly chosen this table‌–‌for‌–‌one and allowed the rest of my party to sit somewhere else.

  “No, just me. You?”

  It was bizarre to be sitting there with Luka, having a conversation‌—‌one of us struggling to do so considerably more than the other‌—‌while also having mini flashbacks of our past.

  Our. Felt weightier when I thought of it as something we shared. But I guess your first is always a pretty weighty thing.

  “My brother and his family came up for the weekend but, otherwise, I’m here on my own for the next couple of weeks. Where are you staying?”

  I told him and his teeth flashed again. That was the frustrating, wonderful thing about Lukasz: he was always so damn‌…‌smiley. So damn handsome, I thought to myself, sighing inwardly.

  “That’s where we are. Just like old times, huh?”

  Okay, that was definitely a reference to our time here as teenagers. The playful twinkle in his eye was hint enough.

  “No grandparents or parents to ditch this time, though.” My eyes widened, instantly flustered by what I’d said. The main reason we’d snuck away from our relatives in the past was to make out. A lot.

  He absolutely caught my slip and its accompanying embarrassment. The light in his eyes shifted from playful twinkle to devilish gleam as he leaned closer. “Nah, this time we’ll just have to ditch my niece and nephew.”

  I had no response. Was he implying we’d be spending time together? Insinuating we’d be making out like horny seventeen‌–‌year olds again?