Summer’s Road

Kelly Moran

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

© COPYRIGHT 2016 by Kelly Moran

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

ISBN: 9781310442018

Cover Art by: Kelly Moran

Photo Credit: Dollar Photo Club

Smashwords eBook Edition

Published in the United States of America

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The Dysfunctional Test

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Summer's Road

Sheer Luck

CHAPTER ONE

Summer Quinn

The last thing, the very last thing on earth I expected to see when I opened my front door was my estranged mother standing on my front porch, wringing her hands. It took me point five frazzled seconds to connect the woman I’d only met in photographs with the one before me. My fingers closed over the doorknob with a death grip. Dizziness swamped me, sending the room into a whirl.

This couldn’t be real. But, yet...

I focused on keeping my limbs from leaping across the threshold and wrapping her in my arms. Stupid, stupid, Summer. You’re not a kid anymore.

Oh, and today of all days to show up? Not good. History proved I needed to immerse myself in my art or I’d lose it. There were several paintings that had to be finished for the charity auction. And it was four years ago today my dad had died. I needed to keep my mind focused on the first and off the latter.

“Hello,” Sharon said. “I’m—“

“I know who you are,” I breathed.

“Can we talk?” The southern twang in my mother’s voice was more pronounced than the accent here in the Carolinas. Texas? Louisiana?

“Uh...” God, I was so articulate. Wait…did she say ‘talk?’ Talk about what? What could there possibly be to talk about after twenty-eight years?

After gaping at her for several elongated moments, I snapped out of my haze and stepped back, holding the door open. I should have said something like, what in the hell are you doing here? But words failed me. I wasn’t smooth in high stress situations like my boyfriend, Matt. I couldn’t yell my way out of an argument like my best friend, Ian. Most of the time, I was a coward. My hands shook, so I fisted them at my sides and strode through the living room into the kitchen.

“Follow me.”

I knew I had acrylic paint in my hair. I looked down at myself. And on my clothes. Tears tightened my throat. It figured. My mother had finally come home, and I looked like a Pollock painting gone haywire.

I stopped in the long, narrow kitchen by the stove, unable to turn around and face her. Several blue and white checkered linoleum squares were between me and the table where she had sat down. A strange sort of numb shock was keeping me from acting.

“You want some tea?” I asked, my back still to her. Was that too civilized?

Sharon cleared her throat. “Sure.” Silence. “It looks different in here than when I last saw it.”

Biting my retort, I set the kettle to boil and transferred two tea bags into two mugs. Two. I hadn’t needed to make two cups of tea since Daddy died. No one else but me and him drank the stuff. Ian wouldn’t even drink iced sweet tea.

Suddenly, the anger I thought I had banked over the years returned, fierce and potent, completely overruling my nerves. It had been festering my whole life and was now ready to explode. Envisioning the overly dramatic aftermath of holes through the painted yellow wall and the china broken in pieces on the linoleum, I marched to the table and set the mug of tea down in front of Sharon so hard the honey-colored liquid sloshed over the side.

She didn’t flinch, just picked up the tea bag and dipped it repeatedly to steep, an aura of calm surrounding her. Which seemed false. I walked to the counter by the back door and took the opportunity to examine her while she was distracted with her tea.

She was close to my height and build, but her frame was more willowy, and she wore the yellow sundress well. Her hair had turned from the pale strawberry blonde in my father’s photos to a champagne color. It was pixie short, too. In pictures, it had been long, trailing to the middle of her back in thick waves. There were fine lines around her eyes and mouth that hadn’t been there in her youthful form, but she had aged well, not looking at all like fifty-something.

I frowned. Laugh lines on the woman who must have had many good memories in her absence here. That only served to fuel my temper. What right did she have to be happy?

Sharon looked up then, her blue gaze locking on mine. Her eyes mirrored my own and had a weariness to them that almost brought down my fury. Almost.

“You have my eyes,” Sharon said, as if reading my thoughts.

I leaned against the counter and crossed my arms. Sharon’s voice wasn’t as I imagined it would be, but then, I didn’t have anything to base it on either. It was soft, like the still waters of the creek behind my home.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit sad? That the only thing I ever got from you was your eyes?”

There weren’t calls on my birthday or bedtime stories or kissed boo-boos. No. All I’d ever had to prove I had a mother once upon a time were crystal blue eyes that darkened around the edges.

Sharon nodded knowingly. “You’re angry.”

I uncrossed my arms and had to grip the counter for control. “Am I not supposed to be? This is a relatively small community…Sharon.” I wanted to say Mother, Mom, Mama—but those endearments wedged in my throat. Didn’t seem right. “Do you have any idea what it was like for Dad? How humiliated he must have felt because his wife ran out on him? How hard it was raising a daughter all on his own?”

Sharon looked away. “What about you, Summer? What was it like for you?”

What was it like for me? Well, let’s see. I spent my whole childhood thinking there was something wrong with me, my teenage years utterly angry and bitter, and my adulthood empty and alone. What the hell do you think?

“Tom said you were a happy kid.” Sharon looked at me again. There was a wistful sort of optimism in her voice, as if she actually hoped it were true. “That you were extremely independent and an over-achiever, but happy.”

I couldn’t bring myself to respond. Hearing my dad’s name from Sharon’s lips was jarring. Plus, I hadn’t been a happy kid. Not a lot of the time. Had it not been for Ian, having a best friend right next door, I’m not so sure I would’ve had any friends. And something about seeing her sitting in my kitchen made me feel like an unwanted child again.

Sharon stood and took a step closer.

I jerked away from the counter and moved away. “What do you want? Why did you come?”

Why didn’t you ever come back? What was wrong with me?

Sharon reached out, but quickly pulled her hand back, the movement making me catch a trace of lilac and fabric softener. Smells that should have no familiarity, but did. They were entirely different from Daddy’s scent of pine and Ivory soap.

“I wanted to see you,” she said, coming no closer to crowd me, but the room suddenly felt smaller. “I’ve made mistakes…” Her shoulders slumped. Marginal, but noticeable.

“A little late, isn’t it?”

“The best thing I could do for you was leave. I wasn’t cut out for parenthood. Tom…” She paused over his name like it hurt to say. “I’m sorry. Your dad was so excited for you to arrive. I felt trapped. I was never a responsible person, less so then. Later, I wanted to come see you, but—”

“But what?” There was a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach. The very long pause my mother left hanging in the room only deepened the churning.

“Your dad wouldn’t let me.”

“You lie,” I ground through clenched teeth. “What do you really want?”

After sighing heavily and turning to the table, Sharon extracted an envelope from her purse. She handed it over. No wedding ring. Briefly, before I could quash the thought, a wave of relief hit that Sharon hadn’t replaced us with a new family in her absence.

“What is this?” I stared at the envelope, hating the tremor in my voice.

“The deed to this house. Legally, it’s in my name.”

The room shrank, taking all the air. Only the counter held me up when I stumbled against it. I fumbled with the envelope. “That’s impossible. He left a will—”

“Which mentions it going to you. But my lawyer called and told me my name was still on the original deed. Your father must have forgotten—”

“He’s been dead four years. Why now?”

“I only just found out.” Her tone was pleading.

So that’s why she came back. She didn’t want to see me or say she was sorry or be a mother. It shouldn’t hurt so much, but it did. Old ghosts I should have exorcised years ago.

Placing a hand to my head to stop the pounding, I looked at her. “You want to take my home from me? I grew up here. Dad died here. My whole life is in this house. My studio, my…”

Sharon shook her head as if in disbelief. “Twenty years have gone by and I don’t know my daughter.”

Twenty-eight. “Whose fault is that?” I clamped my mouth shut, remembering Sharon blamed my father. I wasn’t going down that road now. The bomb she’d laid on me about the house was enough. “So…what? You want to move in and get to know me? Be all lovey and pretend everything is kosher? Or just take the house from me?”

“I don’t know. I thought…” She glanced around the room before returning my gaze. “We have to work out the arrangements for the house. Maybe we could get better acquainted.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. When I was a child, I would have given anything, anything for this moment. An explanation, an apology, or just to see my mom standing there in my kitchen. But it was too late. Too late. Now, after all this time, she’d returned, threatening to take my only sanctuary in this awful world and claiming to want to know me all in one sentence.

“You lost the right to worry about me. You lost the right to know anything about me and my life.” Fixing my eyes to Sharon’s, to hold her there and make my case clear, I said, “I don’t want anything to do with you. And this is my house. You will not take it from me. There’s the door.” I pointed. “But then, you remember that much, right?”

Visibly shaken, Sharon placed a hand to her breast, making me feel like the bad guy. Guilt punched my chest. After a moment, Sharon nodded, grabbed her purse from the table, and headed to the back door.

Stopping with her hand poised over the doorknob, she didn’t turn around. “For what it’s worth, I thought about you every day. Here’s my information in case you change your mind. You don’t know everything, Summer. You need to hear the truth.” Setting a small scrap of paper down on the counter, she left.

The click of the kitchen door echoed off the walls. Frozen in place, I stood in the middle of the room and tried to get my bearings. Tried to breathe. Shaking my head profusely, I flung my hands over my face and nearly fell to my knees.

Sharon was gone. Again.

And again, I was all alone.

Sucking in a breath, I straightened. Not now. Now was not the time for this.

I needed to go see our attorney. This had to be some horrible, crazy mix-up. How, after he’d been gone four years, had this just come up now?

No way in hell was that woman taking Daddy’s house from me.

“Summer, calm down.” Tim Avery put his palms up and rounded his enormous walnut desk in his enormous, expensively decorated office, with his enormous girth jutting over his belt.

Normally, I liked our attorney, Tim. I hadn’t the need to call on him often through the years, but he’d always been patient and composed. There was no calming me now. I’d pushed through the outer glass doors on Main Street, marching right past his flustered secretary and into his office down the hall. He’d taken one look at me and ended his phone call.

“She wants to take the house from me!”

“Look, I was filing away some old documents and discovered the discrepancy. I contacted her lawyer to work it out.”

“You…How did you even know how to contact her? When Daddy died, you said you couldn’t reach her.”

Gesturing to a chair, he sat, expecting me to do the same. When it was clear I wasn’t going to follow suit, he sighed and shook his head. His thin, dark comb-over didn’t budge with the motion. He swiped at his sweaty brow with a handkerchief before stuffing it back in his breast pocket.

“I only have her lawyer’s info. I’ve had to contact her exactly twice in the past twenty years. Once to have her release all custody rights over to your dad, and the other to let her know he was sick.”

So, Sharon had known. While I had struggled with college and bills and doctors, and while my father was losing a painful battle with cancer, my mother had known and still hadn’t come. Sharon was as heartless as I’d hoped she wasn’t.

It had been an extremely difficult time in my life. I’d battled with depression on and off throughout childhood and adolescence, but those first years when Daddy had been sick were when it had become necessary for me to take an anti-depressant. Most college students went out drinking and dreaming of a future. I’d stayed home and hand-fed my father, thinking there was no future anymore.

“There’s a few things we can do,” Tim said, opening a folder in his pudgy hands. “We can ask Sharon to sign all rights to you as the will mandates. If she agrees, you may have to buy out her half, similar to a divorce agreement. If she disagrees, we’d have to go to court. Unfortunately, I don’t think we have a leg to stand on. Both of your parents bought that house thirty years ago. Tom never changed the deed.”

I sat in the chair next to him to keep from getting sick. “Why didn’t you tell me about this when you first found out?”

Looking genuinely upset, his gaze softened. “I had no way of knowing she’d come back to Wylie. I thought we could work it out and I’d tell you after the fact, or after I’d learned more. I’m sorry, Summer.”

Absently rubbing my arm, I stared off into space. “I can’t lose that house.”

“I put in a call to her lawyer.” He tried for a reassuring smile and failed. “I’ll call you or come by when I know more. Try not to worry.”

When I stepped outside into the hot Carolina sun, the humidity did little to chase the chill away. What was I supposed to do now? If that house was gone, there’d be nothing left of my father, my memories.

Needing to get my mind off the problem, as it was out of my hands for now, I weighed my options. I was too hyped up to work on a painting. Ian’s store was two blocks down on my left. He would be as rightfully angry as I was. As my best friend, he’d always been on my side, even when it was the wrong one.

But he’d worry about me. I couldn’t put him through that again. Ever since he’d found me after my father had died, I’d vowed not to concern my friends like that again. Before his death, I’d kept most of my problems to myself, but after, I’d told no one. I wanted Ian, but that just wasn’t wise until I was calmer.

Which left Matt. He lived two hours away in Greensboro. We had an open relationship, but we’d known each other as kids from summering at Seasmoke. Last year, we’d decided to make a go of it and started dating. In the beginning, it had felt more like a business arrangement than a relationship, but things had changed since then. We’d done everything but consummate.

Maybe a drive would do me some good. Perhaps a decent, hot round of sex would be better medicine. Except Matt’s ‘no sex before marriage’ rule would halt that. He was an extremely devout born-again Christian. It would be nice to just have someone hold me and say it’d be all right, which he’d do.

Decision made, I pulled my cell from my pocket while walking across the two lane street to my car. The traffic was lessoning after the lunch rush, but would soon pick up again as people got out of work. This was the main strip in our small community. Running south, it covered all of Wylie, South Carolina, and north, into Charlotte, was a fifteen minute drive.

I left a voicemail on the answering machine at Matt’s house, knowing he’d get the message right when he walked in the door. I checked my watch. He’d be out of work in a half hour. Grinning, I started the car and headed for 85.

Two hours later, I fidgeted under Matt’s gaze. Before I could even ring the bell, the front door to his cape cod had swung open and his eyebrows rose. Still wearing my jeans and T-shirt splattered in paint, I wasn’t exactly dressed for a date.

He must’ve just finished with a shower. His dark red hair was slick, making his fair skin seem lighter. His long, trim body leaned against the doorway, his height towering over me.

“Been working on a masterpiece?” he asked with a grin.

“Har, har. Let me in.”

Crouching to my eye level, he stole a kiss, quick and...nice, before backing up and allowing me inside.

Though we’d been dating about a year, I’d only been to his place a handful of times. Usually, he came to Wylie to see me. His living room, decorated in muted gray tones, made me want to go nuts with color someday when he wasn’t looking. Everything was clean lines and angles. I was going to ruin his furniture with my soiled clothes.

“I think I’m dry,” I said, gesturing, though uncertain.

“I don’t care.” His gaze raked over me with caution anyway. “I missed you. What brings you all the way to Greensboro?”

There was a loaded question. I wanted to get away for a bit from the norm. I wanted comfort from the terror I was feeling. I wanted the peace of mind only he offered, because Matt never pressed me for serious conversation or wanted to know why I did the things I did. He was just there. Actually, we didn’t have real conversations at all. If anything, he catered to me, cared for me, but we knew very little about each other.

Kinda sad.

Swallowing, I walked down a short hall and into the small but efficient kitchen. This room, too, needed life. The cabinets, countertops, and walls were white. Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, I filled it with water from the tap. I looked out the window over the sink to his yard as he came up behind me. He had a decent-sized in-ground swimming pool, about eight feet deep, and just long enough to swim laps. Around the pool, past the deck, were non-flowering bushes lining a cedar privacy fence. Even the yard needed color.

He kissed my neck. “What’s wrong?”

Setting the glass on the counter, I turned in his arms, resting my cheek on his chest and breathing in some exotic spice scent. “My mother came to the house today.”

Stepping back, he looked down at me with eyes rounded in surprise. Matt had grown up with me and my friends, at least in the summers, so he knew about my mother, though I’d rarely spoken about her. He didn’t know the torment Sharon’s absence had caused me growing up, or the way I’d stupidly let it shape my life. Even now, it should be something long past, but it was still a very real void. Something I just couldn’t let go.

“What did she want?”

Shrugging, I told him the short version and then what the lawyer had said. “I guess I just have to see what she does.”

“Do I need to get you a new attorney?”

I shook my head. He would bring the logical into the equation and leave out the emotional. I so needed that right now. Not someone to worry over me and know just how devastating this could turn out to be. “Daddy should have fixed this a long time ago, though Tim should’ve seen it sooner. It was just a...mistake.”

Pulling me close, he rested his chin on my head. “I ordered takeout. Thai. It should be here soon. We can eat by the pool, if you like.”

I hated Thai food, yet grinned up at him. “Okay. But I have to head back after that. I have a class to teach in the morning.”

His hazel eyes watched me for a long time before he swallowed. Reaching up, he lifted a piece of my hair, rubbing the long, blonde strands between his fingers. His jaw was narrow, his cheekbones high. Matt wasn’t the traditional kind of handsome, but he was good-looking in that ‘aw shucks’ southern way. Like the boy next door. Which was hilarious because Matt looked nothing like Ian, the actual guy next door.

“What were you working on today that required red paint?” He seemed amused by the splotches of color in my hair.

The landscape I’d been working on before the doorbell rang this morning came to mind. I’d been trying to capture Main Street in Wylie at sunset. The cars were still, the people from town captured mid-stride walking on the sidewalks, window shopping, or chatting. Geraniums and marigolds popped out of enlarged flower pots near the light posts.

“You’ll have to come over and see.” I smiled.

His return smile was easy, like his personality. “I was planning on visiting Wylie on Sunday, if you don’t mind. I wanted to talk to you about something that happened today.”

“Tell me now. I’m here.”

His smile faded. “You had a rough day and have enough to think about. We’ll talk later.”

His gaze darted out the window over the sink and then back to me. Something in the way he was staring at me had my pulse hammering and my breath short. Damn if I knew why. Intuition?

“I love you,” he said.

I stilled. Okay, first he wanted to talk, then he dropped ‘I love you’ for the first time. Was this the part of our relationship where we moved on from contentment to more? Did I love him? He was the husband and two kids kind of guy. Did I want that with him?

Well, I wanted four kids. Four happy, spirited kids running down to the creek like me and Ian had in our youth. Four kids with a mother and father who loved them more than life itself. I’d never really pictured who that guy with me would be, though.

And me and Matt had never talked about the future before. Everything had always been casual. Too casual. Something was going on with him, something big enough to ‘talk’ about. Could we actually pull off a real conversation?

Before I could contemplate an answer, the doorbell rang, and Matt grinned. “Worry not, Summer. You don’t need to say it back yet.” Leaning in, he kissed me and then went to answer the door.

CHAPTER TWO

Twenty-Two Years Ago—Age Six

“Diana at school said s-so,” I stammered through the sobs. “Sh-she said that it wasn’t normal. That I was bad and that’s why Mommy wasn’t here.”

Here, at home in Daddy’s arms in the living room, I was safe. He smelled like soap and wood where I pressed my face into his shirt. School wasn’t like that. I hated it. I was never going back. Ever. It smelled like paste and pee and Mrs. Schmidt’s perfume. The kids were mean. They laughed at me and called me stupid and told me I couldn’t play because I didn’t have a mommy.

“Shh. Come now,” Daddy cooed in a soft murmur. “That Diana doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

My chest hurt. My tummy wanted to throw up. “But Mommy isn’t here,” I insisted.

Daddy started rocking, the motion matching his heartbeats. One. Two. Three. “Mommy isn’t here, no. But do you know why?” He paused. “She had to go climb mountains so high that the white snow never melts. Where she can see the whole world from the very top.” He sighed, rubbing my back with his calloused hands. “She had to go swimming in the deep, deep blue ocean with the fish and octopus. She had lots of important things to do and see.”

Why couldn’t I go, too? To climb mountains and swim in the ocean?

He kissed the tip of my nose. I loved it when he did that. It tickled, but it made everything better. “Mommy is gone, kiddo, but that’s not your fault. You’re not bad and normal is overrated. Who wants to be like everyone else anyway?”

I shrugged my shoulder against his chest, not wanting to disappoint him. I wanted to be normal. To be like everyone else. To fit in. I didn’t want to be the only kid in school without a mommy. I could still hear them laughing at me in my head, so I pinched my eyes closed really, really tight.

“Why don’t we call Ian and Rick over? We can catch fireflies and make wishes on their light?”

At school, Rick had come to my classes’ side of the playground and sat with me at recess. “They’re dumb,” he had said. Ian had shouted at the other kids to shut-up and refused to play kickball with them. At least I had them to talk to. They never made me feel different.

“Okay,” I agreed.

Present

Moments like this, in the quiet ease of a day’s end with only my thoughts as a companion, was typically all I needed. It usually didn’t bother me that I was mostly alone. People unnerved me. I’d much rather not have commotion in my head. So, for just tonight, while I was striving for the contentment my day didn’t permit, I wouldn’t let the rest of it matter.

I sat on the wooden, faded porch steps outside of the home I grew up in and stared at the moon. The June humidity was heavy, as it forever was in the south, making my cotton shirt cling to my skin. I tried to not let that bother me either. Something magical occurred at sundown. The hum of the world quieted, hushing out the conundrums of everyday life. The fireflies would emerge soon, casting an uncanny glow throughout the yard. The crickets were already chirping their sing-songs, a tune only they could understand.

My mother wanted to take this all away.

I glanced at the curved gravel driveway and smiled, remembering leaping into my father’s arms as a child when he’d returned from work. If I closed my eyes, I could still feel that ripple of pleasure at hearing the tires crunch when he pulled in. The black-eyed Susans and coneflowers were pleasantly scattered near that bend by the road. I couldn’t see them just now, but knew they were there. Dandelions adorned the ankle high grass on the front lawn in front of me. I didn’t care to disturb them, even though they would come back every year with their happy color. I always found it amusing that, when they wilted, I could wish on them. They would scatter more seeds as they drifted away, only to be reborn the next year.

Wishes were funny things. It mattered not how many times I’d made one, they never came true. That rarely stopped me from peering at the stars or dropping a penny into the old well on Barker Road and whispering a secret desire. How many times as a child had I wished for my mother to return? Maybe the fates had just heard my plea now.

I pulled the crumpled note Sharon had left on the counter from my pocket and stared at it. The address she wrote down said “Houston.”

You don’t know everything, Summer, my mother’s voice echoed.

I should talk to Ian about it, but pocketed the note again. What good would that do? It may temporarily make me feel better, but he would infuse me with that I’m worried about you look and then go on a verbal tirade about how I shouldn’t talk to the woman.

I glanced next door to see if Ian had returned home yet. Considering there weren’t many acres between our houses, I never felt too far away from him. His bedroom light was on, indicating his date didn’t go so well. I smirked, trying to remember the last time Ian Memmer was home at nine on a Friday night. He was probably upstairs in his room, waiting for me to bring a movie by to watch.

Rising, I swirled the ice in my glass as I closed the screen door behind me. I didn’t bother locking it. The only houses tucked back on the inlet road were mine and Ian’s, and there wasn’t a need to lock doors in this town. The same people still lived here, as did their parents before them. The same shops on every corner. At times, the same small minds.

I set my glass in the kitchen sink. The floorboards upstairs creaked and I grinned, grabbing a bottle of beer from the fridge for Ian since he was up there. I rarely drank, but kept it stocked for him. Sighing, I headed upstairs, the boards groaning in complaint. Entering my bedroom, I found Ian planted on my window seat, looking as if he had all night to wait. He must’ve seen me on the porch and went in the back door, knowing I hated being disturbed while lost in my head. So few people got that about me.

In the back of my memory, I recalled a little brown-haired boy running over, covered in mud, insisting we go down to the creek to catch bullfrogs. He wasn’t as broody and protective back then. Or perhaps that was the romantic artist in me altering memory.

He wore his favorite faded jeans, even in this heat. But, knowing him, his shirt had come off probably hours before. A thin scattering of dark hair dappled his chest, making a trail down to the waistband of his jeans where a V of muscle peeked over the denim. His stomach was rippled with a slight six pack, the muscles lining his shoulders and biceps bunched as he crossed his arms. It wasn’t the kind of body manufactured in a gym, but rather the result of hard, physical work and good genes.

Yeah, I could see why every woman in the county wanted a piece of him. Perhaps one day he’d allow more than sex with one of his conquests.

His head was tilted down, his short, cropped black hair mussed, like he’d run his fingers through it half a dozen times. Interesting. He did that when he was upset. I took in his grin with a curious eye.

Nope, not upset. He was up to something. Probably something wicked.

Ian Memmer

I knew what was coming before Summer even opened her perfect, pouty mouth.

“Date didn’t go so well, huh?” She tossed me a beer.

From her window seat, I caught the bottle with one hand and struggled to maintain a deadpan expression. “Actually, Susie’s right where I left her—in her bed, counting her blessings.”

I chuckled as her eyebrows shot up, as they always did when she was annoyed with me. I made my way to the bed, setting the beer on the nightstand and sat down, paging through one of her female magazines with little interest.

She walked over to the corner of the room and pulled clothes out of her top dresser drawer for the morning, her movements stiff. Ah, my girl was irked by my response. If there was one thing in this world I appreciated most, it was to annoy her. Most of the time, it was the only way to get a rise out of her. She’d been raising those eyebrows at me since as far back as my memory allowed her there.

“Counting her blessings,” she repeated, turning away from the dresser, waving a satin red bra at me. I narrowed my eyes to mask the images that invoked. Summer Quinn, best friend of mine, had a body that could make a dead man breathe anew. “High opinion of your sexual expertise, eh?”

“I didn’t hear Susie complaining.” I grinned, gaze on the magazine, and stuck my tongue in my cheek, knowing without looking her lips were twisted in a wry pout. That damn mouth of hers needed to be kissed by someone who knew how.

“Pervert.”

“Prude.”

“I’m kicking you out in five minutes.” She stared at the ceiling, then me. “I have class in the morning.”

“Summer school is a travesty to this nation.” I rubbed my hand over the handmade quilt my mother had fondly stitched for her ten years ago.

“You know it’s my art therapy class.” She rubbed her forehead in frustration.

Tiny wisps of caramel-colored blonde hair at her nape and by her left ear had freed themselves from her ponytail. I looked away before I crossed the room to touch them. “I don’t understand how you get paid to play with paint and bratty kids all day. And it’s a waste of your talent.”

Except, I did understand, but her reason for teaching was absurd. Normally, I didn’t bother bringing up the class with her. A futile argument, one among many. I had been worried about her all damn day. And that class couldn’t be helping her mindset.

Being the giver she was, she rarely worried about herself. She’d gotten me a passing grade in more than one class in high school. If not for her, I’d be stuck behind a desk somewhere instead of building them, using my business degree instead of my hands. She was the first person to ask about my projects, encouraging and praising my work. She’d taken care of me when I’d been sick, every time, and cleaned my house when I’d been too engrossed in a project to bother.

It wasn’t just me, either. Rick and Dee’s elder neighbor had taken a fall down her basement stairs two years back. Summer had watered the woman’s plants and taken care of her cat while she’d been in rehab. Summer was allergic to cats. Had that stopped her? No. And her students? She’d visited every one of them in the hospital, held their tiny hands during treatments. She’d attended funerals when they hadn’t beaten the odds. She wore herself thin and then gave more.

I lay back on her pillows, upset with the fact she poured her heart every Saturday into a group of children that may not be there the next week. Because those “special kids,” as she referred to them, could die at any given moment. She didn’t care. No, I amended. She did care, too much. She just pretended not to. She forged on every week like the little trooper she was, brushing off the obvious.

She tilted her head and looked at me. “I’m tired of this conversation. Besides, you play with wood all day.”

She meant that in the literal sense, not metaphorical. I build custom furniture, cozy office or library pieces mostly. I even have a little reading corner in the shop where I sell books.

I mumbled to myself as I got up and walked to the door. Owning my own store, something that had been her idea, and dealing with suppliers or customers was entirely different than surrounding myself with dying kids who broke my heart. I liked wood. Wood couldn’t talk back. Wood couldn’t break my heart.

She stretched, raising her arms over her head. “How’s that rocking chair coming along for the Andersons? You were worried about getting the carving just right.”

Case and point. It was the anniversary of her father’s death and she asked how my day had gone. “Good. I’m nearly done. They wanted a distressed mission-style. I think it came out all right.”

Grinning, she shook her head. “It came out more than all right. The detail is amazing.”

My heart tugged and twisted. “Someone snuck into my workshop again.”

“I admit nothing. Except that I may or may not have seen you putting the finishing touches on it. You were engrossed. I didn’t want to disturb you.” She pulled something from her pocket, a scrap of paper, and tossed it into a desk drawer next to the dresser, then proceeded to stare at the drawer as if it might jump out at her and do a trick.

My heart bumped against my ribs in worry. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, rubbing her upper arms to warm herself. The sound of skin brushing skin in the quiet of her room was thunderous. She had such perfect skin. Like warm milk.

She wasn’t fine, though. I could tell. I was beginning to despise the word. Perhaps she had herself convinced fine was the truth. I knew better, because those beautiful eyes of hers had a vacant expression and her hand trailed down to rub her right arm where it had been broken from a fall out of a river birch twenty years ago. A habit she used unknowingly when nervous or thinking of something that bothered her.

Today was the anniversary of her father’s death. She’d come a long way since then, but I knew just how hard it still was on her. Her father had been her only family, and if that hadn’t been tough enough on her growing up, it had devastated her after Tom died. Summer still had a hard time grasping I was right here in front of her. That I would never leave her. And our friends, Rick and Dee, who were right across town, would never walk either.

While standing in the doorway, I leaned against the jamb with my arms folded over my bare chest. After two plus decades of friendship, she hardly ever seemed aware of my body. Every woman in Wylie took notice, except the one I wanted to. I watched her put away the magazine I’d left on the bed, then stop to stare at me from across the room. So poised. So controlled. So beautifully broken, my best friend.

And damn those blue eyes of hers. They looked like the edge of twilight.

“How’s Matt?” I asked, not giving an actual shit to the answer.

Matt. I used to like him a lot more when he was just her summer romance down at Seasmoke. Since last year’s trip to the coast, Matt and Summer had been dating somewhat seriously. I figured as long as Matt was still living a couple of hours away in Greensboro, that’s all it would be.

“He’s fine. I drove out there today.” Grabbing the beer from her nightstand, she handed it to me and walked back to sit on the edge of the bed. “He said he loved me.” She looked at me, stopping my heart mid-beat. “He’s coming over on Sunday.”

Crap. Matt was taking it to the next level. “You sleep with him yet?”

She sighed and whipped me one of those none-of-your-business looks. I grinned and shrugged. That meant no. No meant there was still hope for… “You know, you could be counting your blessings one day, too.”

She picked up her shoe from the side of the bed and threw it in my general direction in response to my sexual innuendo. I laughed, barely dodging it, and disappeared from her doorway to leave her sitting on the bed, contemplating.

And she would do just that, I thought, think about it.

Summer

I growled deep in my throat and flopped back on my bed. I snuck a glance at my bookshelf, gaze landing Ian’s photo. His sharp facial features and chiseled chin. His eyebrows were low, almost masking the deep brown color of his eyes. He always looked somewhat dangerous until he smiled. He was a good looking man. But he knew he was attractive, as did the entire female population of Wylie.

Wasn’t it against the laws of nature and rules of friendship to think of a best friend that way? Issue the I could eat you alive, but wouldn’t dare look? We’d grown up next door to one another. It wasn’t a brother-sister kind of relationship, but it wasn’t the kind to get all hot and bothered between the sheets either. Sex between us would ruin everything. Sex killed friendships.

So what was up with him lately? All the innuendos and wink-winks?

When we were fifteen, and I was dating one of the high school football players, I’d run next door to tell Ian about Scott Michaels kissing me before the game. I had been so very upset because he’d broken up with me right after.

“Maybe I’m really bad at kissing,” I’d confessed to Ian later.

Ian had looked pissed off. He’d hauled me against him, kissed me deliberately and thoroughly, and backed away from me quicker than a blink. “You’re not,” he’d said.

He’d acted like he wanted to say more, but the bubble of laughter rising in my belly couldn’t be swallowed. It had erupted in my throat, exploded out of my mouth, and caused me to grab my sides and double over. Ian had kissed me. To prove I was a good kisser. It had been hysterical. It was just like him to do something like that, too. I hadn’t even had enough time to process if the kiss was any good. But the absurdity of the situation and, I must admit now, the anxiousness I’d felt at the time, caused the frenzied laughter to envelop me. It had just been him proving a point, after all. But Ian’s eyes had narrowed to a sliver, jaw muscles clenching. He had not been happy by my reaction.

It was the only time, the one and only time, we had ever crossed that line.

I pinched my eyes closed now and banished all images from my mind, wondering where on earth that memory had come from. I blamed Ian and his damned counting your blessings comment. I hadn’t thought about that kiss in a long time. I’d hardly thought about it when it had happened.

Most people were wary of his occasional bad temper and black moods, which changed faster than I changed my mind. That was Ian, broody as all get out. He could also charm the pants off anything with breasts. I would never fear Ian or his doldrums, though. Possibly because I was entirely too used to them. He’d never laid a hand on me in anger, on anyone. Not unless he was pushed beyond the brink and the other guy had it coming. Usually in my defense. I was known to this small town as his only weakness. Ian was loyal to a fault and took care of those he loved.

But Ian didn’t see me as he saw every other woman. How could he? We were best friends. He had a precise way of dropping those irritating little comments now and then, though, that caused my artistic mind to play potential pictures through my head. Like giving him a taste of his own medicine by sliding a finger from his full mouth, down his bare chest, farther still to the waistband of his pants…

I resisted the urge to growl again.

Ian was a perpetual bachelor and I wanted a family someday. He wanted fun. I wanted real. It didn’t matter how many comments he made while goading or teasing me, or how many quick-flash fantasies popped in my head while he tried to get a rise out of me. He didn’t want me in a romantic sense. Which was reciprocal, right? That was the cold, hard truth.

And he was all I had left in this world.

I got up and opened the window a crack to let the scent of summer inside. Not enough to let the heat in, but enough for my mind to clear. I took a moment to linger by the window, wishing I could bottle the humid scent of warm, night breezes and open it whenever I desired.

There wasn’t much to disguise the stars tonight. Rick, another of my good friends, used to sit with me counting stars, as he called it. They don’t make Cary Grant men like Rick anymore. He once told me God must’ve hung the moon for me. Yeah, he always knew what to say to make me feel better. Where Ian would argue and throw down challenges, Rick would sooth and calm.

Now, if I could find a guy like Rick, who was a one-woman man, who doted on his wife and saw me as the only person in the world, then maybe I’d make that plunge. There was absolutely no sexual chemistry between me and Rick. Never had been. Even if there was, he was married to Dee, and they were so well suited for each other.

Mostly, Ian said all the wrong things and irritated me beyond all comprehensive thought, but he was always there. He knew me better than most people I allowed in. And under all that charisma, he was a good guy who did the right thing. At this rate, me and Ian would wind up in a nursing home together at eighty, still single and still arguing.

And then there was Matt. He looked at me like I was...important. Most of the time. Actually, he acted more like I was a puzzle to figure out. But he was in Greensboro and I had no idea where our relationship was headed. He’d said he loved me today. That had to be good, right? There had only been a few men in my life who’d said those words—my father, Rick, Ian, and Jacob Johnson. Jacob didn’t count. It had been fifth grade and he’d wanted me to show him my bra. Yet, I didn’t get that ping of glee I figured I should feel at Matt’s declaration.

I pulled off my white T-shirt and put on a nightgown. Ian had given it to me years ago and I always slept in it. The soft, navy cotton fit me like a glove and reminded me nightly I still had at least him in my life. Almost everyone else may be gone, but he was still here. He’d tried to buy me others, but I wouldn’t have it. It was one of those comfort things I refused to part with. I had very few things these days that comforted me. I unbuttoned my khaki shorts and slid them down to a pile on the floor. They immediately went into the hamper in the closet.

Pewter chimes outside my window sounded musical through the small room and casted shadows across the ceiling in the moonlight. I curled up under my covers and rubbed my legs under the cool cotton sheets. Reaching over, I switched off the lamp.

And then the phone rang. Figured.

“Hey, beautiful.”

I secretly loved that Matt called me beautiful. What woman didn’t like being reminded she was attractive to her guy? “Hi, Matt.”

“Is Sunday still okay for me to visit? We can have a date, talk, you know.”

“Yeah, sure.” I hated that I need to talk to you line and my stomach twisted. “Anything wrong?”

“No. Well, at least I don’t think so. I think it’s a good thing and hoping you do, too.”

I grinned, but my stomach didn’t settle. “All right. I’ve got class in the morning, so I need to sleep.”

“Night, beautiful.”

His voice stayed with me as I laid back to close my eyes. Maybe things with Matt would work out. Maybe I’d finally get a chance to have a family again.

CHAPTER THREE

Eighteen Years Ago—Age Eight

I was entirely too old to believe in this sort of thing. Even all the kids at school in my class were saying there was no such thing as Santa Claus. How could a guy only come out once a year, on a flying sleigh, and give gifts to every kid in the world? Come on! Though I didn’t tell anyone, not even Daddy, I wrote a letter to Santa one last time, just in case. I had even talked Daddy into taking me to the Concord Mall to see him. Because if Santa was real, he may be my only hope.

I was different from everyone else. Most kids asked for video games or movies or toys. I asked for my mother to come home.

On Christmas morning, I lay in bed, waiting to hear Daddy’s footsteps in the hall. I hadn’t slept much last night, but I was sure I hadn’t heard reindeer hooves on the roof either. Maybe Santa wasn’t real. Maybe I should just give it up.

Silent as a mouse, Daddy poked his head into my room. “Ah, you are awake. Should we go see if the jolly fat guy came?”

I grinned, threw off my covers, and ran down the stairs.

Only when I nearly plowed the tree down did I stop and look around. My heart started to deflate like a wilted balloon. No Mom. I rushed to the kitchen. No Mom. There was one place to left to look. Drawing open the front door, I glanced outside. The cold hit my face, then the defeat. No Mom.

“What’re you doing, darlin’? The presents are under the tree.” Daddy’s voice indicated he thought I was crazy.

I sucked in a breath. Don’t cry on Christmas morning and ruin it for Daddy. I bit my lip. “Just getting your newspaper.”

Setting the Charlotte Observer on the coffee table, I eyed all the presents Daddy bought me. Some were from “Santa,” some from him. Ian’s mama had taken me a few weeks ago to buy presents for Daddy, so he would have some from me, too. I had bought a bottle of perfume for my mother, just in case Santa pulled through, which I’d hidden under my bed.

“Merry Christmas, Daddy,” I said, when I really just wanted to crawl back in bed. Because Santa wasn’t real, my mother wasn’t coming home, and the magic was gone.

Present

I stepped out of the shower with a towel around me and checked the time. Nine o’clock. I still had an hour before I met the kids for class. I wiped the steam off the mirror and surveyed my reflection. My mother’s blue eyes looked back at me.

My mother. I was still reeling from the intrusion. What if I couldn’t keep the house? I wanted no part of my so-called mother. I’d gotten over the void long ago. Moved on. Except now, things were different. Maybe I should call her and try to be nice. If nothing else, try to gauge what she really wanted.

Matt wanted to talk to me, too. Perhaps he was feeling neglected since we didn’t see each other often. Or maybe it was just me, being my paranoid self, throwing up a roadblock when one wasn’t needed.

Foregoing makeup, I decided to visit Dee before class. I had this restless sort of energy I needed to get out. Dee would do that for me.

When Dee had moved to Wylie our freshman year of high school, I’d been immediately threatened by her. She was energetic and fun and wild. Everything I wasn’t. I’d had a strange feeling Dee would pull Rick and Ian from my world, take them from me, making me obsolete. It had always been the three of us growing up, doing everything together. A newcomer threatened my bubble.

I should’ve had more confidence in our friendship, our bond. Instead of driving a wedge between us, she’d completed us. Dee could distract me from my troubles. She was a friend to talk to about girly issues I couldn’t with Ian and Rick.

I put on cut-off jeans, splattered with paint in every color, and pulled on a white T-shirt. That was the beauty in being an art teacher. No one cared what I wore. During the regular school year, I was more conservative, but this was my Saturday art therapy class. I grabbed my keys and ran out the door.

Heavy humidity slammed me immediately. The crickets and fireflies from last night were gone and replaced with the calls of a whippoorwill and the heron that was frequenting Lake Wylie recently. Breathing deep, I took it all in for a moment to compose myself, and rounded the car port next to the side of the house, my feet crunching on the gravel drive.

Bypassing the Jeep I only drove in winter and my reliable Cavalier, I went right to my dad’s 1968 Volkswagen Beetle. Slipping behind the wheel, it started it on the third try, so I gave it a silent hoorah and stroked the dashboard. Someday, it would finally give out on me as everything else did, but I hoped that someday was far away. Climbing out, I put the top down, eying the cherry red paint on the hood.

My mind drifted to when we were five and Daddy had taken a picture of us. Ian had been behind the wheel of this very car, me in the passenger seat with a bottle of champagne. Rick had been in the backseat holding fluted glasses with his feet crossed and propped on the center console. My father had taken the picture in black and white, giving a copy to the boys’ parents. Ian’s folks had just bought their Seasmoke home in Myrtle after vacationing near there every year.

I could still hear my father’s laugh echo as I pulled out onto the street.

I parked in Rick and Dee’s driveway, cutting the engine as Dee jogged out to meet me. Their two-story home was on the edge of town in one of Wylie’s newer subdivisions. It rose high on a hill, which was what had sold Dee in the first place. There weren’t any beautiful flowers scattered around, like at my home, since Dee liked the way the structure was on its own. Rick mowed the lawn like clockwork, unlike at my place. A few bushes lined the red brick, also trimmed routinely.

“It must be summer if the bugs are out.”

I laughed at the reference to my car and gave my friend a long hug. It had been a few weeks since I had seen her, as they’d just gotten back from a trip to Virginia to visit Dee’s family. “I can’t stay long.”

Dee made a pout face and gestured to the door. I followed her up the stone steps and into the house. Rick rushed up, a wide grin on his face, and before I could brace for impact, he threw me over his shoulder and spun me around. I screeched and slapped at his back as the room whirled around me.

“Come on,” Dee insisted. “You’re going to make her throw up all over my clean floor.”

Rick set me down as I placed a hand on my head to stop the spinning. He grabbed a rubber band from his wrist and pulled back his shoulder-length, sandy blond hair. His features were softer than Ian’s, making it difficult to take him seriously when he grew angry, which rarely happened. Rick’s mellow temperament seemed to contradict his pure Irish heritage. Leprechauns didn’t get angry, I suppose. Maybe I’d paint him as a leprechaun one day.

“I thought you had class,” he said.

“Your place is on the way to the school.” I shrugged. “Just wanted to say hi and bug you for a minute.”

He frowned. “Girl talk or regular conversation?”

“Menstrual cycles and bikini waxes.”

“In that case,” he tugged on his wife’s long, brown curly hair, and gave her a resounding kiss on her round cheek, “I’ll leave you to it.”

Dee smiled as he ran up the stairs. “I’ll teach him manners someday.”

I laughed and plopped on the couch, dangling my feet off the arm. The clock in the corner of the room ticked, and I loved its lonely, miserable sound. Dee had their house adorned with clocks, moons, and suns—her three obsessions. The large space had two walls painted burgundy. It would feel small if not for the enormous window facing east. The kitchen, which couldn’t be seen from where I was perched, was on the other side of the house, where the aroma of one of Dee’s baking creations lofted in.

“What smells so good?”

“Apple pie. Rick’s parents are coming for dinner.” Dee had a look on her face that said she wasn’t buying my “stopping by” story. “What’s up?”

Not bothering with the “nothing’s wrong” automatic response, I sighed. “Matt said he loved me yesterday. Then he announced he was coming into town Sunday and has some news. He wants to talk.”

Dee appeared to mull that over. “Last I checked, that’s what people in relationships do.”

In contrast to myself, Dee could sit and talk for hours about nothing. I would rather listen and nod appropriately. I knew Dee wondered if I ever really listened. I did. Just because I’d rather keep some things private didn’t mean I couldn’t socialize. “Very funny. I wonder if he’s moving closer? Or seeing someone else?”

She leaned back in her chair. “Do you want either?”

“We agreed to casual, you know? I don’t know.”

Dee pressed me with an expression that told me she was really picking my brain apart with her eyes. “Maybe he wants more.” She leaned forward, forearms on her knees. “Are you ready for that?”

“With Matt?” I thought about it, not liking the anxiety clawing my stomach. “I’ll find out what he wants on Sunday,” I said instead. “How was Virginia? Your parents? Everything good?”

She rolled her eyes, the avoidance obviously not lost on her. “Everyone’s great. They say hello. You better go. It’s almost ten.”

I checked my watch and stood. “See you soon then. We’ll talk more at lunch tomorrow. You can tell me about your trip.” I kissed her soundly on the cheek and bellowed upstairs to Rick. “I guess we’ll have to get it on later since Dee was home.”

Dee smacked me playfully and pushed me toward the door.

A thunderous roar of laughter was Rick’s retort from upstairs.

I pulled up to the elementary school I once attended and snatched my bag from the backseat, mentally preparing like I did every Saturday. The kids were already inside with their parents, but when I counted heads, I was missing one. Scanning the room, I discovered who it was. Jon Melbourne. I had gone to grade school with his mother before they moved out of the county. She had been one of the only people who was nice to me in school. Jon may just be absent because his oncologist hadn’t released him for class, so I tried not to panic. Sometimes, with aggressive treatment, the doctors wanted the kids in the hospital or to remain in a more sanitary environment to avoid stress and contamination while the immune system was down.

Hiding my dismay, I unlocked the supply closet and put a small canvas by every easel station. The room was too small for a class my size and always smelled like sweaty, rancid gym socks, but it was the only room in the building for art. I opened a window to get some air. There was a board budget meeting coming up and I fully intended to voice a complaint. The arts were the first to be cut, “expeditionary” in their opinion. It was a proven fact that kids who were involved in arts and music excelled in other studies. The hierarchy didn’t care. Well, they would when I was through with them. If not for my yearly charity auction, my art therapy class would have been cut years ago.

I’d accepted the teaching position in the York county school district immediately after college. The previous art director had resigned that year, leaving not only the elementary program open, but the high school one as well.

But teaching art wasn’t enough for me. When one of my students had been diagnosed with leukemia my first year, I discovered just how much painting got him through it. It had also helped me cope with my father’s death. So, I’d proposed my idea for the specialty class to the board, who’d only agreed if I paid for the supplies. That next year, I met Eric Holcomb through the Charlotte Art Museum, and my annual art benefit has thrived since, raising money for treatment, research, and my class.

I looked down when a small hand patted my leg. I bent to Emily’s height—a girl from Rock Hill County—who was crying. Most of the kids weren’t from Wylie, they came from other towns. When news of my class spread, they’d come from everywhere. Emily’s mother, Barb, had her hand resting on her daughter’s shoulder, attempting to console the girl.

“Emily, what’s the matter?” I kept my voice quiet.

Her bottom lip quivered. “I left my brushes and paint at home. It was on accident.”

I smiled gently and pushed her soft brown hair from her face, grateful she still had her hair. “Well, that’s quite all right. See, I always have extras.” I handed Emily some supplies, delighted the light returned to her eyes.

“That’s what I told her but, you know her. Worries over everything.”

I nodded at Emily’s mother, biting my tongue. The girl had faced death before her third birthday. She had a right to an anxiety disorder.

My art therapy program consisted of children with a cancer diagnosis, mostly terminally ill or in recovery. Occasionally, other children with life threatening illnesses enrolled. Two years ago, I had a pair of siblings who were HIV positive and, last year, a child with cerebral palsy. Emily had a bone marrow transplant three years before.

Though I loved this class, there wasn’t a need to expand it more often on the curriculum. I also taught Advanced Painting at the high school three days a week and was back here for Intro to Art at the elementary level twice a week during the regular school year. The board couldn’t cut my Saturday afternoon class with the developmentally disabled children due to new legislation, though they did balk about kids from other counties being enrolled. I was still fighting them to separate the autistic kids from the ones with Down syndrome to have two separate lessons. I only taught that class during the school year.

One step at a time.

“Is everyone ready?” I asked. They all yelled yes excitedly. “Well, today we’re going to paint our favorite thing to eat in summer.” I clasped my hands in front of me. “It can be anything you want, but you have to use your color chart to mix mediums. No primaries today.”

All the kids eagerly started their pictures. I rarely did a strict curriculum with this class and I pretty much let them have free reign. Most of the families didn’t have a place to engage in activities with these children and came from counties quite a distance away, so the parents usually stayed throughout the class.

Rarely did I have a child absent, so when the kids were engaged with their painting, I quietly walked up to Samantha’s mom, who lived in the same county, and asked about Jon Melbourne.

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” She put her hand on her chest. “They found another lump in the follow-up x-ray and he’s back at the hospital.”

My heart and hope dropped, just like that. Nausea swirled in my stomach.

“I thought they called you.”

God. No. No, no, no. “Thanks for letting me know.” I pressed a hand over my stomach, willing it to calm. I tried to put Jon out of my mind and half-heartedly smiled. I would ask Ian to go with me to visit Jon later.

I walked around the room, smoothing out the worry and panic from my face, not wanting to show the kids something was wrong. They all had enough problems. But, dear God, no child should have to endure this. My soul shattered a little every time the bad news erupted. It was beginning to outweigh the good.

Leaning over Samantha’s station, I found what resembled ice cream in crazy hues of orange and purple on her canvas. “Wow, that’s a great use of color, Sam. I love your ice cream cone.” The eight-year-old beamed excitedly and seemed pleased I knew what it was. I wrapped my arms around her, planting a kiss on her soft cheek. Samantha giggled and continued her painting.

I watched the tiny faces around the room. Most of these kids grew up too fast, or they never would at all. So many times I tried to forget that when I was here, focusing instead on the small hands, intently brushing colors, the eyes, wild with imagination. The yearly benefit, I hoped, brought us closer and closer to a cure for childhood cancer. To me, it wasn’t just about keeping the art program running.

By the end of class, there was paint everywhere. My heart lifted. “Okay, that’s it for today. You all did so well. Let’s form our circle.” Nineteen tiny hands clasped tightly together with bowed heads. I recited our ritualistic prayer. “We ask that you watch over and protect us, Lord, so that each and every one of us may return next week. We ask for good health and strength. We ask that our loved ones feel your presence through difficult times. Amen.”

I wondered if these prayers were even heard. Matt was much more sure in his faith than I was.

“Have a great week and remember to mark your calendars that second Saturday in August, because that’s when we have our art benefit. Also, parents, remember I’m gone this Saturday, after the Fourth of July.” That was me and my friends’ annual Seasmoke trip to the coast.

The children all ran up and gave me a hug, as they did at the end of every class, and began to shuffle out. My heart tugged behind my ribs, warmness flooding me to eke out the loneliness and hurt. I loved this class so damn much. Children never ceased to amaze me—the resilience of their nature, wrapped in hopes and dreams. If I memorized their faces, just in case, well…no one had to know my secret.

For a moment, I wished I could go back to the time of swinging from trees and collecting frogs. Things were so much simpler when I only had to worry what time to be home for dinner.

One could be worse things than a swinger of branches. Robert Frost had that right.

After I locked up the school, Rick was leaning against my car with his arms folded and his ankles crossed. I’d already stopped by their house this morning. It wasn’t unusual for him to pop into my class to see the kids, and they loved it when he did, so why hadn’t he?

“Miss me already?” I grinned.

He straightened so I could open the trunk. “I just wanted to see if you were okay.” There was an easy humor in his smile, but his eyes were all concern.

I dropped my bag in the trunk. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

Rick watched me as if surveying for weakness, a habit he shared with Ian. “I didn’t realize what yesterday was until after you left this morning. I should have come over.”

I crossed my arms, at first thinking about Sharon’s visit and how upset I’d been. But then I swallowed and nodded because Rick was referring to my father, not my mother. I’d been lucky enough to have gotten to say goodbye to him before he’d died. Most didn’t get that chance. My friends had rallied around me every one of the four years since he’d passed away.

“There was no need. I was fine.”

“Did Ian at least come by?”

I nodded. “He came over after his sex date with Susie. He didn’t mention Daddy, though. He probably forgot, too, which suits me fine.” Because it was easier to grieve and cry alone. Plus, sometimes Ian’s over-protectiveness only reminded me of my failures.

“Ian didn’t forget. He just won’t bring it up.”

That time after my father’s funeral seeped into my thoughts. I quieted them before Rick could notice my train of thought. How I wished I could go back and undo that whole week.

“Four years this year. Still hard to believe,” he said.

Yeah, but it may as well have been yesterday for how much it still hurt to have Daddy gone. And the way Rick was studying me, he knew it, too.

“I’m fine, Rivers. Honestly.” I used his nickname to pull a grin from him.

He stepped closer and ran his hands up and down my arms as if to warm me. “Still, I should’ve come by.” He hugged me, resting his chin on the top of my head. “I’m a shitty friend.”

“The worst. I don’t know why I put up with you.”

It still shocked me how much I needed these little reassurances from him. The connection I shared with Rick went beyond friendship to more of a family bond. He was the big brother, the protector. And without saying a word, he knew what I was thinking and feeling.

“Must be my great body. You can’t say no to me.”

“True.” I stepped back and tucked a piece of his blond hair behind his ear after it broke free of the band. One day he should cut it. “I love you, you know.”

His grin was lopsided. “Lucky for you, I love you, too.” He crossed him arms again. “So, what’s this about Matt coming in town tomorrow?”

Rolling my eyes with a smile, I turned to my car. “Dee and her big mouth.” But I said it with amusement. I opened the door. “He’s just paying his girlfriend a visit. I mean, I would miss me too if it had been a month since I last came over.”

Rick chuckled, the sound immersing me. “You’re probably right. He’s in withdrawal. They should make a drug for that.”

By the lines of tension on his forehead, he was gauging how nervous I was about the supposed “talk” Matt wanted to have, so I placed a palm to his cheek with the driver’s door between us. “I can handle Matt. For all I know, he wants to whisk me away to a foreign island and live in sin.” I very much doubted that, seeing as Matt was a devout Christian, but my humor seemed to reassure Rick.

“Well, be sure to say goodbye first if that’s the case.” He pulled his own keys out of his pocket. “I’ll see you later.”

I pulled up to the small art supply shop in the center of town ten minutes later and climbed out of the car. I dreaded these supply runs because the owner, Peter, used every opportunity to ask me out. He was an old classmate of mine, having inherited the store from his grandfather after college. Susie, Peter’s sister, was standing outside.

“Hey, I heard your date went well last night,” I said to the short, thin brunette, referring to one of her many nights with Ian. I ignored the swift tug of jealousy. Every so often, it pointlessly popped into my subconscious, no doubt because I selfishly wanted things to stay just as they were.

Susie was a woman who changed men as often as she did her panties. No one ever seemed to hold it against her. She was, after all, one of the nicest people around. I often wondered which lucky man would keep her interest someday.

I wished I could be more like Susie. Open to exploring possibilities. Let myself be comfortable and free with a man to accept all the pleasure he could give. Not think everything through a thousand times and hold back. If I did, maybe I’d finally find love. Happiness.

Matt and I hadn’t taken that step yet. In truth, I feared he was a crutch. If our relationship was going to the next level, I’d have to let my guard down. I wondered what would happen to his ‘no sex’ rule if that were the case. I’d only had two lovers before and, needless to say, my opinion of sex was in the overrated category. No one had given me that zing, that desire to shout to the heavens, and had my toes curling. Perhaps Matt would be different. Maybe I could let go with him, let my body feel and shut my mind off.

“I should have known you’d know everything about our date by now.” Susie grinned wickedly.

The way she said “date” had me wishing I did know. No. Nope. Don’t go there.

Susie dug around in an enormous handbag, finally pulling out a lipstick tube. “I just can’t help myself with Ian, you know? That washboard stomach and chiseled chin. Mmm.” She licked her lips, waving around the soft, pink lipstick.

I attempted a laugh, the sound coming out more unusual than sincere. “I never saw him quite like that.”

Okay, that was a lie. If I were being completely honest, I had wondered every now and then. He was a gorgeous guy and I was a woman, after all. But then I’d remind myself he was my best friend and going that route would be disastrous. And I don’t mean wearing white after Labor Day kind of bad. I mean a Kardashian as president disastrous.

“Oh, come on, girl. All those years and he never knocked on your door that way?”

I couldn’t help myself. I laughed until I cried. I envisioned Ian literally knocking on my bedroom door and…

Nope. Ian had never so much as looked at me with a flicker of hunger, nor did I ever want him to. There was too much at stake. I was pretty sure he didn’t even know I had breasts. Oh yes, the town often speculated about what Ian and I did at night. Our houses were on a two mile long private drive, tucked away by the creek. I never took it seriously. Rumors and gossip.

I gripped my side. “Nah. He’s all yours.” Along with a scattering of other females but, eh, semantics.

“Well, your loss, sweetie. His ass alone is worth the ride!” She winked. “Catch ya later.”

I was still grinning when I entered the hobby shop. The storeroom in back was significantly larger than the actual floor room and had everything a hobby-goer would ever need from models to brushes. I remembered coming here as a child, fire in my eyes, wild with the thought of creating a masterpiece. Peter’s grandfather used to dollop a spot of pink paint at the end of my nose before I’d left the store. His wrinkled, calloused hands always smelled like spearmint gum.

Peter was putting away something on a shelf near the back, so I meandered over to the acrylic paint tubes and brushes I needed. The place smelled the same, like old wood and paint thinner. I secretly loved the fact that some things never changed. By the time I got to the counter with my supplies, I figured Peter had already worked out a new plan to ask me out.

“This all, darlin’?” he asked in his thickest southern drawl.

“Yes. How are you, Peter?”

“I’d be better when you finally agree to go out with me.”

He might be a great guy, but even without Matt in the picture, there was no chemistry. My relationship with Matt was open. We were allowed to date other people. I hadn’t the inclination, and Peter sure wouldn’t change that. Half the time, kissing Matt had barely earned a flush.

That’s how it always seemed, like the men I’d dated, or the two I’d slept with, were a far second to some imaginary guy I’d yet to meet. What was wrong with holding out for a fairy tale? Kisses that made my toes curl and my breath ease out in a contented sigh? Would that ever come? Was it unrealistic? Expecting too much?

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m seeing someone.” I leaned over and patted his hand. I’m emotionally inept and all I can think about when I look at you is that you’re not The One. “It’s not you, Peter.”

He nodded.

“God, that was cliché of me to say, wasn’t it?”

He nodded again and opened his mouth as if to say something, but instead he whirled on his heel to grab another bag from a rack behind the counter. “Is it because of Ian?” I must have looked as appalled as I felt, because he stammered on. “Is it because he’s in love with you? Is that why?”

Had I climbed onto the crazy train? “That’s insanity, Peter.”

“Actually, it’s not.”

“Ian and I grew up together. We’re just friends.” If I had a nickel for every time I’d said those words...

Expelling a heavy sigh, he glared at me. “Yeah. You keep thinking that, Summer.” He seemed awfully adamant about it, like he was in on something I wasn’t.

That was crazy. He was crazy. There was no way. I mean, denial was my bed fellow, but not about this. Right?

Damn it. Now a seed of doubt was planted about Ian, and it was starting to grow.

CHAPTER FOUR

Nineteen Years Ago—Age Nine

There were so many people here. I just knew I was going to throw up and everyone would stare at me thinking, eww, that’s the girl who got sick at the school Christmas concert. I was so nervous. I was supposed to sing Silent Night with the rest of my class in a couple of minutes. What if I forgot my lines?

Rick and Ian took my hands, one on each side of me, and squeezed in reassurance. Usually having them near helped calm me when I was upset, but it wasn’t helping now. The older kids were coming off the stage with a round of applause from the audience. My class was next. Nearly dragging me, my boys pulled me to our spot on stage.

Our teacher, Mrs. Griffith, announced us, but I couldn’t understand anything she was saying. The lights were bright. Putting my hand up to shield my eyes, I located Ian’s and Rick’s parents in the second row. They were smiling and cheering and clapping their hands.

Then I saw Daddy. My heart dropped. Each of the students was allowed four seats for the concert. Daddy sat next to Mrs. Memmer, but the other three were empty. Empty. No one else’s seats were empty. Everyone else had family. Everyone else’s mother wanted them, was here for them. Had brothers or sisters or grandparents. Daddy seemed so alone sitting there with no one but Ian’s parents.

The room spun. A bitter taste filled my mouth. I was hot and cold. Everyone stared at me. Everyone was thinking, that’s the girl whose mother ran out and didn’t want her. That’s the girl with all the empty seats. That’s the girl who was going to be sick at the Christmas concert…

As Mrs. Griffith began playing the opening to Silent Night on the piano, I panicked, pushed past Ian and my classmates, and ran as fast as I could stage right.

The laughter was so loud.

The piano was so loud.

The emptiness was loudest of all.

I ran down the hall to the empty stairwell and huddled on the landing. A sob tore from my chest and it hurt so bad. Hot tears wet my cheeks and I couldn’t stop shaking. These panic attacks, as my doctor called them, were becoming more frequent. Leaning against the wall, I tried to draw a deep breath and startled when Ian moved to stand in front of me.

He shifted from foot to foot, looking more uncertain than I felt.

“I’m such a baby.” I angrily wiped my tears.

Crouching in front of me, he patted my knee. “You’re not a baby. This stupid concert is babyish. I don’t blame you for running.”

I looked away. Yes, I’d been nervous, but that wasn’t why I’d taken off.

He sat next to me, bumping my shoulder with his as we leaned against the wall. “You were lucky that only your dad came. Think how the rest of us feel being embarrassed in front of everyone.”

I smiled, about to call him out on the lie, even if it was a good one to make me feel better, but the door at the top of the stairs opened and our principal stood there, glaring, hands on her hips.

“You two get back upstairs right now. This isn’t a playground.”

Ian straightened and held out his hand to pull me to my feet. “Summer was upset. I followed her.”

I nodded to agree, worried we’d get in trouble.

She looked between the two of us, gaze finally stopping on me. “Stage fright?”

“Yes.” I swallowed hard, my heart beating so loud I thought she could hear it.

She nodded, sympathy softening her eyes. “Ian, why don’t you head back inside? I’ll stay with Summer.”

“No way!” Ian quickly looked at me, gaze round that he’d defied an adult. It tugged a smile from my lips. “Uh, I mean, I want to stay with her. Please.”

Present—Ian

I was awakened with a jolt as someone jumped on top of my heap of blankets and straddled me. I poked my head out from underneath the covers, disoriented. Summer. As if anyone else would dare.

“Don’t you know not to wake a man on a Saturday morning?”

“It’s Saturday afternoon. Get up. I need you to go to the hospital with me.”

I shot up so quickly I knocked her off the bed with a squeak. “What’s the matter?” My gaze grazed over her, searching for signs of injury.

“One of my students is in the hospital.”

“Oh,” I moaned, shoulders sagging in relief. “You ever hear of texting? And I hate the hospital.” As if she didn’t know that.

“I don’t want to go alone.”

Shit. She slayed me. “How sick is your student?”

“I won’t entirely know until I get there.”

She got up and walked to the likeness she’d painted, hanging on my wall. She ran her hand over the texture from the acrylic. Two houses stood alone at night, the moon high. The background captured the creek behind our homes, running slow and still, with trees adorning the endless acres. She’d painted the shot from overhead, as if looking down on the quiet beauty. The style and brush strokes reminded me of a cross between Kincaid and Monet. There were four people on the porch of one house—two sitting on the steps, the other two on her old porch swing. I could almost hear Rick mumbling into Dee’s ear above the squeak of the swing, and me next to Summer, complaining about how the grass needed to be cut. That was her ideal heaven, the way she’d always remember her life. Or so she’d said when she’d given me the painting. I stared at it every night when I went to bed.

“It’s Jon, Nancy’s son. The cancer’s back.”

My gaze jerked to hers. The heartbreak, the loss, the utter emptiness filled her eyes. It was all she could do not to die inside herself when the kids got sicker. Keep walking into the classroom every Saturday and keep the yearly benefit running. Once in awhile, to go hold a sick child’s hand. How I flippin’ wished she wouldn’t do this to herself.

“I need a shower first,” I muttered.

Turning fully to face me, she placed kisses all over my face. “Thank you.”

Cold shower, then.

Her smile reached her eyes as she disheveled my already messy hair. “I bought you something today.”

She did that a lot. Whether beer from the grocery store or a T-shirt at the mall, I always seemed to be in the back of her mind. I blamed her for the eternal hope I’d clung to for years.

I rubbed my eyes. “What’s that?”

“Found some antique brass fittings at the shop next to the hobby store. Perfect for that bureau you’re restoring.”

I could’ve kissed her. I’d been hunting far and wide for decent hardware to fit that piece. Knowing her artistic eye, I didn’t even need to look at what she’d bought. They’d be perfect. I cleared my throat. “Thank you.”

Once we were at the hospital, I immediately knew coming had been a mistake. The smell was already getting to me, the one only a hospital could emanate. Antiseptic. Bleach. Death. I waited while Summer asked the information desk receptionist where Jon was, acting as if it didn’t bother her in the least to be here. I absently followed her to the room and scanned the halls for nurses I’d recognize from the endless hours we’d spent here, relieved to see no one who looked familiar.

When she had plowed into my room this morning, I was still shaking off a wild dream of her. Through the years, I’d imagined a number of ways to wake up and find her in bed with me. Her pouncing on me, asking to take her here, had not been one of them. Whenever she came over and crawled into bed with me, for whatever reason, she always managed to disappear the next morning, leaving my bed completely empty. And it was always, always for platonic reasons.

Why couldn’t I ever tell her no? She probably wouldn’t have come without me and then I wouldn’t have to sit here and endure that haunted look in her eyes. My biggest fear? One day I’d stare into those beautiful baby blues and she just wouldn’t be there anymore.

The jitterbugs in my stomach had a field day as she nervously knocked on the hospital room door. The caution, oxygen in use sign seemed dreadful. It belonged in the cardiac ward, not pediatric oncology. In a perfect world, there wouldn’t be a need for pediatric oncology.

We entered to find Jon’s mom, Nancy, next to the bed and his dad, Frank, staring intently out the window. Frank didn’t turn around.

“Oh, hello.” Nancy’s face was tear-stained as she wiped her nose with a tissue.

I stayed in the doorway, wanting to be there for Summer, but not intrude.

“How is he?” Summer glanced at Jon, who lay sleeping.

Nancy shrugged. “Not well. They found another mass yesterday in his body scan. The chemo didn’t work.” She began to weep, this bone-jarring torrent that had tears lodging in my own throat. “They can’t do anything this time.”

I stared at the tiny boy, lying in the bed. His hair was gone from all his treatments gone to waste. Summer moved over to Nancy and sat in the chair meant for Jon’s dad.

“I’m sorry,” Summer said, gripping Nancy’s hand.

The whole scene brought back memories of endlessly sitting with her father. I swallowed the rock in my throat and glanced around the room while she patted Nancy’s hair. The walls were cream, with a border of some watercolor print. Jon’s IV bag kept a slow, steady drip, which might have been hypnotizing if not for the place. It hadn’t changed much in all these years.

Tom pulled the oxygen mask away from his face, looking between her and me before speaking. “Take care of each other, you two. Promise me.”

Summer frowned. “Don’t talk like that—”

“I will,” I interrupted. “I’ll take care of her. Always.”

Summer glared at me like she wanted to shout at me for having this talk and wondering why I would promise such a thing.

“I know you will, boy,” he said, patting my hand. “Keep her head out of the clouds, will you? Not so much that she stops dreaming, but enough to keep her on the ground.”

I squeezed her dad’s hand firmly, fighting the most unimaginable pain in my chest. “Yeah. Will do.”

“I’m right here, guys. No clouds in sight.”

A nurse came in to check Tom’s IV and ask about pain. He denied any.

“Are you two…you know?”

I cleared my throat and exchanged a long look with her father. “Just friends.”

“Hell,” her father started to say, but he went into a coughing fit.

I put the mask back over his face for a few moments until it passed.

After awhile, he waved his hand and lowered the mask. “I know you’re friends. You’re both my kids as far as I’m concerned. I changed your diapers, taught you to ride a bike. But, if you two become more than what you are now, just remember that friendship is the most important thing in this world.”

Her father had fallen asleep after that, waking up once and, after seeing me holding her in a chair, he smiled at us. “You take care of my baby now,” he said between breaths.

Jarred to the bone, I scrubbed my shaking hands over my face.

Nancy looked up suddenly. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. He missed your class.”

Summer smiled weakly. “It’s quite all right. You had more important things to worry about.”

Jon turned his head and grinned when he saw his visitor. For a brief moment, there was joy in his eyes.

Summer sat on the edge of his bed and brushed her fingertips across the boy’s forehead. “Hey, you. How are you feeling?”

He shrugged. “They said I’m going to heaven soon.”

Pain clawed my chest, tore my soul in half, left me goddamn bleeding.

Frank left the room without a sound.

Summer, as always, remained ever calm. “I heard that, too. Are you scared?”

Jon’s face wrinkled, as if thinking it over. He nodded, lip quivering.

“You know, once you get to heaven, you’ll get all your beautiful hair back. You can eat whatever you want and not get any cavities. You can stay up as late as you wish and there are always cartoons on TV. There aren’t any of these tubes or wires. And when you scrape your knee, it doesn’t even hurt. God has lots of windows there where you can look out to see how your mommy and daddy are doing.”

As if I needed another reason to fall in love with her, there was example five-hundred and three.

Jon looked as if he believed her. “Really?”

“Really. Cross my heart.”

Christ. I couldn’t take it. I slipped out.

I anxiously paced the hall, trying to think of anything but the deeper blue Summer’s eyes got when she’d been battling tears. I rubbed my damp palms on my jeans, chest aching and gut wrecked.

It may as well have been her father lying there instead of Jon. I had a sinking suspicion Tom knew I was in love with his daughter, even back then. I’d always taken the memory of that last talk with him to mean our friendship should always come first. To me, the groundwork for any relationship to stand a chance was friendship. It had been four years since that conversation and where was I?

Pining.

I’d been in love with Summer as long as I could remember. I’d do anything for her. But that didn’t mean she loved me back. Not like that. She broke my heart, over and over, day after day, but I loved her so much I couldn’t breathe.

And I’d never know how she’d react to my truth if I didn’t tell her.

Hell. There were reasons I’d never done it, so why was I contemplating a confession?

I took the elevator down to the lobby and went outside to get air. Slumping against a brick wall, I thought about how many times I’d come here with her and could not shake the sick feeling this place gave me. She had that same look in her eyes today as she had the moment her dad died. How she found the strength to come back here when one of these kids grew ill was beyond me. The woman had more strength than any ten people I knew. She was either a saint or an idiot. The jury was still out on that one.

More than anything, it left me irate. How much was she supposed to take? Would she let herself endure? It was as if she was punishing herself for not doing more. She held a fund raiser every year, the proceeds going to research and her blessed art program. An event where she smiled, shook hands, and pretended it didn’t kill her dead those kids were dying. She should be in some ridiculous daisy field somewhere, lost in la-la land, painting the world she saw as beautiful. Not here. Not reminded that life wasn’t a picturesque daydream.

It wasn’t as if I wanted to shield her from everything that could hurt her. That wasn’t it at all. What bothered me was she sought pain, time and time again, as if it would bring her dad back. Tom’s death hadn’t been her fault, yet she acted like she needed penance just the same. She never saw all the good she did, how much difference she made in the lives of those kids. She just worked harder, immersing herself.

After awhile, she found me outside. Learning Jon had only a few weeks at most, I listened to her relay the same story I’d heard a hundred times. The doctors didn’t give any grand illusions. A few days, a few months—they didn’t know. I watched her fight tears, attempting to blink them away. Knowing her, she’d cry until sleep took her tonight—while she was alone. I wished she trusted herself enough to let go in front of me.

“You ready?” She puffed her cheeks and expelled a breath.

I nodded as if I didn’t realize she was upset and followed her to the car. “You never cried,” I said at length, once we were on the road. I have no idea why I brought it up.

“I don’t cry easily.”

I shook my head, irritated again. I never once saw her shed tears. Not at her father’s funeral, not now. She’d always mastered holding them back. The only exception had been a couple days after Tom had died, when I’d found her...

Hell. I couldn’t go there or I’d package her in bubble wrap and put her in a closet.

When it came to certain feelings, she would shut herself down, putting on that cool, collected face. Hiding. I shook off my mood, knowing she didn’t need a fight. No matter how much I would love to lay into her just now.

“Let’s get dinner tonight.” I glanced at her and back to the road, not liking the distance in her eyes. Her depression was always hovering outside the lines of reality, scaring the ever-living shit out of me.

“Can’t. I have a date.”

“A what? With who?” Matt wasn’t coming into Charlotte until tomorrow and, despite their “open” relationship, she hadn’t dated anyone else.

“With a blank canvas.” She looked at me, her smile a punch to the gut.

“Since when is painting a date?”

“Since today. I just thought of a scene. I’ll give it to you when I’m done.”

“It’s not a naked portrait, is it?” Please Christ, say yes.

She laughed and, damn, the musical lilt sounded so good. “Nope.”

I nudged her shoulder. “Let’s get dinner anyway. You can work after. You need to get out.”

She chewed on her lip like I’d wanted to do more for than a decade. “Okay, but I’m out now.”

She would think that. “Teaching a class and going to the hospital isn’t going out. I’m taking you to Ed’s for pizza. You can paint later.” Then again, staying in had its advantages. “Why isn’t Matt here taking you on a date? It’s Saturday. There’s no meetings tomorrow, even in his world.”

Her voice was quiet. Too quiet. “Can we not fight about Matt, please?”

Heaven forbid. “Fine. But what does Matt think about you cheating on him with a paintbrush and your best friend?”

Exasperated, she shrugged. “He won’t care.”

Christ. She wasn’t that clueless. Neither was Matt. “Yes, he will.”

Glancing at me briefly, she returned her gaze to the road. She had deflection down to a science. “What makes you think he’ll care?”

Because he’s the only man on the planet who’s in love with you even half as much as I am.

“Call it a gut feeling.”

“Well, he’s coming to visit tomorrow. I’ll be sure to tell him I cheated on him with you, a paintbrush, and some pizza. He’ll be devastated.”

Great. Why did I even bother? And why couldn’t Matt stay in Greensboro where he wasn’t a threat to my unbalanced obsession? “What is he coming in for?”

“Can’t he drive down just to see me?” When I raised my eyebrows, because Matt had rarely done just that, she sighed. “He said he wanted to share some good news and talk.”

It was almost laughable how she switched from broken-hearted to angry to nervous in the course of ten minutes. “Don’t freak out, Summer. Talking isn’t always a bad thing.” But one could hope. I could hope until my balls turned blue that Matt would break things off with her.

Evergreens whizzed by in a blur along the rolling Carolina countryside as silence stretched between us. Summer had a tree house in her backyard when we were kids. She had wanted it in an evergreen because she thought fairies lived in them, not the tall oak it wound up in. I smiled. Her dad had been so unwilling to build the thing, but finally gave in to Summer’s whining. Tom had taught me so much about carpentry, starting with Summer’s tree house.

I looked back at her, a smile still playing at my lips. Her caramel hair flew around her face due to the open windows, threatening to come free from the rubber band as she played with the radio dials. I just might have a heart attack if she ever let me use the air conditioner.

My mind drifted back to Matt. He wanted to have a talk with her. That could only mean one of two things: he was going to step up the relationship or he was ending it. I knew Matt sure as hell wasn’t breaking up with her.

I wondered if that was what she truly wanted. Matt. Summer had rarely ever gotten what she’d wanted in her short lifetime. I’d call it bad luck, but it went beyond that. Her mother had bailed—simply never returned one day, nor had she appeared to ever give Summer a second thought. Her father had been taken in the most grueling, painful way. She never asked for much, was typically the kind of woman who was happy with what she had, but somehow life always came up short. Our families all considered her their own, but that was hardly the same as having blood kin.

She almost gave up once, almost let the depression win. If I hadn’t found her, she might not be here now. Four years and I still couldn’t erase the image from my head, the panic from my chest.

Christ. If anyone deserved a break, deserved to be happy, it was Summer. Maybe Matt could do that for her. Even though the thought ate away at me, ultimately, that’s all that mattered to me...that she was happy. And still breathing.

Summer

“I emailed you the seating arrangements.” Eric Holcomb’s deep, penetrating voice boomed over the phone.

I leaned back in the computer chair upstairs in my studio-slash-office, pulling up the attachment. Eric was the director at Charlotte’s downtown art museum and we were going over the last of the preliminaries for my benefit. This was my fifth year working with him. Eric was a handsome man in his early forties and as hospitable as he was gay. His life mate, Edward, was an accountant at the same firm as my friend Rick.

“I got it.” I skimmed the attachment. “Looks good, except you seated the mayor next to the school board director. I’d rather not have any arrests at the event.”

He laughed. “I’ll fix that.” I listened as he shuffled papers. “The caterer wants to know if you want the same options as last year.”

I mulled that over. “No. The beef wellington wasn’t too popular. The chicken kiev with asparagus spears and roasted potatoes are fine, as we discussed, but add a fish option and email me for approval. Maybe salmon. Dessert? What’s she got planned?”

“Tiramisu and raspberry sorbet torte.”

“Tell her to add another option. Something with chocolate.”

“Okey dokey. Moving on, how much wall space do you need? I reserved the vault to take down the paintings in the west entry hall.”

“That worked well last year. It was nice to have that divider between the dinner and the art auction. People can walk through and bid before being seated.”

Eric cleared his throat. “Now, missy, I need the last of your pieces if you want them matted and ready to go.”

The Charlotte Art Museum ate the cost of framing my paintings, the donated paintings by local artists, and my students’ pictures, as my auction was good PR for them. Each dinner ticket paid for the caterer, and anything over that amount the museum kept. We had set the difference for each plate at twenty a head over this year, and with one-hundred and fifty in attendance, the museum would be left with a nice chunk of change for their trouble. All proceeds from the auction went to me for my programs and the pediatric cancer research network. There were also a lot of donations mailed in through the press kits we send out.

“I have two more of my paintings for you.” I mentally went through what I had available. “I’ll drop them off tomorrow. I’m hoping to have the last three in two weeks.”

He uttered an unbelieving, “Uh huh.”

“I promise, oh Great Lord Eric,” I teased. “How many donations from local artists are there?”

“Twelve.”

“That’s it?” Leaning forward, I started to panic. That wasn’t anywhere near the thirty we had last year.

“Don’t worry your perfect, caramel latte-colored head over it. The Observer isn’t doing the article until Sunday. You’ll get more donations and drop-offs then.”

“All right. Okay. I hope I don’t have to make up the difference. That’s not a lot of time to get decent work done.” Scrolling through the rest of his attachment, I leaned back in my chair. “That seems to be it for now. Anything else?”

“Yes. What are you going to wear?”

My laugh came easily at his dry tone. “Eric, Dee dresses me. That’s what she’s good at. We’re going shopping in Myrtle while we’re down there.”

A dramatic sigh. “Thank God. And your hair?”

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“How can someone be so intelligent and beautiful and clueless?”

That sounded an awful lot like an insult wrapped in a compliment.

Another sigh. “Tell me you have someone professionally styling your hair. You’re not coming to the event in that horrid ponytail you seem so fond of.”

My hand went to my head, lacing my fingers through my ponytail with a pout.

“Never mind. I’m sending you to Miranda again.”

“Okay.” One less thing I needed to worry about. Dee had been putting my hair up in one of those fancy twist things until last year when Eric and Edward had sent me to Miranda. Admittedly, it had looked wonderful. Not growing up with a mother around, I just wasn’t schooled in all things girly. It didn’t help that my two best friends had been boys.

“Now we’re done,” he said. “Call me when you get back from vacation and we can set up a walk through.”

I hung up and turned to the painting I’d just finished before Eric called. It was kinda crazy how fast it had come along. After I had gotten back from dinner with Ian last night, it had commanded all my attention. I should’ve been working on a piece for the show but, ever since the idea sprung, I couldn’t put it out of my head. So goes my muse. Couldn’t shut her up some days.

In the painting, Ian was leaning against the window seat in my bedroom, wearing his infamous faded jeans and nothing else. In one hand was a long neck bottle of beer, a hammer in the other. Behind him, out the window, instead of the two acres between our homes, I painted the beach at Seasmoke. The day was just breaking and, in the far distance, I was sitting on the beach, looking up at the window instead of the sunrise.

I grinned in satisfaction. It looked just like him when he was creating a furniture piece in his head, oblivious to the world around him. Not unlike me, I suppose, with my art.

Before this piece, I hadn’t completed a painting in two months. The canvases ready for the auction were older pieces. I had a series of half-started works and little to show for it. I paced the room. Too easily, I had given up on my recent painting, a scene of my river birches at night with the fireflies glowing. Even the painting of Main Street in Wylie stood unfinished. Normally, painting helped to sooth and lull my mind out of the darkness, kept me from slipping back into the void. But even that hadn’t worked lately. I felt restless, like at any moment I’d be right back to the empty shell who didn’t give a damn about anything.

God. I couldn’t do that to Ian again, to any of my friends. Or the kids.

The benefit was coming up soon. I needed more material. There were some amateur artists who donated pieces. My students had their work in the bidding, too. But my paintings always sold out, were the first to go. For the most amount of money, too. That’s what it was all about. Money for the kids.

Sitting down at my computer, I logged on again. I pulled up the two social media sites I had accounts for and answered my messages and posts. Not one to use the sites often, there were a lot. I had created them because Dee thought it would be a great idea to boost donations for my benefit and show off my paintings. In honesty, I seemed to get more date requests than anything else. Checking the account and website for the auction, I responded to those emails.

The caterer had emailed already. Approving the grilled salmon, almond green beans, and wild rice, I emailed back with the dessert request I’d discussed earlier with Eric.

Now what? It was too late to call Dee. Attempting to sleep would be futile. I’d just lie awake and stare at the walls. Especially when I was this wound up.

I looked out the window. Ian’s light was still on next door. Perfect. Lifting the new painting of him, mindful not to touch the still wet edges, I stared at my best friend’s image.

Peter at the hobby store had claimed Ian was in love with me. I let the notion swirl around in my mind for just a moment. Which was stupid and dangerous. If I allowed myself to ride that thought train too long, I might grow to like the idea. He was the opposite of what I needed, and I was the opposite of what he wanted.

Besides, the idea was ridiculous. Why was I even letting Peter’s comment get to me?

Ian

I watched Summer’s bedroom light from my window, as I did just about every night since we were fifteen. There wasn’t anything to see, just a soft glow through the weeping willow branches from across the two acres between us, but it was habit. My gut tightened as I took a swig of beer, the condensation from the long neck bottle soaking my hand.

Pacing my bedroom, I glared at her everywhere I turned. There’s been no escape for years now. Stupidly, I’d kept every ridiculous trinket she’d ever bought or made me, even the little ceramic frog she’d done in fifth grade art class. At least, that’s what she’d said it was. It didn’t look like a frog. Pictures of us as kids, as adults, and our families scattered the dark blue walls. I stared at the one of Tom, Summer, and myself outside her house. There was a pull in my chest as I remembered Tom, lying in bed, too sick to even hold his daughter in the end.

Christ. Our lives were like a jacked up version of Dawson’s Creek, sans the romance, emphasis on the witty banter. And now I was pissed off I even knew the show’s premise. Summer’s fault for making me watch the effing crap every week when it had been on air.

That was our relationship. She remembered climbing the birches near the creek and laughing. I remembered crying hysterically when she fell and broke her arm. She remembered the dancing and ambiance of senior prom. I remembered the navy dress she wore and the linebacker’s hands on her. Summer-damn-Quinn saw the world as if it was a painting waiting to be created. I only saw her.

Yeah. I surpassed pathetic about nine years before. Didn’t even pass Go or collect two-hundred dollars. I’d call her my kryptonite, but I was no Superman and I didn’t have the urge to flee from her whenever she was within ten yards. She did make me weak as hell, though. One bat of her eyelashes, one genuine grin, one pretty please from her lips, and I caved. Every time.

I caught her light go off out of the corner of my eye and stilled, wondering what she dreamed of in the quiet of her room. She still made wishes like an expectant child. She actually believed in things like happily ever after. Truth was, I didn’t mind the hopelessly romantic movies she made me watch or listening to her babble endlessly about a painting she was working on. It meant she was breathing, was wanting to fight. And sometimes, she made me believe, too. That we could be more. That, one day, she’d see me. Any time with her, regardless of what we did, was worth it.

For a while there, after her father died, I didn’t think she dreamed at all anymore. It was like a light had gone off in her. For someone like Summer, she may as well have been dead. We brought her back, though—Rick, Dee, and myself. Barely, but we’d brought her back from the brink.

Did she allow herself to remember our childhood? All the adventures we’d had, the fun? Or was it all a black void to her to expunge the grief? Like when we were eight and Rick had fallen in the river after swinging from a low branch where the edge of Lake Wylie opened. Rick had flailed his arms and legs while screaming bloody murder until he discovered he was only in a foot of water. We’ve called him Rivers ever since.

I dropped on my bed, recalling when Rick rushed inside her house to tell Summer he was getting married. The girl who never cried in all the time I’d known her had a mist in her eyes. She’d always had a softness for Rivers. There was never anything romantic about it. Not in all the years Rick lived across the shallow waters had he ever laid a hand on Summer.

But I wanted to.

The night Rick and Dee wed was permanently hung on my mind’s memory wall. Summer had looked beautiful that night. Her eyes sparkled watching our two best friends say their vows. The long red bridesmaids dress had been a little too big, her hair pulled up in some sort of twist. She’d been all mine that night. Walking down the aisle, on the dance floor.

I should have married Kasey Mae Fillmore in the third grade when she’d asked. Maybe things would be different now. Maybe I wouldn’t be pining for the girl next door like a hopeless poet.

I sat up and finished off my beer, glancing at her window again and hoping to God she still dreamed. I didn’t care what about, just so long as she did. Matt was closing in on sealing the deal. That was one of her dreams, starting a family. It was obvious to everyone but Summer he loved her. According to her, Matt had finally told her so. What had started out as teenage hormones one summer vacation on the beach had morphed into a quasi-relationship. But now they weren’t just a fling, they were dating.

I didn’t like it. Not one iota. When push came to shove, Matt was the only man Summer would think to get serious with. Because he was safe. He didn’t make her feel anything but warm cozies. There was no punch of lust on her end, no bearing her soul and shredding her heart. She could live without him. And that’s why she’d stick with him. No risk. Safety.

Which meant there would never be any hope for us. Hope was all I held onto.

Frustrated, I lay down, listening to the faint sound of her chimes and trying to ignore the scent of lilac from her yard. Fruitless. I picked up my copy of To Kill a Mockingbird from the nightstand, an old favorite, and was comforted by the smell of aged paper and binding as I dove in to escape.

I looked up a short while later at the sound of footsteps. Summer’s, to be exact. She walked like a mouse. She emerged in my doorway, holding a large canvas.

“What’s that?” Rising from bed, I reached out to help her, but she pulled back.

“It’s still a bit tacky.” She turned the canvas around and set it on the floor against a bookshelf. She stepped out of the way, brushing her paint-splattered hands together.

All the air left my lungs. I was unsure whether to laugh or cry, as I was damn tempted to do both. She’d captured me in her room, where I always waited for her. Holding a hammer, I was immersed in thought. I was probably thinking about my latest woodworking idea, which only she could know the depth of my devotion. Funny she’d painted herself on the beach watching me from a distance. As a protector or a potential lover? There was an odd romanticism to this piece she hadn’t used in others of me.

Heart hammering, I turned to her. “It’s amazing.” Christ, she had such a knack for bold color and soft strokes. The contrast just ensnared me every time.

She exhaled a yawn and plopped on my bed, laying down. “So, you like it?”

I didn’t know which was harder to look at, her or the way she’d painted me. “No. I love it.”

“Good.” She stretched, making her shirt rise and exposing a thin strip of her midriff. “Stven451 on Twitter wants to date me.”

“Yeah?” I glanced down at her. She would drift off to sleep soon. Her blue eyes were heavy and a sleepy smile curved her lips. And in the morning, when I woke, she’d be gone. “Is that the thirteen-year-old in Wyoming?”

She laughed. “No, the fifty-year-old in Romania.”

Summer could remember just about every face and detail about her online friends, but she couldn’t see me right here in front of her. Couldn’t, or didn’t want to see, the one who wanted her most. Not that I lay the blame on her. I’d never let on I’d harbored feelings.

Glancing at the ceiling, she rubbed her arm, a tiny wrinkle between her brows.

My gut twisted. “What’s on your mind?”

She shrugged her shoulder against the mattress, but the casual gesture couldn’t hide the unrest etched on her face.

I sat next to her, the bed dipping with my weight, and pulled the blanket up to her chin. “Tell me.”

“I guess I’m just nervous about Matt. I mean, who says ‘I love you, but we need to talk?’” She curled on her side and stared at me through fathomless, almost innocent eyes.

I nodded, not sure what to say. It wasn’t as if the truth was an option.

Propping herself on one elbow, she pursed her lips. “Peter from the hobby store asked me out again. You know what he said when I turned him down?”

I shrugged, but she wasn’t paying attention.

“He asked if the reason I wouldn’t go out with him was because you were in love with me.”

Not that I’d been moving, but I froze. Everything froze. Time. Earth’s rotation.

“Can you believe that crap?” she said. “Imagine that. My best friend and the biggest playboy in Wylie falling in love with me. Absurd.”

I stared at her for several long beats, the edges of my vision graying. She may have claimed it was crap, but she was looking at me as if she was asking for validation. To confirm...what, exactly?

Well, Summer. Peter was right. Except, I’ve been a coward for the past ten years not telling you because… Why? Christ. For the first time in a decade, I couldn’t remember. All the reasons seemed stupid now.

“Yeah,” I said instead. I opened my mouth to say more—what, I wasn’t sure—but my expression must’ve been unguarded too long.

She jumped off the bed, eyes wide, looking as if I’d filleted her alive. Was the possibility of me loving her that much of a betrayal? “Anyway.” She avoided my gaze and opted to study the floor.

Ah, yes. It was coming back to me now. That’s why I never spilled my guts and handed her my heart in a box. Well, one of many reasons. Because if it messed with her idea of content, then she’d shatter. I hadn’t given her any indication Peter was right, but she was starting to freak anyway. For a woman whose life had been a constant flutter of upheaval, she didn’t adjust to change very well. And, if I was being brutally honest, I just didn’t think she felt that tug of longing, of lust, like I did. Her reaction now was proving me right.

Even I had my pride. Most of the time. Buried way deep under a plethora of unresolved tension.

“Movie?” She grabbed the box off my dresser she’d left the other night and held up a DVD case. She inserted the disc into the player, her hands shaking.

Breathe. I leaned against the headboard and crossed my fingers behind my head, acting for all the world like my heart was beating a steady rhythm. “Does the movie have half-naked women or inanimate objects blowing up?”

She gave me a sullen look, plopping next to me on the bed again as the credits rolled on a Ginger Rodgers and Fred Astaire flick.

Funny how she romanticized everything, but ran from romance. If my inability to answer her question ten seconds ago had her denial gene kicked into battle stance, what would she do when Matt opened up? He was coming to see her tomorrow, assumingly to lay down a plan for a future, so she’d have to face reality.

So would I.

Judging by her heavy lids and giant yawn, she’d be asleep before the opening scene was through. My dark blue blanket was wrapped around her like a shield. It contrasted with her pale skin, making her features seem child-like. Until I took in her caramel hair spilled over the pillow and her pouty lips.

After she was asleep, I brushed a strand of her hair away from her face, letting my knuckle linger on her soft cheek. I covered her with another blanket, knowing she’d get cold and steal mine. If she turned the air conditioner on once in awhile she’d be more accustomed to it. But no, she had to have the summer smell in her house.

I shut off the light, climbed under the covers with her, and laid with my back to her.

And in the morning, when I woke, she was gone. But her sweet lilac scent remained on my sheets.

CHAPTER FIVE

Fourteen Years Ago—Age Ten

I should’ve just stayed home. I knew this was a bad idea. Who needed Girl Scouts anyway? Not me!

When my troop had announced a mother/daughter hike through the botanical gardens for Mother’s Day, I’d nearly died. After the meeting, my leader, Mrs. Hintz, had told me I should come anyway. That maybe one of the other mothers could go with me. How embarrassing.

I was just going to go home after the meeting and hide the permission slip, but Mrs. Hintz called that night and Daddy asked Ian’s mom to accompany me. It was really nice of her to say yes, but she wasn’t my mother. I didn’t have a mother.

I glanced up from the craft project we were working on at one of the picnic tables at the garden when one of the girls snickered. The mothers were off having coffee cake and tea while the girls were making them Mother’s Day cards. My leader had stepped away to help another table.

My hand froze over the cover of my homemade card. What was I supposed to write? The girl across from me, Jessica, snickered again, but I didn’t look up this time. They were laughing at me. My face was so hot I felt like I had a fever. My stomach bottomed out.

“Look, Tina,” Jessica said to one of the other girls. “Summer doesn’t know what to write to her fake mom.”

“Why is she even here?” Tina replied, as if I wasn’t sitting right there and couldn’t hear. “I mean, she had to borrow Ian’s mom to come. How horrible for Ian.”

They laughed again.

My throat tightened. I slouched over my card, biting my tongue so I wouldn’t cry in front of them. Swallowing hard, I just wrote Happy Mother’s Day on the front, and Love, Ian on the inside. I’d just give it to Ian to give to her.

There was nothing else to say.

Except, the next day, Daddy and I wound up over at the Memmers. Mr. Memmer was grilling burgers and my dad went out to “supervise,” leaving Ian and I alone in the living room with his mama. I felt stupid for intruding, but she’d insisted she wanted her “surrogate daughter” around on Mother’s Day. Whatever that meant.

Ian got up, retrieved something from the other room, and shoved a box of chocolates under his mama’s nose. She oohed and ahhed, smiling like it was the best gift ever. Ian wedged himself next to me on the couch. His bony elbow dug into my ribs. “Moms like candy, right? Dad said so. I bought that by myself at the drug store.”

I shrugged. How would I know? Then I swallowed hard when Mrs. Memmer opened the card I’d made. She read it aloud and I jerked at my name.

My gaze shot to Ian’s. He’d added my name to the card?

He grinned, exposing a gap where his two front teeth had fallen out. “You made the card. It should be from both of us.” He whispered close to my face so his mom couldn’t hear. His breath was warm and smelled like bubble gum. “We’re besties. We share everything, so I’m sharing my mom. That way you won’t be so sad yours isn’t here. She sucks anyway.”

I blinked really fast, but it was hard not to cry. Ian always knew what to say, like he had no choice but to take care of me. My lip quivered. “Thank you.”

Present

Matt finally pulled into my driveway at nine a.m. I’d been pacing a tread pattern into my living room carpet ever since I’d crawled out of Ian’s house at dawn. After worrying about my mother taking the house, Matt claiming he wanted to talk, and Ian acting all weird last night, I was ready to slam a bottle of Pepto.

Matt’s beige Buick rolled to a stop. His car fit his personality. Ordinary, reliable, and responsible. I could do worse for a boyfriend. That was, if he wasn’t breaking up with me. No, he’d said it was good news, right? The craziest thing, though, was worry didn’t ping my gut at the idea of him breaking things off. From day one, I’d had a compatible like for Matt, but it wasn’t a can’t-live-without-him ache I’d expected from a relationship. Which was probably why we’d been together so long. He didn’t threaten my sense of balance.

He exited his car, but didn’t pop the trunk for an overnight bag. Maybe this was bad news. If he wasn’t staying…

I sighed and stepped out into the early morning heat. Matt’s hair was strawberry blond, bordering on red when he stood in the sun. He carried himself as a man in total confidence with his surroundings. He looked over the hood of his car, caught sight of me on the porch, and grinned. It melted a portion of my nervousness away.

“Hey, beautiful.” He rounded the car, his southern drawl as warm as the day was proving to be.

I leapt off the bottom stair and into his arms. Unlike me to be so affectionate, but I had this insane need to be held. Everything in my life had been off-kilter lately. “Hi, yourself.” I smacked his mouth with a quick kiss. His face was clean shaven, it always was. I wondered if a five o’clock shadow ever dared to tarnish his perfect image. “I missed you.”

And I had. I’d missed him. As horrible as it sounded, I didn’t think about him nearly as much as I should when he wasn’t around. This past week, with him wanting to talk, had forced him into my thoughts more than usual. When he was here, he made that safe feeling I rarely experienced come back, comforting and addictive at the same time. It had been so long since I’d felt that.

“I missed you, too.” He pulled me closer and stole another kiss. Longer, sweeter. There were no butterflies in my belly, no heat in my veins, but it was good. He brought up his other arm, passing a bouquet of flowers into my hands. “For you.”

“You brought me daisies?” I wasn’t sure whether to grin or gush. There was something about daisies that made me adore them. Maybe the happiness they demanded just by being. They were my second favorite flower, orchids being the first.

“I couldn’t bring you roses now, could I?” His eyes lit with amusement. “You hate roses.”

No one had ever noticed before, had ever bothered to ask. Maybe Matt was The One after all. It seemed silly to think something as menial as flowers could render that thought but, to me, it meant everything. It meant he noticed the little things. It meant he cared about the details.

“What’s wrong?”

I forced a grin. “Nothing. Um, you didn’t bring a bag?” I pointed to the car. Typically, he spent the night when he visited. We didn’t have sex, but we would fool around.

“I’m afraid I can’t stay.” He mock-frowned. “I have to drop off some documents in Charlotte and head back to Greensboro for a meeting tomorrow.”

Why wasn’t I disappointed? “You want some sweet tea? Or a beer?” When he smiled, I ushered him inside.

Upon returning from the kitchen with two glasses of sweet tea, I found Matt in the living room in front of the fireplace mantle, studying my photos. He pointed to the one of me, Ian, and Rick in my dad’s old VW.

“I always loved that one,” he said.

“Me, too.” I handed him the tea.

He nodded at the picture of my mother, taken over twenty years ago in front of a lilac bush in full bloom. She looked happy then. Not like she did a week ago when I’d kicked her out. Crazy as it sounded, I was regretting that. I had no reason to feel guilty, had every right to feel the way I did. The woman had bailed on me and Daddy when I’d been an infant, and wanted to take my damn house away.

“You ever going to take this down?” he asked gently.

Matt hadn’t been around as much as Ian or Rick to see just how hard Sharon’s absence had been, but he knew. I looked at the photo. I’d thought about burning the thing a thousand times, but could never bring myself to do it. It had been Daddy’s favorite.

I shook my head. Evasion, my gift. “You said you had good news.”

Pictures forgotten, he turned and sat in a recliner, drawing me into his lap. He took both our glasses and set them on a table. “I got a promotion at work.” He studied my face for a reaction, his stoic by comparison.

I knew very little about what he did, other than he was an investment banker. “Why don’t you look pleased, then?”

He cradled my back against his chest, his large hand smoothing my hair. It seemed oddly like he was trying to tame me for his answer. When he spoke, it was against the top of my head. “They want me to take over the Charlotte branch.”

I turned in his arms to see his face. He seemed too calm. “Your family is in Greensboro. That’s a big step.”

“It’s not far. Besides, you’re here.”

My heart thumped against my ribs, and it wasn’t a pleasant sensation of anticipation. Would he take the job solely because I was here? What did that mean?

“We’ve been doing this...thing we’re doing together, Summer, for a long time. I don’t know what label to put on us. I just know I like being with you.” He swallowed. “The promotion means more money and a title, but I won’t do it if you don’t want me to.”

My heart rate kicked faster. Thump, thump, thump. Painful. He dissected my expression for a reaction, but I couldn’t muster one. I was frozen, unable to utter a sound.

Reaching up, he stroked my cheek, wove his fingers into my hair. “Do you want to take that step with me?” His voice grew quieter, as if he knew I was about to flip the hell out. When I didn’t answer right away, he frowned. “Is there someone else?”

A flash of Ian’s face came to mind, there and gone in a blink. Damn. Where had that come from? Matt and I had an understanding, an open relationship. We could see other people. I had no clue if Matt had sought another, but I hadn’t. Certainly not Ian. A vision of him, shirtless, muscles flexing under his tan skin while he leaned against my window seat, popped into my mind and I closed my eyes. What the hell? I shook my head.

Matt made a sound of approval, probably thinking my attempt to expel Ian from my thoughts was an answer. A thousand insecurities played over his face. I realized he was just as nervous as me. He was laying his heart out, seeing if I’d break it or take it.

He didn’t give me butterflies, mind-blowing kisses, or the dancing in the rain kind of feeling I’d expected to have if in love. Maybe I was too much of a romantic. What if I didn’t take this chance and ruined my only opportunity for happiness? What if my possible unrealistic version of love would leave me alone forever?

Matt was solid. Stable. Safe.

Here.

I blinked slowly, not liking the pitting hollowness in my stomach. “Yes,” I whispered, opening my eyes. “Take the job.”

He laughed, hesitant at first. “Thank God.” He pressed a kiss to my mouth. “I thought you were going to say no. I was beginning to think you didn’t feel the same way.” He kissed me again, more thoroughly this time. “We can do this. I know we can. I love you, Summer. I really do.”

Dee sat with me at a small table outside Mel’s Café and watched me play with my salad. I pretended not to notice. Eventually, she drew her brows together, dropped her fork, and glared at me.

“Out with it. What’s wrong?”

I sighed. Where to start? “Nothing. I’m sorry. I’m fine.” Dee didn’t look convinced. “Okay, but don’t tell anyone. Got it?”

She leaned forward, her eyes round in panic. “Summer, what’s going on?”

As if expecting someone to approach us, I glanced at the other diners sitting at their tables. No one looked familiar. “My mother showed up at my house the other day.”

Dee flew back in her chair as if she’d been slapped. “No way. What did she want?”

“To take my house.” I rubbed my forehead, relieved to have it out in the open, and told her everything. A tremendous weight lifted from my chest, my shoulders. I was still sinking rather than swimming, though. Ian’s weird behavior, Matt moving here, and my mother’s damn visit had been bothering me to no end. I was barely eating, hardly sleeping. “She also said she needed to see me or something.”

“Are you going to?”

“Before she showed up, I had no way to contact her. I didn’t even know where she was living. I mean, she bailed, Dee. How am I supposed to feel?” Dee waited patiently for me to work it out, talk it out. She was good at that. “I don’t want anything to do with her. But I feel bad now. I was horrible to her.”

She nodded. “I don’t think anyone can blame you for that. What does Ian think?” I shook my head as realization dawned on Dee’s face. “Oh, Summer. You gotta tell him.” I just kept shaking my head as if the movement would dislodge the past two weeks. “Why?”

Dear, dear Ian. He’d have a coronary. “He’s gonna get pissed off and worry. He doesn’t need to know. No one does. I’ll deal with it. If she shows up again, I’ll send her right back. My lawyer is trying to fix the property issue.” I crossed my arms over the table and decided the hell with it. I needed girl advice. “Matt was in town this morning.”

A corner of Dee’s mouth quirked. “And was the talk he wanted to have as nerve-wracking as you thought it would be?”

God, yes. “He’s moving to Charlotte. In two weeks.”

“Huh.” She sipped her water.

“What’s that mean? Huh? Spill.”

“Well,” she drawled, making the word sound like three syllables. “Is he moving in with you or getting his own place?”

After Matt had dropped the “L” bomb a second time, we’d discussed that very thing. He must have sensed I was in conversation overload. “He said it’s up to me. I’m supposed to give him an answer when we’re at Seasmoke next week. He’s waiting until after vacation to tell his boss he’ll take the promotion.” I suspected he chose to do that because he feared I’d change my mind.

I usually couldn’t wait to get down to Ian’s family home on the coast. We’d vacationed there every year since birth. Matt’s family had a house right next to the Memmers. But I couldn’t shake the horrible sensation something bad was coming. Moving in with Matt wasn’t just a big relationship step, it was him moving into my house. Daddy’s house.

“Huh.”

I tossed a napkin at her. “Stop with the huhs.”

She leaned forward, her hand holding back her thick, brown curls. “It’s a ginormous change, and I don’t ever remember you saying you loved him.”

Because I wasn’t sure if I did. God, I was a bad person. “He said he loved me this morning.” There. I’d told someone else besides Ian. Which made the situation seem way too real instead of hypothetical.

Dee laughed, a throaty, robust sound that had several patrons glancing our way. “Not the same as you saying it back. And I know you didn’t. So, are you going to have him move in?”

“I’m thinking about it.” Entirely too much. I shrugged. “How’s our boy Rick doing?”

Her grin widened as if she just remembered she was married to the greatest man in South Carolina. Which she was, the bitch. “He’s good. He was just thinking about you the other day.”

Not surprising. Rivers and I had this uncanny twin-like connection. “Oh yeah, what for?”

“Don’t know. He didn’t say. But curiously enough, Ian and my hubby went golfing this morning.”

I laughed. “Neither of them golf. Or know how, for that matter. Interesting.” I toyed with my empty glass and told Dee about turning Peter down for a date. What he’d said bothered me. Ian’s reaction more so.

“You’re serious with Matt now. And you don’t like Peter anyway.”

True story. I bit back a sigh. “Eric Holcomb says we need to buy me a new dress for the benefit. I told him we’d go shopping in Myrtle since I know he doesn’t trust my judgment.”

Dee grinned. “Shopping. I can do that.”

“He’s making me go see Miranda for my hair, too. What’s wrong with my hair?”

She assessed me from head to toe. “It’s beautiful, but you never wear it down. I’d kill for your hair. Anytime there’s even a threat of rain, mine turns into a French poodle on steroids.”

The waiter came and refilled our drinks. It was so hot the ice from my sweet tea was already melting. I watched him walk away, wondering why I wasn’t ecstatic about Matt stepping up, about not having any kind of emotional reaction to him loving me. “I think there’s something wrong with me.”

“Would you like a list or was that a rhetorical statement?”

“Har, har. Don’t look at me like that. I’m serious. I can’t remember the last time I had sex, never mind the last time I felt...something for a man.” I hadn’t meant to let that last part slip, but it was too late to take it back.

“You obviously feel something for Matt. You guys haven’t slept together. That’s probably what’s eating you. Once you guys go there, things will fall into place. As for love, you just know when it hits you.”

Perhaps she was right. Matt, being a born-again, had told me he didn’t want to get intimate with a woman until he knew it had the potential for marriage, if not after the vows. Maybe because we hadn’t been physical, I was lacking the element to connect. Except, it wasn’t just Matt. No guy I’d dated or slept with had made me want to go all in. “I never had a first love. You know, the one you never really get over.” Wasn’t that a right of passage or something?

Dee mulled that over. “That might be better. When you finally do fall, whether you open up to Matt or someone else, it will be forever.” She pushed her salad plate away. “You had a rough week, huh?”

Understatement of the year. I felt bad for unloading on her, though. “I’m fine. Are you packed for Seasmoke?”

She smiled and clapped her hands like an excited monkey. “Yes. Beach, sand, sun. I got a new bikini. I can’t wait to wear it.”

I could use the break myself. My father had named the Memmer’s beach house Seasmoke years ago. It was actually the name of the private drive the house was on, near a clandestine area of Myrtle Beach. A week without work, stress, or small town minds. To wade in the surf and lounge around the bonfire at dusk. To have that connection to each other, to our past, made the yearly trip down the coast a priority. Seasmoke was different than Wylie in many ways. More like a dream, really. The fantasy and magic there couldn’t be found here. Wylie was as picturesque as it was ordinary.

“Did you hear me?” Dee laughed.

“No. Sorry.”

“I was saying we need to get you a new swimsuit. A two-piece, I think.” Dee grinned and shook her head, ignoring my narrowed eyes. “We can’t have you seducing cabana boy for the first time with that same boring blue suit.”

I wasn’t so sure Matt could be seduced. Or if I should. I planned to let him set the pace, not wanting to push him into something he wasn’t ready for. His beliefs were important to him. “I wish you wouldn’t call him cabana boy. And Matt likes me just fine in that blue suit.”

“There’s no harm in making him drool.”

Before I could argue, Dee dropped some bills on the table and pulled me by the arm to the shopping center across the street. While Dee browsed the swimming suits—if one could call glorified dental floss a swimming suit—my cell rang. My hands shook when I saw the caller ID.

“Summer? It’s Tim.” My attorney’s voice was winded, like a flight of stairs had preceded him dialing.

I backed away from Dee and turned around, keeping my voice low. “What’s up?” If my nerves caused me to throw up all over the merchandise, would I have to buy it?

“They set the hearing for Monday.”

The room spun. “What? That’s tomorrow. Are we ready?”

He cleared his throat. “Lucky for us, it’s only a preliminary to determine if further action is needed. Your mother’s lawyer claims she wants the house. She’s not backing down.”

I almost dropped the phone. “God. What do I do?”

“Meet me at the courthouse at nine tomorrow. Just stay calm. Nothing will be decided right away.”

As we disconnected, I had a sudden, impenetrable urge to see Ian. I shook from the inside out—afraid, mad, empty. Ian always fixed things. He made everything better. Closing my eyes, I sucked in a deep breath and fought tears.

“Dee, we have to go home.”

Ian

Stretched out on Rick’s couch after an insane attempt to go golfing, I stewed. The outing hadn’t been the distraction I’d been hoping for. “Have you talked to Summer this week? Did she tell you what that asshat Peter said?”

Rick eyed me as if to say, finally you start talking. “Peter from the hobby store? The guy who’s crushed on her since third grade? No. But it must be interesting if you’re mentioning it.”

I looked over at him, irritation making my temples pound. “I thought you and Summer had this little psychic friends network going.”

“It’s not like that and you know it. I sense things about her, is all. She doesn’t dig Peter anyway.”

I stood. Paced. Made a tight fist until I lost circulation. It felt better than my knotted gut. “Peter asked her if she wouldn’t go out with him because I was in love with her.”

“Observant of Peter to notice.”

My glare could have melted the arctic. “Funny.” I could give a rat’s ass what spewed from Peter’s mouth. “It was Summer’s reaction that concerns me.”

“And what was her reaction?”

I still wasn’t entirely sure. She’d looked at me like she’d hoped it was true and then promptly freaked out when I’d not responded. As if the idea was entirely preposterous, me desiring her. In her defense, I’d never even hinted.

Rick scratched his jaw. “You need to tell her how you feel.”

“What?” I spun around on him. “Are you drunk?” Rick was the sole person in my life who knew my true feelings about Summer. He’d hung out with me when I’d sulked, listened to me brood, had given me an outlet to channel my frustrations. He’d never, not once, suggested I tell her. He knew as well as I did how epically stupid that would be. There was a laundry list of why-nots.

Rick folded his hands in his lap as if waiting patiently for me to blow a gasket. “She’s in a different place in her life now. So are you. Are you going to sit back and watch her with every other guy but you until she finally settles on one?”

Direct hit. None of the guys she’d been with had been a threat. She’d felt nothing for them. They never lasted. Except Matt. And he was in town, right this very second. I sat on the couch and put my head in my hands.

I’d kissed Summer once, a year after I’d first noticed romantic feelings for her. She’d come over to my house in a huff about the jock she’d been dating. I’ll never know what had gotten into me, or where I’d mustered the courage, but I’d kissed her. Swift and hard. After pulling away, I had waited for her to say something. Anything. Instead, she’d laughed. Laughed. She never brought it up again and I never tried again.

“You don’t know how she’ll react until you say something.”

I was pretty certain I knew how she’d respond. She’d either laugh like I was screwing around or she’d flip out. I would bet my left nut she, in no way, reciprocated my feelings. If, just once through the years, she’d given me any indication, a blip of a hint that she saw me as someone other than her friend, I might’ve made a move. A spark of recognition. A parting of her lips. But no. Thus, here we were. Me, lusting for what I could never have, and her, oblivious.

Rick took a swig of beer from his bottle. “Matt’s in town. We both know why. And if Summer doesn’t shut down or bolt when he takes it to the next level, you won’t get her. You won’t get the girl.”

A knife wound to the gut with a battery acid chaser. I groaned, fisting my hands in my hair. “I just never saw her going there, actually settling down. This is Summer, you know? The hopeless romantic who wants to live in an old movie, but flees the minute her relationships threaten to get serious.” She wanted a family, kids, but kept drawing herself up short anytime she got close to that possibility.

Rising, I resumed my pacing. “Does she love him, you think?”

Rick swallowed. “I don’t think it matters.”

Worst part? That was the God’s honest truth. Matt was one of the few people in her comfort zone, and though she’d be settling with him, she would do it to not be alone anymore.

Dee barreled through the front door, Summer laughing on her heels.

She seemed happy, considering she’d been upset the night before. Christ, her eyes. When she smiled like she meant it, when it wasn’t out of politeness or something forced, she could bring down satellites. She stole my breath. Her battle with depression had the fear of God nipping at my heels for years. But this...this was all her. The real her she almost never let out of the box.

Dee held up a very small yellow bikini and grinned wickedly. “It’ll look good on our girl here, yeah?”

Fuck me dead. The images. Oh, the images.

I shot Summer a look. The pressure in my skull and unadulterated punch of lust in my gut must have showed estimably on my face, because she whipped her head back in reaction. Hell. She suspected. There was no doubt. Understanding hardened her gaze. Surprise parted her lips. It only took her ten years and me freezing up when she’d asked for the truth to get us here.

Now what? Panic shredded my insides.

She bowed her head and blushed. Blushed. I wondered if the adorable pink tinge to her cheeks was from the purchase or the awkward awareness between us that seemed to grow overnight. She typically dressed for comfort, not trends. Certainly not anything too revealing. A bikini wasn’t her thing.

Shit. The visual came again.

“Matt will go nuts, don’t you think? Now that he’s moving to Charlotte and they’re officially a couple, we needed to get her something to spark, you know…” Dee winked.

And...lights out. That’s all, folks. Air? Gone. Heart? Stopped. Hope? Withered to dust.

The glare Summer gave Dee should have killed her mid-sentence.

Dee shrugged. “What? It’s not a secret. You would have told them.”

Summer rolled her eyes in response.

I exchanged a holy-shit look with Rick, unable to speak. After a long, awkward moment, my gaze landed back on Summer. “Congratulations,” I croaked. “He better take good care of you.” Damn if my heart didn’t just crack in two. Out. I needed out of here. “I have to go.”

Summer reached for me as I passed her. “I need to talk to you.”

It took every ounce of will in my body to put on my go-to smile when all I wanted to do was crawl in a hole. I kissed her on the cheek. “I have to check on the store. I’ll see you later.”

Fifteen minutes later, I marched through the entry of my small shop and threw the door open, banging it against the wall with a resounding thud. The sound was only a quarter as loud as my heartbeat.

Matt was moving to Charlotte. His relationship with Summer was no longer casual. In the not too distant future, he’d propose to her, she’d say yes, and they’d have a litter of perfect, blond babies. Exactly what she’d always wanted. A family. To belong.

I growled, knowing I’d done this to myself. Whether she’d suspected I’d wanted more than friendship before didn’t matter. I hadn’t told her, hadn’t made it clear. Though I was damn certain she was beginning to figure it out, she’d still taken that step with Matt.

Shit. We used to talk about these things, about everything. When we’d discussed the matter the past few days, almost is if in passing, she’d given me no indication she’d take the leap with him if Matt asked. I had to wonder if she was grabbing contentment with both hands or running from me.

Julie, one of my employees, stared blankly at me from behind the counter. Our personalities clashed well. She was calm, efficient, and only lifted an eyebrow when I barked at her. Her presence allowed me to work from home in my woodshop rather than focus on selling.

I sighed. “I’m sorry. Bad day.” I carefully closed the door.

She smiled, obviously used to and not amused by my moods.

I glanced around the store. Opening it had been Summer’s idea when the retail shop went on the market. I never would regret it. Bookshelves cased the back wall from end to end, filling the place with an old, musty fragrance. The walls were painted a deep, rich blue. Also Summer’s idea. She’d thought the color would immediately calm customers, and it did. She’d designed the logo, too. The shop floor held all my hand-crafted pieces. Rocking chairs, desks, shelves, a few tables. I did custom orders also, but that was rare. My website had pictures of what was available. Most purchases came from tourists or online.

We weren’t raking in the numbers, but I had a comfortable pocketbook. A cushion from my grandfather’s estate when he’d passed away made up for slow periods.

I glanced at Julie. “Were we busy today?”

“Not really.”

I nodded. Customers tended to come in waves. “Are you sure you’ll be okay while I’m gone on vacation?”

She smiled again, placating. “I’ll be fine. I have the number if anything goes wrong and you gave me the schedule for the other part-timers a month ago.”

Julie had been with me four years. I’d closed up shop in the past while I’d vacationed, but she’d talked me into staying open this year.

I headed back toward my office, deciding to do the totals from last week. Typically, Rick did them for me, but I needed the distraction.

After an hour, I rubbed my eyes, glad we were doing more than breaking even. From June through August we tended to make the most profit. The draw of tourists and vacationers pulled the sales. We’d hit another jump around Christmas.

Julie walked in and set the change drawer down on my desk. “Do you need me to close up?”

“No, I’ll do it. Thanks.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” She smiled and walked out.

I leaned back in my chair, scrubbing my hands over my hair. My gaze raked over the painting Summer made for me the other day. It seemed fitting to put it in my office, but now there wasn’t even an escape here. Sighing, I got up and locked the store, shutting off lights along the way.

From my pocket, my cell rang. I debated ignoring it, but answered without checking the ID. “Yeah.”

“Is that any way to talk to your mother?” Her smooth voice was laced with amusement.

I smiled. “Hi, Mama. Sorry, bad day.”

“Hmm. How are things? Summer okay? The store?”

“Things are fine. The store is doing well. We’re in the black.”

There was a pause as if she was waiting for me to elaborate. “And Summer? How is my sweet girl?”

“Fine.” I frowned. Summer was peachy. Me, on the other hand, had ulcers on my ulcers.

I couldn’t see the smile on Mom’s face, but I could hear it in her voice. “Okay then, honey. We’re leaving tomorrow morning for Tennessee. I left you kids some food and the house is as clean as I’m willing to get it. So, you’ll be all right?”

She was referring to Seasmoke, where her and Dad lived now that they’d retired. They were driving to Memphis to visit Mom’s sister while we were in Myrtle next week. “Of course, Mama.”

“Drive carefully,” she warned. “I love you.”

I dropped into my office chair. “I love you, too. Hi to Dad.”

“Tell my surrogate daughter I say the same to her.”

Meaning Summer. I shook my head. “Will do.”

With a long sigh, I hung up and noticed the rain had started pouring while I was on the phone. Which meant, more than likely, Summer would come over tonight. She always did when it rained.

On the way to my car, parked out front, I bumped solidly into Tim Avery. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.” I pulled Summer’s attorney under the awning over the front door. “You okay?”

“Fine, fine.” He waved me off. “I saw your back light on and thought I’d come by to get your parents’ number. I might need it for the hearing.”

I wondered if the man had hit his head when we’d collided. “What hearing?”

“They scheduled the preliminary hearing for the property tomorrow. I may not need your parents for that, but if it goes to a trial…”

Prickles of warning skittered up my spine. “What in the hell are you talking about?”

Tim’s eyes widened and his shoulders squared. “Summer didn’t tell you. Oh, gosh. I assumed…It’s just you two are close. I thought…”

My stomach sank like lead. “You thought Summer told me what?”

His lips twisted as if considering whether to divulge. Everyone in Wylie knew Summer and I were joined at the hip, our bond stronger than blood. Tim nodded, probably assuming Summer would tell me the info on her own anyway. “Her mother is trying to take possession of the house. Tom never changed the deed. We have a hearing on…”

Her...mother? The one who’d abandoned Summer before she could walk? That mother? I had no idea she’d even come back to town, never mind the house.

Christ. No.

I blinked through the rain, shock morphing into dread. Tim was still rambling, but I didn’t hear anything else. I bolted to the car, dialed Summer’s number, and roared down 49 toward home.

CHAPTER SIX

Fifteen Years Ago—Age Thirteen

In moments like this, I wished I had a mom. Most of the time, I told myself I didn’t give a hoot whether that woman gave me away and ran as far as she could, that she didn’t love me and left me wondering why. Or how there was a hole in my heart which couldn’t be filled.

But when a girl gets her period for the first time, she just wants her mom. Though it left me feeling stupid and weak, I wanted her. I wanted my mother. She would tell me what to do, not to worry, explain things.

We’d gone over it all in school. I’d giggled from my lone perch behind the other girls and rolled my eyes. But now, as I sat on the floor of the bathroom, I wished I’d paid more attention in health class. Panic was threatening to take over, and I fought not to have another attack. My heart beated a mile a minute.

Should I tell Daddy? Did he know about this stuff? Maybe I could ask Mrs. Memmer. Ian’s mama could help, right? Yes. What other choice was there?

I rushed to the phone and dialed the number with shaking hands. Oh God, please don’t let Ian answer. Please! Please!

“Hello?”

“Um, hi, Mrs. Memmer.” Maybe I shouldn’t have called. I’d been on my own, just me and Daddy, for so long. I should handle the situation myself.

“Oh, hello, Summer. Ian’s right here. Hold on.”

“No!” I quickly looked around to make sure Daddy hadn’t heard. “I mean, I’m calling to, um…”

“Are you okay, sweetie?”

Great. Just great. I had Mrs. Memmer thinking I was nuts. Just spit it out. “Um, I have a female thing.”

“A female…Oh.” She paused and I bit my lip. “I’ll be right over.”

I hung up, my cheeks stinging in hot mortification.

Lately, things had been different. Changing. I was liking boys, wearing a bra—though it was a trainer one and not a real one, but still. Now I got my period.

And here I was, motherless, with a carpenter father who probably didn’t know about girly stuff. Like, what I was supposed to wear to the school dance. How to cut my hair. The proper way to shave my legs.

At the knock on the bathroom door, I let Mrs. Memmer in and left Ian in the hall, scathing he was left out of the loop. We may have been BFFs, but no way, absolutely no way, was I sharing this with him.

After his mom got me squared away, Ian and I walked down to the creek behind our houses and sat on the bank. Humidity made my shirt cling and Ian’s brown hair curl at the ends. The sunlight had lightened it through the summer, but it was still dark. Like his eyes.

A lot of the girls were crushing on him at school. I’d never been in the popular crowd, but I’d heard them talking. I wondered what it would be like to be kissed, especially by someone like him. Ian was cute and self-assured. I bet he’d kissed lots of girls. I’d be sloppy and he wouldn’t like it.

He looked over and did a double-take, catching me staring. The scent of moss and grass swirled around us, the mosquitoes active. Neither of us moved. He smelled like boy sweat and dirt. The heat from his shoulder seeped into my skin where we very nearly touched. I had the weirdest urge to lean against him.

Finally, he swallowed and looked away. “What was that about back at your house? You and my mom?”

I shrugged. “Girl stuff.”

“Oh.” He picked up a pebble and skipped it across the creek. “You’re okay, though?” His dark eyes met mine, worried.

I smiled. “I’m okay.”

He nodded. Fast. “Good. That’s good.”

Present—Ian

I was drenched from the downpour and shaking from frenetic worry by the time I shoved my way through Summer’s back door. I’d called her seven times from the road and she hadn’t picked up once.

Growing up, she hadn’t had it so easy. Rivers and I had tried to be her knights in armor, protecting her from the ugly. But kids, they could be mean. Though Summer had acted tough and pretended her mother’s absence didn’t affect her, it had.

Her mother. I didn’t know what to make of it. After all these years, what could the woman possibly want? And why try to take Summer’s house, as Tim claimed? Had she come here, tried to talk to Summer? My stomach twisted and my temples throbbed. I swear, if that woman had upset her...

“Summer!”

No answer. Both her vehicles were in the carport. The kitchen was empty. So was the living room. Panic contorted from a mere sensation to an entity inside my chest.

“Summer!”

Horrific, awful images from the day after Tom’s funeral pummeled my memory. Desperation carried me up her staircase, two steps at a time. My chest was so tight I could barely draw air. I had no idea if Sharon Quinn’s presence would affect Summer, if it would wreck her or if she’d truly be impassive to Sharon’s return. I might be overreacting, yet I couldn’t shake the possibility that all those old feelings of abandonment Summer had harbored might shove their way to the surface. Might screw with her depression. Might...

“Summer!”

Not in her bedroom. A raw, wounded noise shoved past my throat. I opened her studio door at the top of the staircase and jerked short.

With her back to me, immersed in a painting, she bobbed up and down on her toes to whatever tune she’d cranked on her iPod. The earbuds would be why she hadn’t answered the phone. Paintbrush in hand, she tilted her head to study the canvas on her easel. My gaze raked over her as if swallowing her whole, relief making my hands shake. She was wearing short cutoffs and a white tee, both splattered in paint. Her feet were bare, the norm, and her hair was up in a messy knot.

The last of my apprehension drained as desire kicked in. What I wouldn’t do to be able to fist my hand in her hair, tug out that ponytail, and ravish her pouty mouth. Lay her out on her paint-stained floor, cover her perfect body with my own, and show her just what I’d fantasized about for years. I shook my head, sucking in a breath to control myself before other body parts got any ideas.

She didn’t appear to be catatonic from her mother’s reappearance. Jesus, she was fine. Just damn fine. Or appeared to be. She was damn good at faking it.

But I wasn’t fine. Not by a long shot.

I rounded her easel, edging into her line of sight.

She screamed bloody murder, did some kind of seizure dance, and pulled out her earbuds. Cute, that. “God, Ian! You scared me to death.”

Good. We were even then, considering she scared a year off my life. “Why did I have to hear from your attorney that your mother filed suit for the house?”

The light drained from her eyes, and she looked away. She turned to swirl her brush in a glass of paint thinner. Her hand, so beautiful, so delicate, shook with the movement.

My guard went right back up. Every ingrained instinct on red alert. “Summer, look at me.”

Her mouth thinned, her gaze landing on my chest as if she were unable to meet my eyes. “She came by a week ago. My mother, I mean. That’s when I found out. Tim is trying to fix it. I tried to tell you today at Rick and Dee’s, but you had to go into the store.”

I rubbed my neck. Damn, she had tried to talk to me. I’d blown her off, pissed as all hell about Matt and a stupid swimming suit. “Don’t lie to me, because I’ll know. Are you okay?”

Instead of answering, she walked to the other side of the room, grabbed a cloth, and wiped her hands.

Grinding my molars to dust, I strode over to her and took the towel, tossing it aside. “Talk to me.” That was our code, something I said to her when I was on the brink of losing my shit. For whatever reason, she always had it stuck in her head she had to go it alone, bottle her emotions to not concern others. Thing was, that only made me worry more.

After a gale of a sigh, she looked up at me, those baby blues fathomless. Hurt seeped from her right into me. “I’m scared. Daddy forgot to switch the deed into my name and she’s trying to take ownership. She came by, said some things. I don’t know if I should believe her.” As if noticing my tense posture for the first time, she offered a sad smile. “But I’m okay. I promise.”

I nodded once. “What was she like?” Sharon was as much a nonentity in my life as she had been in Summer’s. I’d wondered about her, about what kind of woman could walk out on her kid, but it had been years since I’d thought about it.

Her gaze went heavenward, not out of avoidance, but impatience. “She claimed she wanted to see me, but all she really wanted was the house. What else is there to say?”

Plenty. As if that woman hadn’t hurt my girl enough, she had to add acid to the wound. Instinct had me pulling Summer to me, holding her against my chest. She wrapped her arms around me, a desperate quality emanating from the way she gripped tight. I rested my cheek on top of her head, breathing in the lilac scent of her. “You should have said something sooner.”

“So we both could worry?” She pressed her face into my neck, muffling the words.

Christ, she felt so goddamn good against me. Slow, liquid heat built in my veins. “Yes. Now shut up and accept help. I’m here.”

Leaning back, she inhaled deep. “You’re wet. Is it raining?” Before I could answer, her defenses were rebuilding. “Go home and get dry before you get sick. I’ll come over in a bit. I just have to clean up, take a shower.”

There was no talking to her when she was like this, so I kissed her forehead and headed home.

After a change of clothes, I sat on a chair in my bedroom, thinking about Summer’s mother. Though she hid it well, the little girl in Summer had to be wounded by the rejection. After Sharon finally came home, there would be no more illusions or hope. She didn’t want a relationship with Summer, by the sound of it. I’d like to rip the fool woman’s head off.

What Rick had said earlier about telling Summer how I felt seemed small now. I watched the rain beat against the window, contemplating how I would even go about spilling the truth. The thought of telling Summer I loved her—and not just as a friend—was something I’d played over in my mind too many times to count. I’d imagined a variety of responses from her, knowing the one I wanted would never be a reality.

She’d think I was crazy or just wanted sex. Oh, I wanted that, too. But she was the one woman I had any desire to make love with, to have children with, and grow old with.

To be honest, I’d never wanted kids until recently. In the back of my mind, I supposed my hesitation always came down to Summer’s students. I’d witnessed the devastation and loss of what a terminal illness could do, and I was pretty certain I couldn’t handle that. But a few years ago, my feelings had changed. What began as sexual interest in Summer as teenagers turned from curiosity to love in our early twenties and into I couldn’t live without her now. She was all I wanted. And I’d give her anything, including the family she desired most.

I sighed, knowing no matter what, we would grow old together as friends if I would just keep my mouth shut. Carry on the same old, same old.

The dark night sky let out a flash of lightning and I frowned. She never could sleep through storms, not since the night her dad died. What a torrent that had been, and every time it rained, she seemed to be reminded of that day. As a girl, she’d loved rain, often danced in it like a fairy, but like so many other things, that had been taken from her, too.

Summer walked into my room moments later, dripping from head to toe, and stopped just inside the doorway. Her hair was drenched with rainwater and meshed against her pale face. Her navy nightgown was stuck to every curve of her as she stood there shivering. Those blue eyes were a deeper, deadly sapphire in the lowlight. Because I was an idiot, I glanced quickly at her nipples, the peaks taut against the cotton fabric.

Hell. I bit back a groan and rose from the chair, threw her an old shirt from my top drawer. Without saying a word, I turned away from her while she undressed. When she was situated, I grabbed a towel from my adjoining bath and dried her hair best I could. She stood there, letting me. In many aspects of our friendship, she let me take care of her. In others, she put up a wall, ever independent. After so many years together, I knew where the lines were drawn.

I put the book away in my nightstand to have something to do, give myself a moment, before pulling the covers away from the bed, letting her in.

She was still shivering when she lay next to me, curled up to my side, and formed her body to fit mine. This she didn’t do often. Cuddled. We’d watched movies, talked long into the night, but rarely got this...intimate.

“I’m cold.”

I rubbed my hand up and down her back to warm her, trying to conjure an idea for conversation that didn’t involve how hard a certain part of my anatomy was becoming. “What are you going to do with all of us gone tomorrow night?” Rick, Dee, and I were driving to the coast tomorrow for our annual vacation. Summer had a work meeting and was heading down a day late.

“I could always call Peter for company.” Her attempt at a joke was uttered through quivering lips, missing the mark.

What that jerk at the hobby store had said to her about me still rankled, but I tsked in good humor. “What would Matt say?”

She smiled, nailing me right in the chest. “Only joking.”

“Something tells me he’d be a little upset if he saw us right now.” If she were mine, I would tear the other guy’s limbs off.

“We’re not doing anything wrong.”

“Just the same, I wouldn’t want my girlfriend climbing in bed with another guy. Ulterior motives or not.”

“You don’t have a girlfriend. You have girlfriends. Plural.”

I didn’t bother commenting on that. None of them were her.

“What do you think of Matt moving to Charlotte?” Her tone was so tentative I knew she wasn’t completely comfortable with the idea. Not for the first time, I wondered why she was with him, other than companionship. They didn’t seem to have any chemistry.

Despite the fear she didn’t feel the same way about me, I cared too much about her to admit the truth before. I was the only family she had left. I’d been her quiet protector, her sounding board, her supporter, and shoulder to cry on. If she were to lose me, literally or metaphorically, it would kill her. Again, I thought about what Rivers had said. She’d just given me an opening. Maybe he was right. We were both at a different place in our lives now than when I’d first fallen. Perhaps being honest wouldn’t derail almost thirty years of friendship.

Consequences be damned. “I need to talk to you. There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” I winced. Not exactly how I wanted to begin.

“Really?” The way she drew out the question relayed her anxiety.

I looked down at her, cradled in the crook of my arm. Her dark caramel strands were drying to more of a cornflower and her pale lashes shadowed her cheeks. So damn beautiful. I couldn’t just lay the truth on her, but she needed to understand I was serious about an impending talk. I’m not sure if I did it to hold myself accountable or to prepare her, but I closed my eyes and kissed her forehead. “We’ll talk at Seasmoke, okay?” If this was a mistake, it couldn’t be undone, but we’d deal. Somehow.

She leaned up on one elbow, and when I opened my eyes, she was staring down at me, her face close to mine. I could count all the cobalt specs in her irises, mingling with the twilight and stormy blue. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear that was relief in her eyes. Hope, perhaps. This wasn’t her at all. Anyone said the word “talk” and she normally turned into a basket case.

Her gaze traveled over my face. “What’s going on?” Her voice was husky. Tempting.

Earlier, I’d suspected she figured out what I’d been feeling, based off our discussion the other night and my reaction at Rick’s house. I had no doubt now. None. She knew. The way she looked at me...it was something that should have been forbidden between us, something never tested or divulged.

Heat.

Carnal...freaking...desire.

She swallowed, the click like a shout in the room. I don’t think she was breathing. I’m certain I forgot how. We were close enough to share air, for me to draw in her scent. My body tightened in response. She smelled like rain and lilac and everything pure in the world. My jaw clenched, gaze locking with hers.

She lifted a finger to brush a strand of hair from my forehead, her touch lingering longer than necessary. And then, she...bit...her...lower...lip. I followed the movement with my eyes, breath trapped in my lungs. Her hand faltered on my forehead as if suddenly unsure or becoming aware of what she was doing. Yet she didn’t move away.

“Don’t,” I said, the ragged, hoarse voice not my own.

Don’t touch me like that and not mean it. Don’t use me because you’re afraid of where your relationship with Matt is going. Don’t do this now, finally, and then run away.

She swallowed again, her gaze lifting to the hand she stroked over my face. Slowly, inch by excruciating inch, she trailed that finger down my cheek, dangerously close to my mouth. Every goddamn nerve in my body lit like a fuse, burning, cindering.

“Summer,” I ground out the a warning through a painfully clenched jaw. I grabbed her hand, intent on pushing it away, but found I wasn’t capable. Christ, I wanted this so bad my heart hurt and lodged itself in my airway “Don’t.” My last plea before I lost my mind, begging her to decide.

Her leg shifted under the sheet, just a slight movement. The sound of her skin sliding against the cotton ramped my pulse to stroke levels. Then her leg brushed my thigh and the room vacated of air, of sound, of anything but her and me. Her gaze dropped to my mouth and that was it. I had no idea if she came toward me or if I closed the distance. All I knew for sure was I was toast.

Our lips met, a gentle feather touch, testing the waters of lunacy. Her warm breath exhaled a sweet caress over my mouth as uneven and ragged as my own. My muscles shook from the restraint, locked painfully rigid. I tried to keep still, to let her run the show, but the effort was killing me. Refusing to close my eyes, I watched her, suspended in a state of no-effing-way and this-was-happening.

Hyperaware, I was conscious of every part of me connected to her. Her breasts crushed against my arm. Her stomach pressed along my hip. Her leg tangled around mine. Her hand over my pounding heart. Her hair curtaining our faces. The heat from our bodies melding. And Christ, her mouth teasing the hell out of mine.

She paused a fraction of a beat, then her lids fell closed and she tilted her head, immediately deepening the kiss from barely there to fevered hunger. She ate at my mouth, driving me effing mad with tiny nips, alternating them with languid licks and sucking my lower lip. A weak, needy sound came from her throat—half protest, half encouragement.

There was my permission. Christ. I was only a man, after all. Flesh and blood and, at the moment, filled with more testosterone than the NFL. If I had to pour fifteen years of wanting her into one kiss, hell, I’d do it.

I drove my hand into her damp, rain-scented hair and, grabbing a fistful, I angled her head for better access. My tongue swept inside her mouth, colliding with hers in a slow dance that had me so hard it would leave a permanent zipper impression on my shaft. She tasted like peppermint and chocolate, smelled like sin and innocence wrapped into one perfect bundle. I eased back for air, thought screw it, and went right at her.

Heaven strike me, she was better than any warped fantasy I’d conjured in my head. Warm, soft, eager. Seeking more, I rolled, pressing her into the mattress, covering her body with the weight of mine. Her talented, gifted hands threaded in my hair as she arched into me.

I froze, a tether of rational thought connecting my body to my brain. My best friend was underneath me, my mouth devouring hers. Breathless, I broke away, lifted my head. Her heavy lids rose, exposing lust-saturated blue eyes clouded in desire. Her exhale skated over my jaw and stalled.

Then she started to come around, bit by bit, her eyes clearing, until I was forced to sit up and lean on my haunches, severing all contact. The loss was pain. Sheer pain.

Eyes wide with shock, she lifted a trembling hand to her swollen mouth. After taking a moment to recover, her gaze darting everywhere but at me, she tugged the shirt I’d loaned her over her knees and sat up. Her lips parted twice before she uttered anything. “The rain stopped.”

Rain. Rain? Was she kidding? My heart was still racing, my pants cutting off circulation, and she wanted to discuss the weather?

She looked at me and quickly away. “Now that we got that out of our system…”

I stilled, then laughed with no amusement. Out of our system? Not even close.

As if seeking something to do with her hands, she settled a palm over her forearm and began kneading. Her nervous tell. “I better go.”

She got as far as the doorway before I recovered. “Summer.” She stopped, but didn’t turn around. “We’ll talk at Seasmoke.”

Without a word, she left.

I woke from a fitful slumber to some ingrate pounding on my back door. Grousing from little sleep, I reluctantly hauled my ass out of bed and downstairs to let Rick and Dee in.

Rick gave me a once-over. “Man, we’ve been pounding for ten minutes.”

I groaned in response. Mornings sucked. Morning people sucked harder.

Rick followed me upstairs, leaving Dee mumbling something about breakfast.

I sat on the side of my bed and rubbed the grit out of my eyes.

“You look like crap. I’m driving today.” Rick lifted his eyebrows as if I’d explain my dismal state.

“I didn’t sleep well.”

“What’s the matter with you? It’s Fourth of July week. Vacay. Seasmoke. Beach, sun, sand.”

“I kissed Summer last night.”

Rick froze like a comical cartoon and dropped beside me on the bed.

“I told her we’d talk about it at Seasmoke. She high-tailed it out of here faster than a blink.” I lay back on the bed, covering my face with my arm. My chest felt ready to explode all over my bedroom walls from the building pressure.

“What are you going to do?”

As if I had any idea. “Shooting myself seems like a viable option.”

Rick half-laughed, the sound coming out more like a squawk. “Look, you couldn’t keep going on the way you were. Consider it progress.”

Progress. Fifteen years and I’d worked up to kissing her. At my pace, we’d be eighty by the time I made it to third base.

Rick patted my knee and left, so I gradually got up. Summer’s nightgown was draped over the back of a chair by the window. It still had the remnant scent of rain from her drenching walk over. It was dry now. I picked it up with a shaking hand and fisted it between my palms. I closed my eyes to the possibility of losing her and sucked in a harsh breath.

She’d responded to me last night. Hell, she’d initiated the kiss. Whatever torture I was putting on myself, she was equally doing it to herself. But if she didn’t feel the pull between us, then last night would not have gone as far as it had. She would’ve stopped me immediately.

I dropped the nightgown on the chair and picked up my travel bag. Calmer, I headed downstairs. We dumped everything in Rick’s car and closed up the house.

Rick, as if reading my mind, said, “Come on. It’s time.”

I paused by the car door, remembering what had initiated last night in the first place. “We need to stop somewhere before hitting the road.”

Summer

There was a cross between hope and dread that my mother would make an appearance at the hearing. I didn’t know if she’d gone back to Texas or if she was still around. She hadn’t tried to make contact with me again since the day she’d shown up at my house. Tim didn’t think she’d come. I was trying not to think at all.

The judge, a seventy-five-year-old southern Baptist with no tolerance for nonsense, calmly read over the stack of papers in his hand. He’d been doing so for twenty minutes.

“Is Ms. Quinn here, Mr. Thompson?” The judge looked at my mother’s attorney.

Mr. Thompson stood. “No, Your Honor. She had other obligations, but directed me to file this motion.”

“I see. And the other Ms. Quinn is contesting that the house on Willows Creek is rightfully hers?”

Tim Avery stood. “Yes, Your Honor. It was willed to her by her father four years ago at his death, unaware the deed hadn’t been changed.”

The judge sighed. “Unusual predicament. I’m setting a hearing for August twenty-sixth to determine my findings. In the mean time, I suggest all parties try to get together with counsel to work this out. If not, I’ll see you all on the twenty-sixth. And, Mr. Thompson? Tell your client her presence is required.”

Mr. Thompson bowed his head. “Yes, Your honor.”

“What just happened?” I whispered to Tim.

“Absolutely nothing.” His lips pursed as he shoved papers into a briefcase. “We need to meet with your mother and her lawyer. I’ll call you soon.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow for Myrtle.”

“It’ll be at least two weeks before we can arrange something anyway. Try not to—”

“Worry,” I interrupted. “I know.” As if that were possible.

I lifted my purse from the chair and turned to leave. Ian, Dee, and Rick sat in the back row waiting for me. I stilled in surprise, my eyes welling in gratitude. God, I loved them so hard.

Drawing a steadying breath, I shoved the emotion down. “I didn’t see you come in.”

Rick’s normally pale complexion was flushed red and he had his hands balled into fists at his sides. Angrier than I’d ever seen him. “Why didn’t you tell me all this was going on?”

“Yeah, okay. I’m sorry. There was nothing to report yet and I didn’t want to worry you.”

His features softened. “We worry anyway.” He pulled me in for a bone-cracking hug and kissed the top of my head. “I love you.”

I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “Me, too.” I checked my watch to focus on something else. “I have my board meeting in an hour and you’re supposed to be at Seasmoke by now.”

Ian’s quiet presence sent a flitter of unease through me. Last night had been put on my mind’s back burner in order to get through the hearing. But now, with him standing in front of me, his touch and kiss and words from the night before had my face heating and my breath short. I chanced a peek at him, but his gaze was glued to my mother’s attorney. He wanted to talk at Seasmoke, and now wasn’t the time or place to get into what happened.

Leaning in, I gave Dee a hug, and shooed my friends toward the door with the promise I’d see them tomorrow. I had somewhere I needed to be, so Ian would have to wait.

I drove across town, dreading these damn board meetings as much as a root canal. But, such as a root canal, they were necessary. For the kids. For the hope of someday making a difference. And to have to deal with this after the hearing was overkill on my nerves.

Once at the school, I waited at the conference table for the meeting to begin, toes curling in my shoes as last night slammed into me. We’d crossed the line in his bedroom, Ian and I. It was one thing to suspect his behavior lately leaned toward...more than friendship. I could deny what was happening or tell myself I was reading too much into things. But it was something else entirely to have it all but confirmed.

I couldn’t wrap my head around it. The whole thing seemed like a dream, like someone else’s movie playing before my eyes. I’d known him my whole life, had watched him grow from a boy to a man, and the person with me last night had not been my best friend. He’d kissed all sense out of me, had looked at me with gutting sincerity and leashed passion. As if suddenly unsure of himself, when he’d always had enough confidence for the both of us, he’d touched me, held me gently with shaking hands like the moment was the epitome of importance. An embodiment of everything.

Like...he’d been waiting forever.

Somehow, I knew it would be like that if we ever kissed, if we ever crossed that line. Through the years, I’d appreciated—recognized, even—his handsome face, his deadly smile, his yummy body. He exuded sex and naughty vibes, carried himself with a mix of assurance and swagger. But I’d mentally kept him in the don’t-go-there zone. I’d been able to stop myself from fantasizing or doing anything that could kill him and me. We were too important just as we were to screw up what we had.

But I had no idea it’d be like that. No amount of preparation or imagination would ever have prepared me for how Ian would level me. Undo me. It had never been like that for me before. Powerful. Emotional. Fierce. Tender. The contradictions were reeling.

As far back as I could remember, I’d always wanted the fairy tale. I was a dreamer, a visionary, and even though a part of me knew I romanticized aspects of love, I wished for it just the same. I’d been losing some of that idealism lately, and it was showing in my paintings. I was beginning to think romance didn’t exist. Nowhere in my fantasies had I allowed these feelings to come from Ian—my best friend, the solitary person holding me up most days.

No. That should have come from someone like Matt—the solid, handsome boyfriend who brought me daisies and who had just asked me for a committed relationship. Guilt swam in my stomach and tightened my throat. Not even twenty-four hours after I’d agreed to consider all in with Matt, and I’d kissed another man.

I blinked and snapped to when voices sounded around me. I hadn’t even realized the meeting had begun. This was too important to not pay attention.

The seven idiots who served on the committee with me understood normal people as much as they did the inner cities they’d never visited or the hospitals their kids hadn’t been admitted to. As of now, they were bickering over the football uniforms and whether or not to send the marching band to Savanna for a competition. Up next, they would start to slam the art program.

Alfred Mason piped up first. “If we cut one of the Advanced Painting classes from the curriculum, we’d have the money.”

And here we go.

I stood. “The football team got new uniforms two years ago. They can wait until next year.” I raised my hand to silence the coach, Jason Miserly, before he could protest. “You didn’t even win the division last year.” There were muttered chuckles. “The band deserves to go to Georgia for that competition, as they missed it last year. Make them raise half of the money at a bake sale or selling candy bars. That will free up spending.”

Alfred continued to protest. “But the art classes need to be cut. The school needs repairs…”

I silenced him with a deadly glare. “My classes will not be cut. The money you save from the uniforms, reusing the Algebra books, and making the band raise half the money will cover the repainting and other needed repairs.”

Elizabeth Johnson, the high school principal, nodded. “I agree. If you look at the numbers, they add up.”

“And what about the drain that Saturday class has on the budget? Why don’t you increase the fee?” Coach crossed his arms, still butt sore at my jab.

“Your son is nine-years-old, Jason?” I made sure every word dripped with icy distain. “I just visited Jon Melbourne in the hospital. Ten-year-old Jon Melbourne, who won’t live to turn eleven. Him, along with eight of my other students in that class, are terminal or have been. The low cost of that class is what allows the parents to keep coming. Art therapy gives the kids hope and friendship. They have enough worries struggling to survive and paying medical bills.”

Coach waffled and raised his hand as if waiting to be called on. “Miss Quinn, we’re not saying—”

“My Charlotte benefit covers the supplies of that class. Parents pay tuition. The only cost to you is the energy bill. Furthermore, students who are involved in art and music excel in other areas such as math and science. Think about that, Jason. Like your older son, who was failing Geometry until Elizabeth made him take piano lessons and get tutored after school or be dropped from the team.”

Coach had no comeback for that, but Elizabeth smirked.

I sat and attempted to slow my heart rate by taking a few deep breaths. “You might not feel my classes are important, but they are to the parents and the kids. Some of the seniors last year went on to college with scholarships in the arts.”

Elizabeth let that statement stand on merit for a few moments before speaking. “Summer is correct. I believe we have our fall budget. Is there anything else?”

I drove home, still seething. Lately, I had been thinking about pulling the Saturday class from the curriculum and doing it elsewhere. Taking it out of the school board’s hands altogether. Maybe I could buy out a space by Ian’s store and open a place of my own. I could sell my paintings and have private classes for the kids.

But I didn’t know a thing about running a business. Yet Ian did. Rick could help, too, being an accountant. I wouldn’t charge for the special needs class, just for summer workshops and crafts with other students.

I slowed the car on Main Street, eyeing the open storefront I’d spotted last week. Three doors down from Ian’s shop there was a place for sale. It had been a coffee shop until the owners had bought a new building to expand. It was a decent size, square-shaped, with a storeroom in back. Ideally located right on the main strip on 49. I could leave the ugly black marble tile as it was and paint the walls a bright color. Yellow? The windows were enormous, letting in the natural early morning light to accommodate a painting class. My father’s life insurance money wasn’t much, but it was enough to get me started. The house was mortgage free, having been paid off even before Daddy died. Teaching paid the bills. I could do it.

Maybe. I’d talk to my friends about it this week. For now, it was just one of those fantasies rolling about in my head. Like the paintings I needed to get done. Inspiration hit me, and I struggled to maintain the thread.

Later that evening, I finished the painting of my river birches, incredibly pleased with how it came out. The fireflies looked like fairies winking to each other in a silent language at dusk. After, I packed my bags for the beach.

I was about to call it a night when my cell rang. Ian. I blew out a breath and answered.

Silence greeted me, then he cleared his throat. “It’s me.”

“What’s up?” I slapped my forehead, cringing at my ridiculous response.

There was a prolonged silence, and just as I was about to question if we’d been cut off, he sighed. “Summer.” A chill raced up my spine at the way he said my name. Low, husky. Authoritative.

When he said nothing else, I panicked. This wasn’t like us. We didn’t have lapses in conversations or stalled breaks. I hated that things were off between us. “It was just a kiss.”

“Don’t, Summer. Don’t turn it into nothing.” He paused again, as if gathering himself. I could hear the ocean through the earpiece, a lulling roar despite the riot inside my head, and I pictured him on the beach, staring at the water under the stars. “Just needed to hear your voice. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Twelve Years Ago—Age Thirteen

Daddy was letting me redecorate my room. He had said I was a teenager now, that I was old enough to have a new room and design it myself. It was such a cool idea and very sweet, but I wasn’t like the other girls at school. I didn’t hang out at the mall on weekends and polish my nails pink and giggle over boys. As a matter of fact, my only two friends were boys.

He’d bought me a subscription to Teen magazine, too, for my birthday, but that really wasn’t helping either. All it did was make me feel more alienated from my peers. I’d asked Rick and Ian what they thought, but they’d shrugged and said, “I dunno,” in unison. Boys.

I should’ve probably just left it alone. What was wrong with my pink frilly bedspread and matching curtains? Nothing. Who saw it but me and the boys and Daddy anyhow? No one.

Except it seemed like I was letting Daddy down by not doing something, and he must have thought a long time about the gift idea. Maybe I should call Ian’s mom. She’d know about this stuff. What did normal teenage girls’ bedrooms look like?

“Summer, look!” Ian emerged in my bedroom doorway.

Rick came in behind him, sat in a chair by the window, and started playing with my ballerina snow globe.

Ian was busting at the seams, his grin wide. “I was at the mall with Heather and—”

“Who’s Heather?” I couldn’t remember him mentioning her before.

Rick laughed and answered in a sing-song voice. “Heather is Ian’s new girlfriend.”

What? Ian had a girlfriend? Did that mean I wouldn’t get to hang out with him? Chances were, she wouldn’t like me and then he’d maybe not like me anymore.

Ian shot him a glare. “She is not. Anyway, I was at the mall and I saw this poster.”

He handed me a print of Van Gogh’s Starry Night painting. I’d always liked the brush strokes of his work and I related to the helpless, whimsical feeling in this particular painting.

“So, you’ve been into art and painting and stuff lately,” Ian went on. “I thought you could get a bunch of these artsy posters and hang them up for your new room. You could have your dad paint the walls a light purple, since it’s your favorite color.” He frowned. “Or something.”

It was a great idea!

Five minutes ago, I had been sitting here, close to tears and wondering what to do to redecorate. And here came Ian and Rick to fix it, to make me feel better. I should have known they knew me, got me, and would make everything all right.

Present

I pulled my Cavalier into the circular driveway just off of Seasmoke Road, made up of a combination of crushed clam shells and pea gravel. I shut the car off, staring for a moment at the two-story stone cottage with shutters the color of an ocean swell. Flower boxes were attached under the spherical windows, with petunias and pansies poking out for cheer. The roof peaks were curved slightly toward the ground, designed to be a softer composite than the harsh, clean lines of the city homes. A wrap-around porch gleamed bright in the sunlight with a fresh coat of white paint, the matching, wooden rocking chairs still and calm, waiting for someone to sit.

The summer after Ian’s parents had bought the house, hurricane Hugo had swept through with brutal force and left wreckage of massive proportions in its wake. It had followed an earthquake fault straight up through Charlestown and into Charlotte. I remembered residents carrying chainsaws in the bed of pick-ups to cut away trees and debris just to get through the roads. But this house had made it. Not many had. It had suffered roof and minor external damage, but nothing like what had littered the coast around it. I’d been just an infant when they’d bought the house, but this place always felt like a safe haven, like coming home.

Before the Memmers had closed on the property, they used to rent a condo farther into south Myrtle with my dad. Rick’s parents, the O’Callahauns, would come down, too. We’d met Matt’s folks, the Holcombs, that first year, as they had been renting one of the other condos on the beach. All our families had vacationed together every summer ever since.

Nostalgia set in, heavy and intense. I could almost see our parents sitting on the porch, drinking sweet tea and reminiscing about how it was just yesterday that we kids were in diapers, where the time went, or how bad the next storm was going to be. My daddy would gesture for me to come over and sit in his lap.

How easy things seemed then. Daddy had been there to protect me from everything, even myself. Who would do that now? Who would tell me what to do about Ian? Matt? My mother?

The sandy beach was around back, where the roll and lull of the ocean called upon the memories of us playing as children. The long, gray grass was gone from the side of the pier and replaced with large geraniums potted in our old sand buckets. Mrs. Memmer always was a crafty lady. She had left the grass by the dunes, though.

I had no idea how to act around Ian, what to say. It was a mess. A great big catastrophic mess. We’d never had tension like this between us and I wasn’t even sure of the root cause. Matt and I were together. He was the stable, solid choice. I don’t know what had come over me the other night when I’d kissed Ian but, logically, nothing could come from it except chaos. I had to wonder if I was just one more conquest for him.

I bit back the tears rising in the back of my throat and opened the car door. Breathing in the salty sea air to calm the frazzled tatters of my nerves, I grabbed my bag from the backseat. The heat and humidity pummeled me immediately. It was a scorcher today.

I glanced over at Matt’s place next door, farther down the beach, and didn’t see his car yet. Matt. Dear God, just last week I’d been contemplating whether or not we should move in together. What was I supposed to do now? Call things off? Wait it out?

The screen door snapped shut, knocking my thoughts more out of whack. Dee barreled toward me, squealing, with no apparent intention of slowing down. She plowed me over with a hug, knocking us both to the ground with a thud.

I wheezed. “Good to see you, too, Dee. Though, it’s only been a day.” I laughed. “What are you? Five years old? Get off of me!”

Dee harrumphed and brushed her dark curls from her eyes, straddling me. “We’re here!”

Rick’s face appeared over mine, haloed by the sun. “Girl on girl action. Very nice.”

Dee shook her head. “You wish.” She took my bag inside while Rick helped me to my feet.

“You all right? Is my wife too rough for you? I’ll make her put the whips away.”

I laughed and started to say yes, but my gaze flitted from Rick to the house and stalled.

Sweet Lord.

Ian filled the doorway, a towel around his waist. Droplets of water from either a swim or a shower trailed down his well-toned, tanned chest, stopping at the slight ripples in his abs. The muscles in his defined biceps shifted and bulged as he crossed his arms and leaned against the jamb. His hair, messy, dark, and damp, was complete bedhead, and the shadow on his unshaved jaw gave him a sexier, bad boy image. Such perfect bone structure, that man. He held my gaze, unsmiling, as if trying to reach inside my brain.

I swallowed slowly, my throat dry. My girly parts wept while my nipples pebbled painfully as if it wasn’t a hundred degrees outside.

This was it. The blinding pang I’d been waiting for all my life. The proof there wasn’t something wrong with me, that I wasn’t a defect. In fact, I was very, very capable of feeling lust, it seemed. And our kiss the other night hadn’t been a fluke.

I wheezed air through my lips, trying to make my brain work. Apparently, desire shut down all other functions. Heaven help me, I was lusting after Ian. Look away! Abort.

I grabbed my flip-flops from the front seat and faced him again, keeping my gaze on his eyes and not the man candy body. “Put some clothes on. You’ll scare the pedestrians.”

There. That was normal. That was like us.

He stared at me another few beats, jaw ticking. Unnamed torrents of emotion shoved between us, too fast to nail down. Then, he nodded. Slowly. He turned on his heel and retreated inside.

I sucked oxygen like a woman dying. Maybe I had died because my chest ached something fierce.

Rick cleared his throat and lifted his eyebrows.

Damn it. I’d forgotten he was there.

“Like planets colliding, you two.” An amused smirk quirked his lips.

This wasn’t happening. Determined to shut this...chemistry down, I played stupid. “What?”

Rick laughed. “Save the act for someone who can’t read your mind. Or body language. You two kissed the other night and, judging by the incineration in your little exchange, I’d say Ian wasn’t the only one who got turned on.”

So Ian had told Rick. I didn’t know what to read into that, if anything. “I have a boyfriend.” Which I really, really needed to remember. Open relationship or not, Matt was a good guy and was looking for more from me. Ian would move on to his next conquest before the sheets had time to cool.

Rick looked disappointed and irked at the same time, an expression only he could pull off with ease. “And?” He crossed his arms over his gray shirt, head back, looking down his nose at me.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who’d lost my mind. “That’s crap, Rick.” I fisted my hands. Sucking in a breath, I glanced at the house to be sure no one heard. “You want me to break Matt’s heart and lose something potentially great for the sake of sex? You know Ian as well as I do. He’d be bored in under a week. You’re my friend, too. You’re supposed to…”

What? What exactly did I expect him to do? He was stuck between two of his best friends and it was wrong of me to put him there. I glanced heavenward, closing my eyes against the bright sky.

When I returned my gaze, Rick looked like I had just sucker-punched him. Guilt collided with shame. God. What was I doing? Blaming him? Mortified, and yet reluctant to let go of the anger, I stared him down, chewing my lip.

Helpless, awful fear swirled in my gut. It was a kiss. Granted, it had been an amazing, knock-my-socks-off kiss but, between Ian, myself, and now Rick, we were making a mountain out of a mole hill. Getting ahead of ourselves. Assuming facts not in evidence. Still, the fear clawed inside me. I had the terrifying sensation that nothing would be the same again. Everything had gotten so murky with one kiss.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Rick.”

His understanding eyes leveled on me and the sincerity in his gaze rocked the foundation from under me. “None of us ever know what we’re doing, Summer. We muddle through.”

“Don’t give me your Yoda crap right now.” I rubbed my forehead, close to tears. First Ian, now Rick. They were all I had, damn it. “I’m scared.”

He skimmed his hand down my hair. “I know. There’s nothing wrong with that. But you wouldn’t be having this reaction if you loved Matt.”

The fact he was right only made the acid in my stomach burn harder.

His gaze shifted away, but his stance remained solid, as if trying and failing to hold me inside the truth or ground me.

I couldn’t do this now. Ian and I needed to hash this out. I needed to have a sit down with Matt. None of what had happened between Ian and I could amount to anything, but Matt deserved to know I was conflicted about us. Hard fact? Didn’t matter if Ian made my toes curl. His friendship was more important than a temporary attraction. If we didn’t get a handle on this now, we’d blow apart our intimate circle of friends, and I had the sinking suspicion I’d be the one left stranded.

Briefly closing my eyes, I let out the breath I’d been holding. “I’m going inside to get settled.” I got exactly three feet.

“You’re lying to yourself,” he said to my retreating back.

Limit? Reached.

I spun around so quickly it almost knocked him off his feet. Pushing him in the chest, I got nose to nose with him. “Don’t you do that. Don’t you dare, Rick. Not you, of all people. Don’t make me feel bad for wanting to be happy. Matt is a good guy. He loves me. He can give me what Ian never will, and you know it.”

He froze, made a sound of duress, and grabbed me by the wrists. He hauled me against him, wrapping his arms around my back and pinning me to his chest. As if jarred as much as me, he shook, tension knotting his shoulders. His reaction quashed the rage and hurt simmering inside me. We were solid. He had my back, always.

His heavy sigh ruffled my hair. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His kissed the top of my head. “Just talk to Ian, okay?”

I nodded, still pinned against his chest.

“Things will work out. Don’t worry, okay? I’m here.”

Ian

“That was Jenny on the phone,” I said, descending the stairs to join the others. “We’re supposed to pick her up on the way.”

We were heading farther into South Myrtle tonight, where local bands played on the beach and venders sold hush puppies and various other unhealthy foods. Locals and tourists alike crammed into pavilions and onto the dunes to celebrate, drink, and lose sight of inhibitions. The third of July bonfire has been a tradition since childhood.

Summer glanced up from the wicker chair she was curled in, looking past me instead of at me. The mention of Jenny’s name should have pulled some reaction from her, but no. Nothing. Summer liked Jenny, always had. Well, maybe more like tolerated her. Jenny was a local woman I hooked up with once a year while we were on vacation. Nothing serious, friendly even. Of course, I didn’t plan on sleeping with her this trip, not after everything with Summer, but Jenny had hung around our circle since we were teens and to leave her out felt unnecessary.

Summer stared over my shoulder as if she hadn’t heard me. I couldn’t read a damn thing from her. My plan was to pull her aside tonight, after the bonfire, while we could be alone in her bedroom, and have the discussion that had been weighing on me half my life. The last thing I wanted was to do this in front of everyone and raise tension even higher. Though acid was eating at the lining of my stomach, I knew my best friend, and this was the best way to handle things.

Rick and Dee acknowledged my comment with a nod.

I sighed and glanced around the living room of my parents’ home. The white brick fireplace laid in wait for a cold night later in the year. On its mantle sat a barrage of colored bottles my mother was fond of collecting. Above the bottles was an acrylic painting of the ocean at dusk that Summer had painted for them when they’d retired. The antiqued wainscoting walls held dozens of photos of us through the years.

An irritating chirp from a phone broke through the excruciatingly loud silence. Summer dug in the front pocket of her jeans, pulled out her cell, and glanced at the screen. Her shoulders slumped. “It’s Matt.” Her voice was almost inaudible.

She met my gaze briefly from across the room before she swiped the screen. She’d skilled her expression blank so I didn’t have any idea what she was thinking. Which didn’t do anything for my anxiety level. She stepped through the sliding door and onto the back deck to take the call.

Matt. I wasn’t sure if I should punch something or scream. Both, maybe.

Summer paced outside, phone to her ear, while I struggled to keep upright. My chest was tight and I had this effing ache behind my eyes. I wondered what they were talking about. Had she told Matt about our kiss? I stared, ignoring Rick’s glare indicating I should stop.

It was a long conversation she was having, each second ticking levels off my patience. Considering Matt was supposed to be driving down today, what was so important they had to blah-blah this long? After eons, she nodded, put her hand on her abdomen, and laughed.

I stilled. She hadn’t laughed like that with me in a long time. Not since before Tom died, really. At least it seemed that way. Even though it had been Matt who’d pulled the happy from her, I basked at the light in her eyes, the curve of her lips.

The last noble grain inside me wondered if I should let her go, let her be with him and not say anything to her at all about wanting more than friendship. I had no doubt she knew how I felt, at least on a superficial level, but we hadn’t laid anything out. Yet, I’d never seen any chemistry between her and Matt. Nothing more than comfortable companionship. But maybe I was wrong.

My gut bottomed out. Hell, if he made her happy...

What were her plans with Matt? That was part of what I wanted to discuss with her tonight. Was she finally going to make love to him? That would be the nail in the coffin. Summer only had sex if she really felt a connection to the person. Needless to say, that hadn’t been often. Matt’s religious beliefs meant he hadn’t an inclination to push. And for a guy to be moving two hours closer just to be with her, intimacy seemed inevitable.

I forced my gaze away only to find Rick watching me, understanding and something close to pity in his eyes. I pulled my hands through my hair, frustration knotting my shoulders.

Summer glared at the phone for two long beats before returning it to her pocket and coming inside. The errant smile was gone and replaced with a wrinkle between her brows. “Matt will be over at six. He says he can pick up Jenny for you, if you like.”

My eyes narrowed as my head pounded. “I think I can handle it.”

She rubbed her left forearm and looked away, which meant she wasn’t okay. “Are we grilling out for supper?”

Supper. Supper? I’d kissed her until there was no oxygen left in the atmosphere the other night. She’d responded like a cat in heat, her boyfriend was on his way over, and she wondered about supper? I opened my mouth, surely to insert my foot, but Dee rose from the couch where she’d been cuddling with Rick.

“I’ll throw something in the oven.” If she noticed the tension between us, she didn’t show it.

Summer trailed after her to the kitchen without another word.

I glanced at Rick, flustered as shit. A hard, impenetrable glare looked back at me as if this clusterfuck was all on my shoulders.

Screw it. I shook my head and went outside.

Summer

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear that dress,” Dee said, sitting on the toilet lid, watching me put on my makeup in the bathroom upstairs.

“I bought it years ago. I better wear it before everything sags and I can’t.” It was also incredibly comfortable—a requirement in my universe.

She laughed.

I glanced at her through the mirror as I put the finishing touches on my lipstick. Dee stared down at her own outfit—red, of course, being her favorite color. A long simple sundress with wide straps at the shoulders that left everything to the imagination. She was acting unusually placid. “What’s wrong, Dee?”

She pressed her lips into a thin line of worry. “I think I’m pregnant.”

I grabbed the counter. Totally wasn’t expecting that. “Oh. Wow. Have you told Rick? Taken a test?”

She shook her head. “I’m tired all the time, my stomach gets upset in the afternoon, and I’m two weeks late.” Her watery gaze met mine. “We’ve been trying. I’m scared as hell.”

I crouched next to her. “Don’t be scared. You’re going to be a great mom. We’ll pick up a test tomorrow, okay?”

Grinning ear to ear, she nodded. “You’d paint the nursery for us?”

“Are you kidding? Heck, yeah.” Ah, man. A little niece or nephew. Imagine that! Excitement wiggled through my doubt and anxiety since arriving.

She sucked in a breath, seemingly calmer. “You better hurry. The guys are waiting. That dress is perfect. It goes really well with your skin tone.”

“You think?” I took stock in the mirror, wearing the blue dress I almost hadn’t packed. It was far from racy, but was more revealing than my typical style. It was loose around my knees, spaghetti strap, and just low enough to show the girls if I bent over.

Dee grinned. “Matt is going to go nuts.”

Well, crap. Matt. I still didn’t know what to do. Telling him about Ian would only churn murky water. Yes, Ian and I needed to talk, to sort things out, but I was determined to ignore the pull between us for the greater good, no matter what my best friend said. Matt was my future. Right?

Jenny was tagging along tonight. Unlike the rest of us, she lived in Myrtle. She and Ian had been hooking up on and off for years. I couldn’t help but wonder how strong Ian’s supposed feelings for me were if he had no qualms about having her around. It kind of solidified my suspicion this was all physical.

I closed my cosmetic case and stared at the sink. What would my father want me to do? He’d been a hopeless romantic at heart. I’d gotten that from him. Except he’d acted on his passion and I only dreamed about it. He’d never loved again after Sharon left. He hadn’t so much as looked at another woman. Would he say, Go ahead, have a wild fling with the guy next door? Or be more level-headed and say, Pick the stable choice with Matt?

“Dee.”

“Yes?” She smoothed out her dress and stood.

“Do you think my dad would be proud?” Hot tears formed a ball in my throat “I teach more than I paint. I haven’t fallen in love or made plans for a family.”

She grabbed my shoulders and gave me a firm shake. “Look at you. Beautiful, sweet, smart, talented. You give everything to your students and they adore you. The love and family part will come. What’s not to be proud of?” Her soft gaze met mine. “Your daddy loved you so much. You know that. And he knows you loved him.”

I dropped my forehead to her shoulder, swamped with immeasurable gratitude I had the best friends in the world. They picked me up, time and time again. The pressure behind my ribs eased and I was able to fend off tears. “You’re the best, Dee.”

“Well, no duh. Now, enough of this. You’ll ruin your makeup.”

I laughed, the sound catching in my throat. “Let’s go.”

The bonfire festivities on the beach were already crowded by nightfall. People swarmed to buy popcorn and cotton candy and barbequed pork, the smells wafting through the air and tempting my uneasy stomach. Children ran about, laughing and playing with glow sticks and sparklers, delighted to be free of their standard bedtime.

The six of us were gathered around a picnic table, sipping beer and taking it all in. Off to one side, mindful of the tide, a band was setting up a stage just outside of an enormous, open gazebo. It was the ideal spot because those wanting to catch the music could gather on the beach, and others wishing to dance could do so inside the gazebo.

It was my favorite part of the evening, usually. Watching the crowd, the hum of music, dancing with Matt and losing reality to the joy of Fourth week. The freedom from sick kids and board meetings and deadlines.

But I wasn’t thinking about Matt. I was trying not to be obvious about watching Ian with Jenny. They hadn’t made out or gotten cutesy, but he’d had his arm around her half the night, would casually murmur or laugh in her ear at some private joke.

Proof our kiss meant nothing to him.

Completely unused to this new jealousy, I reminded myself I liked Jenny. Ian was not an option and Matt was right beside me. He was my future.

Yet I was crawling out of my skin. No matter how hard I tried to focus on something else, my gaze kept landing back on them. On him. The way his easy grin transformed the rugged shape of his jaw. His dark eyes as they scanned the beach. The way the muscles in his forearms coiled when he held his cup. His T-shirt molded to his shoulders and chest, enhancing the ridges and bulges as he flexed. His dark, messy hair caught the breeze rolling in off the water, making my hands itch to run my fingers through the strands or pick up a brush to paint his likeness.

My turmoil wasn’t just about losing Matt, or being alone, or changing the friendship with Ian. Those were factors, not whole reasons. Truth was, Ian was the only person in my life who loved me as myself. He got me on a bone-deep level and, I feared, the only person capable of breaking me. History assured me that if we acted on our attraction, he’d get bored or eventually resent any romantic relationship. He was the only reason I was still alive, the reason why I got out of bed most days. Take that away and I would vanish.

Matt nudged me with his elbow. He jerked his chin toward Jenny, indicating she’d been talking to me.

I rubbed my forehead. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”

“I said we should get a bigger bonfire going this year.” Her reddish brown hair was short and neatly styled in a perfect bob. Jenny was a very petite woman. I used to think that if I hugged her too hard she’d break in half. Her voice always came out like an amused squeak and raked my ears raw.

Nodding, I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. Ah, yes. Tomorrow, we would build a bonfire on our private section of the beach, just outside of the Memmer’s house, roasting marshmallows and watching the Myrtle fireworks display over the ocean. A tradition for us.

I caught Ian staring at me, concern and curiosity in his gaze, but I quickly turned my head. A blush heated my neck, rising to my cheeks.

The last thing I needed was Ian knowing where my thoughts had been. The man knew women, myself most of all, and could read them like one of his books on his shelf. I had been struggling all night to hide from his stares, to keep my voice even when I spoke. It wasn’t easy when his jeans enhanced his strong thighs and narrow hips, when the deep timbre of his voice heated the blood in my veins to scalding.

It occurred to me, I’d never had a reaction like this to another man. Part of me had begged fate for this kind of response, to give credence to the romanticism I envied. How stupid I’d been to hope for this. It was like freefalling with no net. A fever that wouldn’t break. Being taken apart cell by cell.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and blew out a careful breath. I glanced around while the others chatted, their voices just white noise.

Red and yellow lights from the Ferris wheel illuminated the night sky, reminding me of when Rick had kissed Dee for the first time in one of the bucket seats at the top. I looked over at them, arms around each other. I wanted that. Someone to adoringly look at me like I was the only thing that existed. To hold me and wake with me and fill the emptiness inside. Someone to give me the warm fuzzies Rick and Dee felt for each other.

With stark clarity and deep regret, I understood I’d never have that with Matt. If I didn’t feel it now, after a year together, it wouldn’t emerge at all. He loved me, or the idea of me, but I wasn’t his moon and sun. Affection and endearing sweetness filled his hazel eyes when he’d look at me, but the hot pang of need was missing. Sticking with Matt was probably the right choice. The reasonable one. There was no chance of him wrecking me.

The band started, having finished a sound check.

Ian took my hand from across the table, sending an electric charge of hot blue lightning pulsing through my arm. The pad of his thumb swept the top of my hand as he held me captive in his gaze. The air sizzled between us, an undercurrent of what-if and precarious yearning.

One corner of his lips curved, the expression he used when trying to assure me everything was okay, that we were still us. “Dance with me.”

Matt’s gaze darted between us. I caught the swivel of his head in my peripheral vision. Slowly, he stood. “Go ahead, beautiful. I’ll take Jenny for a spin.”

That. That right there was like a claw shredding my hope. A person would have to be an idiot not to pick up on the heat between me and Ian. I was too inexperienced to know how to hide my reaction. And Matt...was just willing to let me go. A dance, into the arms of another man...it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to fight for me, even if the other guy was my best friend.

It had been that way my whole life. People walked. Ignored me. Didn’t notice me at all. Died. And no one ever fought for me. Like I wasn’t worth the effort. All except...Ian.

I cut my gaze back to him. Those dark as midnight eyes watched me, waiting. Warm pools of liquid chocolate, and I melted. On shaking legs, I stood and let him lead me across the sand to the open gazebo, where other couples were slow-dancing to the band’s rendition of Howie Day’s Collide.

Gently, he tugged me to his hard wall of chest and wrapped his arms around my back. My head spun as I breathed in his earthy scent mixed with cut wood, one that was distinctly his, and I closed my eyes. Ian wasn’t overly tall, just under six feet, so the top of my head reached his chin. Every inch of his body was in direct contact with mine. Our thighs brushed as we moved slowly. My breasts crushed between us, our hips aligned so that I could feel the ridge of his slight erection against my belly. I sucked in a harsh breath and opened my eyes.

As if knowing what I’d been thinking, he dipped his head and spoke against my ear. “There’s your proof, Summer, if you were looking for it.” His voice was broken, hoarse, and riddled with a need I’d never heard from a man.

A tremble tore through me, in direct contrast to the heat infusing every one of my cells. My hands, trapped between our bodies, fisted in his shirt. I stared at the dark stubble on his jaw, wanting to press my face against his throat, and tried to draw air. Futile. There was nothing to breathe but him. A want, so deep I nearly wept, rose inside me and consumed. Obliterated. Savaged.

He slid one hand down my spine to the curve of my backside and urged me closer, as if I wasn’t already so embedded I could crawl inside him. His other roamed up and stopped at my neck, the callused fingers dancing along my hairline. My pulse thumped wild and I couldn’t bite back the needy moan in my throat.

He heard, because I felt him smile against my temple. And, if I wasn’t mistaken, he sagged in relief. “Tonight, Summer. In your room, we’ll talk about...this. Just you and me. No one else. That’s why I waited.” His warm breath traced the shell of my ear and I trembled again.

Some of my defiance broke through the haze, and I shook my head. “No. I know what you’re going to say and...no.” My body cried yes to contradict my words.

He stilled, jaw grinding. His muscles tensed against me even as his heart pounded under my palm. “You think you know what I’m going to say, but you don’t. Not this time. And you’re running from me before I have the chance to reach for you. That’s not fair to me, to us.”

I drew away to look up at him. The turmoil and hurt in his eyes unglued me. “You don’t get it, Ian. You’re the person I run to, not away from. That’s why we can’t do this.”

His lips parted as if I’d slapped him, surprise rounding his eyes. He gave a slight shake of his head, a sense of betrayal emanating from him. “Summer...”

The song ended, and I backed up before he could stop me. The loss of his heat shocked like withdrawal, leaving an empty shell in its wake. A shiver cut through me, beginning at the base of my spine and emanating out until I was nothing but a block of ice. The aching twinge in my chest escalated into pain and I almost caved.

His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits as he reached for me.

I turned and bumped solidly into Matt’s chest.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Nine Years Ago—Age Seventeen

I had to admit, the dress was hot. It was prom, after all, I had to look good. Dave Rockwell had asked me to be his date. I was never one of those girls who struggled for popularity, but when the linebacker of the football team asked me, little ole Summer Quinn, well, I’d been excited to say the least.

Me and Dee had gone shopping with Ian’s mom for a dress. It was navy blue, fell to my knees like a cloud, and crossed at the breasts to tie behind my neck. It actually made me look like I had breasts.

Dee had come as Rick’s date. I hadn’t liked Dee much at first, but she’d started to grow on me. Initially, I’d thought she was trying to break into our little happy bubble of three. She was everything I wasn’t. Fun, pretty, popular. But if Rick liked her, then she must be okay.

Ian’s date, however, was captain of the cheerleading team and the biggest bitch on the planet. I looked across the gym at them dancing. If I could call it dancing. They should breathe once in awhile.

Dave put his large hand at the small of my back, drawing my attention to him. “I’m going to get some punch. Be back in a minute.”

I nodded, smiling. He hadn’t asked me to dance at all. When the song ended, I checked the time on the wall clock. There was only an hour left, and he still hadn’t asked me to dance. Maybe my mascara was running? Something in my teeth?

Rising from the table where we’d been stationary, I wove through the crowd. I shoved inside the ladies room and decided to struggle with the nylons to pee first, and then I’d check my makeup. After closing the bathroom stall, a group of girls came in, giggling. I stayed quiet and acted as if I wasn’t there. If one of them caught sight of me, they’d surely say something mean and ruin my happy night.

“I can’t believe Ian Memmer asked you to prom,” one of the girls said.

I grimaced. I couldn’t believe he’d asked Kasey either. She was such a harpy.

“Right? Except we had to drag Summer Quinn along as a double date.” Kasey growled. “Did you hear why Dave asked her to prom?”

The reply was a hushed murmur, as if they were discussing industrial espionage. “No, why?”

“We all got a hotel room downtown for later. Ian and I are heading over there soon. Dave thinks he can get Summer to have sex with him.”

My stomach dropped and my hands grew moist. I should have known that was the reason he’d asked me. No one that popular had ever wanted anything to do with me before. I was so stupid. More than half of my class was having sex. I was probably some screwed up bet to him.

“Why don’t you skanks shut-up?”

I held my breath. Was that…Dee’s voice? Oh God! As if this wasn’t mortifying enough, now Dee had heard it, too. A toilet flushed in one of the stalls and the door creaked open.

“Maybe I should just go tell Rick and Ian about your little chat,” Dee said.

Kasey’s voice dripped with disdain. “Go right ahead. Ruin our after-party. They are so protective of her. It’s pathetic.”

Dee tsked. “You’re just jealous you have twice as many people around you and none of them care half as much.”

After making a disgusted sound, Kasey left with the other girl. Music from the hall filled the room and then it was quiet again. I swallowed as Dee washed her hands. She opened the door to leave, but it didn’t fully close behind her. In the small hallway outside the bathroom I heard voices over the music.

Oh God! Ian and Rick were talking to Dee. She told them what Kasey had said.

This was like a nightmare. At least they didn’t know I was in here.

“I’ll tell Summer I have a headache and ask to go back to her house early.” Dee’s voice held an irritated edge. “Those girls are bitches, and karma eats bitches for breakfast. I hope I’m around to see it.”

In that moment, alone in the bathroom stall, I realized Dee wasn’t so bad. She wasn’t like the rest of the vapid girls at school. She had stood up for me when it counted most, when she hadn’t known I was around.

“Where is she?” Ian’s concerned voice raised an octave. “I haven’t seen her for a few minutes.”

The door closed and I counted to twenty before coming out of the stall, and then wasted more time washing my hands before leaving the bathroom.

Dave caught up with me as I reentered the gym. “There you are. You wanna dance?”

At least he was asking. “Sure.”

On the dance floor, his hands inched lower and lower down my back as the ballad dragged on. Rolling my shoulders, I tried to shrug off the dirty sensation coating my skin. I glanced around as we spun in measured circles, searching for Dee.

Ian was across the gym, walking away from Kasey, who stomped her foot like a child, looking anything but happy. After his irritated, frantic gaze scanned the room, Ian saw me and started my way.

My heart pounded as he got closer. He ate the distance with long, determined strides, hands balled into fists.

“I’m cutting in, Dave.” His tone left no room for argument. With a firm grip on my hand and the other on my waist, he spun me away from my date. Dave stalked over to Kasey.

Ian inhaled hard through his nose and closed his eyes, his hands still on my waist. Tension coiled his muscles and pulsed off him. After a beat of seemingly trying to collect himself, he opened his eyes. “You look nice tonight.” His tone was tight, as rough as sandpaper.

I bit my lip. “Thank you.”

“Rick, Dee, and I are heading back to my place. I figure we could drink some beer down by the creek and hang out. You wanna go?”

They would never know I was in that bathroom stall, would never know they just made my senior prom one of the best nights of my life. Had salvaged what was sure to be another botched attempt at fitting in had they not intervened. What would I do without my friends?

“Sure,” I said, instead of the thousand things I wanted to say. “Let’s go.”

Present—Ian

I stood in shock as Summer tried to run from me, bumping into Matt instead of fleeing like she’d attempted. Caught between gutted and angry, I could do little more than watch her break my damn heart for the thousandth time. She whispered something in his ear and they headed out, down the beach. I didn’t even realize how hard I was gripping the lattice of the gazebo until my palms ached in protest.

I’d seen her pulse tripping in her neck when I’d danced with her. I’d felt her heart hammering against my chest. Heard her needy moan and breathy sigh as I’d held her. She’d been right there with me, in the moment, as affected as I’d been. This attraction wasn’t only on my end. And our kiss hadn’t been a fluke. She couldn’t blame it on the moment.

I got that she was scared. Hell, I was terrified. But to run from me like that? As if I’d break her? Like I’d somehow deceived her by wanting her? I just...I didn’t know what to do with that.

Two hours later, I drove Jenny home, kindly letting her know we wouldn’t be hooking up this year. She’d understood. But now that the whole house was sleeping, and Summer still wasn’t home, I regretted everything I’d done from the time I’d let Summer walk out of my bedroom the night we’d kissed.

If she could walk away from me that easily and into Matt’s arms, even after the heat between us, then maybe it was time I faced reality. Regardless, I wasn’t backing down until I had my say. I’d waited years hoping to see that spark in her eyes, that note of recognition, and damned if she wasn’t going to hear me out.

I walked upstairs to the room she used to share with Tom when he’d been alive. The past couple years, I’d occupied the other twin bed in order not to crash in my parents’ bedroom. Rick and Dee always took the other guest room, as it had a queen. I sat on the bed, back to the headboard, and scrubbed my hands over my face. Waiting.

Ten minutes later, the downstairs door closed and I breathed.

She walked in a short while later, head down, her gaze lost in thought. She dropped her flip-flops in the corner, looked up, and stumbled to a stop. Her lips parted as if to ask what I was doing in here, but she shook her head instead. The room was big for beach house standards, but it seemed impossibly small with her and I and all our unspoken words.

“Can you turn around? I have to get out of this dress.”

Her tone was so dejected, so resigned, that guilt shoved around in my chest. I stood and walked to the window without a word, my back to her. I hoped to God I hadn’t made her like this with my advancements, insisting we talk. Years of her battling depression pushed at my skull, reminding me how fragile life was, how she’d almost been taken from me.

The swish of her clothes as she undressed filled the room, the sound skimming across my skin, causing goosebumps.

“I’m done. You can turn around. And I’m too tired to fight.”

“I don’t want to fight—” I stopped at the sight of her in a long white T-shirt and not the nightgown I’d bought her eons ago. She almost never slept in anything else. I wondered if she’d done that on purpose, to avoid thinking about me, then I remembered said nightgown was on my desk chair at home, left there the night we’d... “Did you tell Matt about what happened between us?”

She pulled out her ponytail, her throat working a swallow. Her long, caramel-colored hair spilled around her shoulders, and I wanted to touch. “No. We walked the beach a little bit and I told him I was having reservations.”

I had no idea what the hell that meant, and forming my own conclusions would make things worse. “And?”

She rubbed her arm. “And he told me he’d hold off on accepting the job in Charlotte until I was sure. He—“ She laughed, but the sound held no amusement. “He actually told me I should explore my options. He even asked if making love with him would make a difference.”

Nausea churned my stomach upside down. “Some moral Christian code he has if he’s willing to cave to hold onto you.”

Her head snapped up, her gaze drilling into me. “He’s been waiting for a commitment from me. He was willing to be intimate if he knew we were headed in the same direction, if there was a future. And you’re one to talk. What about you? You heedlessly sleep with anything that has a pulse!”

Oh, hell no. We were going there? I never claimed to have a moral compass. She’d been my only true north anyway. “That’s different.”

“Different?” She laughed insolently. Her perfect little hands fell on her perfect little hips. She stood between the two beds, the breeze from the window to her back ruffling her shirt. Christ, she was hot as hell angry. “Different how, Ian?”

“I don’t use sex to lure someone into a relationship. It’s not a tool and I don’t manipulate my partners.”

“He wasn’t manipulating me. He’s trying to make us work. You can’t even commit to a second date.”

“You’re right. I make no promises. A little fun, that’s all. My lovers know that going in.”

She shook her head as if a dawning realization had hit her, and I had a sinking suspicion it was terribly inaccurate and would bite me in the ass. “How is that any better? How Matt’s willing to bend for me, while you can’t even remember their names?”

“They didn’t matter.” Why couldn’t she get that through her stubborn skull? They were just a means to distract me from her.

Hell. I paced to the far side of the room where it was safe. Where I couldn’t put my hands on her. Hands that wanted to hold her as much as they wanted to shake her until she saw my side, saw what abject misery I’d been living in. I glared at the cobalt walls, trying to rein in my thoughts to remember half of the words I’d wanted to say. What people said about blue was wrong. It wasn’t soothing at all. Uncontrolled emotions surged through me. There was no containing them. This was the effing opening I’d been waiting thirteen years, four months, and some odd days for.

“I’m sorry about that, because Matt matters to me.”

The breath ripped from my lungs, cutting like razors. I gazed heavenward, jaw clamped. Was I too late? A hollow, vacant misery, worse than anything I’d ever imagined, filled my soul. Pummeled my brain. Seized my heart. Moments passed. Several, elongated moments. I tried to swallow and couldn’t.

“Did you—“ I ground my teeth “—make love to him?” I summoned the courage to look at her and took a step closer, searching her gaze, seeking any kind of hope. I swore, hand to God, if she said yes, I didn’t know what I’d do.

“No.” One word, spoken on a breathy whisper.

The stalled oxygen left my lungs in a whoosh. “Why?”

She shook her head, a plea in her eyes. Any other time the helplessness in those blue depths would have stopped me cold, have me caving to comfort her and erase any horrible thing she’d encountered. But this...this moment was too important.

I crossed the room. Grabbed her by the arms. Pulled her to me. “Why?”

Her chin tilted until she met my gaze. And there. There was what I’d been waiting to see for too damn long. “He didn’t make me feel like this. Like you do.”

I shook, and no amount of effort would get it to cease. My arms felt like lead weights. “And that’s why the others don’t matter to me. They weren’t you.”

Her cheeks were dry, but her eyes welled, the tears expertly willed back by pure skill only she could manage. Huge, twilight blue eyes widened when I slid my hands up her arms, her shoulders, to cup her face. She expelled a shaky breath, gaze darting to my mouth and back again. Closer than a whisper away, I wouldn’t need to go far to seal the gap. And she wasn’t moving, backing away, or screaming like a banshee in the other direction. It was too much to hope for.

My gaze dropped to her mouth. That beautiful, pink, pouting mouth. It was my undoing.

“Summer?”

“Yeah?”

Screw doubt. “Nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing. It was the furthest conceivable thing from nothing. When I closed the space between us, seared my mouth to hers, I nearly doubled over and whimpered.

CHAPTER NINE

Ten Years Ago—Age Eighteen

Less than a month into the first semester of college and it was possible I might have to drop out. I watched the leaves just beginning to change from my bedroom window. A beautiful death in yellow and orange and red. Some were starting to fall already, as if a prelude to the news we’d received today.

He had cancer. My dear, sweet Daddy. Daddy who had never done anything wrong in his entire life except smoke those damn cigarettes. He’d quit, for me, two years ago, but it hadn’t been soon enough. The habit had caught up with him. The coughing and shortness of breath wasn’t just a cold. It was cancer. The doctors claimed they could try aggressive treatments and removing the mass on his lung, but they gave us no false hope or promises. It was looking grim. Stage 4 was bad.

After we’d gotten home from the doctor’s office, still in a measurable amount of shock, Daddy had sat me down at the kitchen table. “All of the papers for the house are in the safe upstairs. It’s paid off, but there’s a tax bill. I have life insurance—”

I shook my head violently. “No, Daddy. You heard the doctors. They can try treatment.” I was not going to listen to him get his things in order and prepare to die. I...I couldn’t do it. Tears clogged my throat and I pressed my lips together to hold in a sob. The pressure in my chest was unbearable.

Patting my hand, he swallowed. “They said no guarantees, darling.” I shook my head again, but his grip was as firm as his voice. “I’m going to fight, but we need to discuss matters. I’m transferring the bills into your name. I’ll pay them, but afterwards, the life insurance should get you through for a long while. There’s a will, too, in the safe. You’ll be fine.”

I would not. I would not be fine without him. Me and him against the world. Without him it would all be too much. He talked like he was already dead.

Be strong. He needs you now, just like all those years you needed him and he was there.

Focusing on the here and now, I turned from my bedroom window to my friends, who’d arrived after Daddy had gone to bed. They had come without question, a pillar of support. They hadn’t said much after I’d dropped the news. Silence hung heavier than a shroud.

Poor Ian stared at the wall, shock and grief twisting his handsome face. A haze of numb was threatening to consume his dark eyes. Dee cried openly in a chair, her usual humor absent, Rick holding her hand. Rick was trying to crawl inside my head, read my mind, if his worried expression was any indication. He always worried about me, like a good friend. He knew things about me that weren’t there to the naked eye, emotions under the surface. Through the years, I’d tried to hide my weaknesses so he could rest easy, but I couldn’t today. I didn’t have the energy. Once Ian snapped out of it, he wouldn’t leave my side, and his concern for me would be all-consuming. That’s just the kind of guy he was. Selfless. Caring. Passionate.

I had the best friends. So close, for so many years. We had all agreed to go to UNC together so we wouldn’t be apart. It seemed silly now—college, dreams, living.

Tears burned my eyes, and I wanted to give up. I just...I needed...Ian.

I crossed the room to my bed and curled up against Ian’s side. His warm body and scent cocooned me in safety. He’d hold me up, be strong for me until I remembered how. The reassurance and security with him was immeasurable, brought more tears to my eyes. I had been doing that a lot lately, crawling in bed with him for comfort. He didn’t seem to mind.

His strong, solid arm slid around my back and held me to him. He kissed my temple, letting his lips linger. “You got this, Summer. And I got you.”

Present—Ian

Summer’s hands drove into my hair and seized the strands the moment my mouth came down on hers. Trying to command the kiss, her lips parted for me, ravishing my mouth, scalding me inside out. I didn’t answer the fierce need at first, too afraid to move, more afraid not to. With a guttural groan, I gave her my all, feeding every bit of emotion into the kiss.

I about died where I stood. Everything else faded away—the sound of the ocean tide drifting in from the partially open window, the lingering scent of sea salt, the low lamplight through the shadows. It all floated into oblivion. I had Summer in my arms and nothing else mattered.

Her lilac scent wove around me, through me, as my heartbeat thundered in my ears. My objective to take it slow, to satisfy her every wish, every whim, flew out the window and into the night. Gone forever, like my heart had been when I’d stopped denying the need for her. Every intention I had envisioned to make this memorable and savor her, so she couldn’t overlook or disregard me again, was lost to the necessity of her skin against mine. Frantic, I needed her closer and feared it would never be close enough.

I fisted my hands in the back of her shirt, held on for dear life. She grabbed the material of mine and molded herself to me, working to slide it up my chest and over my head. Sweet Christ. I drew away long enough to return the favor and came right back to her mouth, tossing the tee aside. She uttered a cry of surprise that echoed through my head. She swayed against me, her breath expelling in ragged pants from her mouth into mine. Need turned our kiss from exploration to desperation.

I skimmed my hands over her ribs, fingertips brushing the soft under swell of her breasts. So damn soft. How stupid I’d been to think I knew her body, knew what it would be like to touch her. No fantasy could have measured up to this. To her. Greedy, I wanted it all. I fumbled to remove my jeans, the split-second of separation from her unbearable. Kicking my pants and briefs aside, I brought her right back, flush against me.

Part of me warned we should slow down. We’d barely transgressed from the friendship we’d always known. Summer had so much going on in her head right now, and the last thing I wanted was to later regret ruining this perfect moment. But, selfishly, I needed her like I needed nothing else. We’d passed turning back the second she’d walked through the door tonight.

A moan tore from her throat. A feral, untamed sound that vibrated my chest. Her deft, warm fingers traced the ridges in my abs, slid up my chest, and had my eyes rolling into the back of my skull. Her mouth ate at mine, tongues clashing, teeth nipping.

Liquid fire flowed through my veins. My hands were everywhere at once, needing to feel every inch of her. Across the delicate curve of her spine, urging her closer. On her ass, kneading. In her hair, tangled. Over her breasts, cupping and molding. Her short, blunt fingernails dug into my lower back, staking claim. Marking me. One of her very long legs slid up mine, higher and higher, until it wrapped around my waist, cradling my shaft against the damp heat of her. Her panties were drenched as she ground against me.

Stars, fireworks...something exploded behind my lids.

“Holy hell.” I could stand it no more. My legs couldn’t hold me up much longer.

I bent, hauled her other leg over my hip so she straddled me, and backed us to the bed. Falling with her, I settled my weight over her and kissed her like a man dying. I very well might have been. I cupped the small, perfect firmness of her breasts in my hands, growling when her nipples pebbled in my palms.

She explored my body with her hands, her lips a brand as she kissed wherever she could reach. My jaw, my neck, my shoulders. Though her movements were hesitant, almost unsure, my hair stood erect at her touch, my body taut with need. Lower, her fingers moved, and my stomach concaved as she descended. Down, down to...

“Christ, sweetheart.”

She grinned against my lips, the little minx, her fingers tightening around my shaft. When her thumb circled the crown, slid over my slit—Heaven, that—I grabbed her wrists and pinned her hands on the bed by her head.

“Behave.”

“No,” she breathed.

Always with the arguments. I ran my tongue over her collarbone and traced a path to one breast, drawing the peak of her nipple into my mouth. She hissed through her teeth and it was my turn to grin. I did the same with her other breast, watching as her cheeks flushed and her lips parted. So beautiful. She arched toward me, head rolled back to expose her long neck. She wiggled her arms to be set free and I let go. There were so many other places to explore.

I kissed my way over her flat belly to the damp curls between her legs. Hands on her thighs, I spread them and stopped just to look at her. The breath caught in my airway. “So damn beautiful.” I flicked my gaze up to hers, catching the nervous hint in her eyes. She bit her lip, a wrinkle between her brows, and I had to wonder why she was embarrassed. Had none of her other partners been thorough? “Beautiful,” I reiterated.

And I set about showing her just how much I believed it. Licking a path from her opening to her clit, I reveled in her breathy gasp, in the way her hips lifted, silently seeking more. I loved how receptive she was, even though she was obviously nervous. She tasted sweet, like honey and musk. I could spend an eternity right here, making her moan, and I’d never complain. Sliding one finger into her heat, I marveled at her tightness. She hadn’t had many lovers, but I hadn’t expected her to be this tight. I curled my finger inside her and pressed my tongue flat over her swollen bundle of nerves. A sharp cry ripped from her throat as she bucked under me, fingers clutching the sheet at her hips.

My quiet, reserved best friend—the woman who could bank her feelings as if she had none—was ready to explode. Because of me. Pride swelled inside my chest and something tender grew around it.

Gently, I added a second finger and increased the pressure on her clit. She came undone in seconds. Her walls gripped my fingers, giving me an idea of just how damn good she’ll feel around my shaft when I was buried inside her. She bowed off the bed, a strangled moan on her lips, and trembled through her climax. I eased her down slowly, in complete awe and captivated by her response. Beautiful didn’t begin to cover it.

I left the bed long enough to grab a condom from my wallet and roll it down my throbbing length. I returned to her before her eyes could clear of the sleepy, wanton haze. Nestled between her thighs, I struggled to focus as her legs wrapped around my hips, already welcoming me.

Our heartbeats pounded in a frantic rhythm, and I was unable to distinguish hers from mine. The emotion in the knowledge she was here with me was enough to drown me.

I fought to ignore to the part of myself that said I might lose her, the part that kept me from just this for all these years. I kissed her thoroughly, telling her the story of us from my side. How long I’d wanted her. How beautiful, inside and out, I thought she was. That I’d give up everything I had to keep her with me always. I’d had the sinking suspicion throughout our friendship that if I ever had the chance to be with her this way, it would end me. Ruin me, break me, and build me right back again in a different image. Her image. That talented and artistic flair she used to view the world through a unique set of eyes, finding only the potential. I’d been right, too, because I was utterly, devastatingly hers to mold as she wished.

“Summer.” I looked down at her, at her soft, caramel hair spread over the pillow. Her long pale lashes shadowed her cheeks and her lips were swollen from my kiss. Her fair skin was flushed pink and warm. “Summer, look at me.” Her eyes, clouded with passion, with desire, slowly focused on me. I don’t know why, but I suddenly needed the reassurance she knew it was me with her, that she saw me.

As if she understood my distress, she smiled—a sweet, endearing curve of her lips that came from so deep it resonated in her eyes. She cupped my jaw, brushing her thumb over my lower lip. “I’m here, Ian. Right here.” She was an entirely different person like this. Open, at ease, without the dark she usually carried around.

And there it was. No going back. No regret.

I devoured her mouth, swallowing her moan, and dropped my forehead to hers. I positioned myself, held us over that brink between sanity and bliss where I’d always been. She eclipsed everything and every woman I’d known before her.

Gradually, I entered her, my muscles shaking and protesting the restraint not to plunder. She enveloped me in tight, wet heat and I went blind at the sensation. Once I was rooted to the hilt, I pressed my open mouth to her throat and let out a hoarse yell. I gave her as long as I could to adjust, and then moved. Retreating, thrusting. She surrounded me, every part of her. Her arms wrapped around my neck, fingers in my hair. Her legs banded around my hips, heels digging into my ass, urging me for more.

Seeking out her hands, I laced mine with hers and squeezed. We moved as a unit, as if we’d done this a thousand times before, completely in sync. This was what I’d been missing—the link, the connection to another. Being with her wasn’t just sex, not just an end game.

Her erratic pants against my ear drove me harder, quickening the need for release. She chanted my name, over and over until I didn’t think I could hold out. Desperate, I pressed a kiss to the hollow of her throat and shifted my angle to hit her deeper. And she let go, the orgasm spiraling through her and, as she fisted around me, I spun with her.

Unable to move, I sucked ragged breath after ragged breath until the spots before my eyes vanished. Minutes, years, centuries passed, while she stroked my back. Leaning up on one arm, I searched her face for those blue eyes that grounded me, and sighed when her lids lifted. “You slay me, sweetheart.”

Summer

Okay, well... Mind? Blown.

Ian sprawled partly over me, his weight comfortable instead of pressing. The twin bed didn’t allow for much room, and his large frame took up a good portion of it. Our legs and arms were tangled, a thin sheen of sweat coating our skin. His breathing had finally evened out and he’d fallen asleep. I had yet to draw breath. My mind alert, I stared at the shapes and patterns the light created on the ceiling.

I just had sex with Ian Memmer. My best friend. My...everything. We’d gone there. We’d crossed that line.

When the sun came up tomorrow and I returned to my normal self, all the ramifications of what we’d just done would slam into me. I was sure of it. Everything we could stand to lose would shine a light on this night as the turning point that ruined everything.

But tonight, I couldn’t muster the energy to care. Tonight, someone had made love to me as if I was worth something. As if I were special. I didn’t know Ian could be like that. I’d always imagined him as an up-against-the-wall, scream-my-name kind of guy. In our friendship, he’d always treated me with care. With kindness. We fought like two siblings over toys most of the time, our clashes in personality poking through at every turn. He was terribly protective of me. But I hadn’t expected...tenderness.

I’d only had a couple lovers before him. Sex was kind of like the inevitable part of a relationship. I neither enjoyed nor disliked it. I could take it or leave it. In honesty, it was hard for me to let go and succumb, and none of my partners had taken as much time as Ian had to ensure I enjoyed myself. As if the experience had been all about me.

On the flip side, he had more experience than a Kama Sutra manual. He’d obviously come, had an orgasm, and if I was going to pick apart the details, he’d appeared really overcome by emotion. Not that I had much to go by, but I didn’t think I’d disappointed him. The plethora of women he’d bedded flashed before my mind. Tall, short, curvy, thin, blonde, brunette. All had been more adventurous and audacious than me. At least the ones I’d met.

I had no idea what tonight meant, what would happen from here, but my stomach sank a little as I wondered if I’d be enough to keep his interest. Which was silly. Nothing held Ian’s interest for long. He didn’t date. So where the heck did that leave us?

My skin cooled, the fire from our love-making abating. The central air kicked in and I shivered despite the heat emanating from him. Gently nudging him aside, I sat up to grab the blankets to cover us.

He abruptly jerked upright, snaked his arm around my waist from behind, and pulled me back to his wall of chest. “Don’t go,” he whispered, pressing his face into my neck. A trace of desperation laced his tone. He nestled me between his legs, wrapped those solid arms across my chest, and held me tight against him. A cocoon of warm, hard male. “Just this once, stay.” He buried his face in my neck and sighed.

He made it sound like we’d done this before. He had this rule about spending the night with his partners. He never did. Ever. And though we’d never been lovers, I’d always abided by the no sleepover rule. Whenever I crashed at his place after a movie or hanging out, I made sure to leave before he woke up.

Turning my head, I closed my eyes to the security I felt in his arms and the insecurity of my sudden emotions. Like I couldn’t get a grip on a tangible thought. There one moment, gone the next. Above all, happiness filled me, made me almost giddy. Through the years, I’d learned not to trust the sensation. It could be shattered so easily. But, yeah. Being with Ian made me...happy. In the dark, with the outside world at bay, nothing could touch us. I nuzzled my cheek against his jaw, desperate to keep him near me, for however long this lasted. The past and the future had no place here tonight.

He rested his forehead on my temple, swallowing audibly. Against my backside, he grew erect again, and his muscles tensed as if he were ashamed or scared I’d not like his response. I’m not sure why, but knowing he was unsure too encouraged me.

The heat from earlier began anew, rising in a blush across my skin, firing my nerve endings until they were raw. I placed my hands on his forearms and squeezed, loving the soft skin and dusting of hair over hard muscle. He did such beautiful work with these arms, with his hands. He let out a slow breath and his clenched fists unfurled, fingers splaying over my breasts. He made no other movement, as if testing the water to see my reaction. The fact that he hesitated was humbling. Ian was always so confident, so sure of himself. My heart tripped behind my ribs and a slow burn started in my belly.

Turning in his arms, I straddled him—a bold move for me, but him faltering brought out something courageous in me. He grabbed my hips as if to hold me there, everything else about him absolutely still, frozen. Waiting.

A muscle ticked in his jaw as our gazes collided. Optimism, pain, and something far, far deeper than I expected to find flashed in his brown eyes. This was the Ian who always took care of me, who put me first and would lay down his life for me. Surprised to find this side of him while we were intimate, I reached up and took his face in my hands. His dark stubble grazed my palms and nothing had ever felt so good to me. At this beat in time, he wasn’t my friend or my lover. He was both. This man...I’d do anything for him. I had for the boy he’d been and would for the man he’d become.

Something far stronger than anything I’d known surged between us. Tethered us together in a fragile bond. I could all but see the knot forming. And if the quiet gentleness in his eyes was any indication, he felt it also.

“Ian,” I whispered, desperate to know just how deep this went for him. If this was our only night, if we were done after our short blip together, I needed to prepare myself. No one had ever engaged my heart and body so completely. If I got any deeper, I’d shatter when this ended. That’s how quickly he’d pulled me under.

He let out a barely audible exhale as the tension drained from him. His gaze roamed over my features, and he ran an unsteady hand through my hair, smoothing the strands. “Right here, sweetheart, where I’ve always been.”

When we’d kissed back in his bedroom at home, I’d assumed it was a surge of lust brought on spontaneously. I wasn’t so certain now. I didn’t want to know what that meant. I was too raw to pick apart his implication of how long he’d wondered, waited for me.

I leaned in and kissed him, brushing my lips across his in a feather dance. He moved against my mouth as if talking, but no words emerged. My nipples hardened in response to his flesh against mine. I breathed him in as if that would be enough to capture a playboy vagabond like him. His woodsy scent filled my nose, and the familiarity was jarring.

His hand slid to my neck, holding me to him as he deepened the kiss. I sank under, his tongue stroking mine and exploring my mouth like he wanted to learn everything.

I needed him now, needed the oblivion and bliss only he could give. I rose up and guided him inside me, taking every inch of his thick, hot shaft, and trembled as I sank completely. His breath shuddered when I began a slow grind, his hands sliding up my spine and drawing me closer. My head fell back as I got lost in the full sensation of him inside me, of the way we moved so sensually together. His lips grazed my neck, tongue licking the wild pulse beating in my throat.

The first tendrils of release coiled low in my belly and I moved faster, chasing my orgasm. He grabbed my hips and thrust up, bringing me crashing down on him at the same time. His pelvis pressed against my clit, adding to the heightened sensation. My climax built and detonated, violently ravaging my body. I clung to him, hands in his hair and his name on my lips.

The next thing I knew, he shifted and I was on my back, him buried between my legs and thrusting like he had something to prove, to lose. The exquisite torture built again before I could recover. His forearms rested beside my head, caging me as he plunged into me again and again. A hoarse shout filled my ear. He grunted my name, throwing his head back and tensing over me. His muscles strained, veins popping.

His reaction pushed me over the crest and I held him through our aftershocks. Even as he finished, his hips kept rocking as if drawing out every ounce of pleasure he could, and when he said my name as he drifted to sleep, it sounded like an oath.

Ian

Without trying to move a solitary muscle, I looked down at the blonde hair spread over my chest as if needing confirmation last night had happened. The sheet was wrapped around us in a tangled knot, her breathing even. Her thigh was wedged between mine, her arm laying limp across my chest. Her cheek rested right over my pounding heart. Never, not once, had I awakened to her in my arms, and Christ, I never wanted to open my eyes to empty sheets again.

Holy hell. She was here, in bed with me.

Sunlight streamed into the room from the window, the rays caressing her back in the early morning light. My scent mingled with that of her lilac and sea salt from the breeze. Surreal.

She stretched against me, a moan escaping as she buried her face in my chest. Visions of rolling her over and making love to her half the morning had me growing hard. We needed to talk. I still hadn’t said half the things I wanted to tell her. But she felt too good next to me to do anything but sink inside her and find out what other beautiful noises I could get her to make.

Her thick, pale eyelashes fluttered open, like butterfly wings on my skin. Slowly, she lifted her head as if coming out of an unsure dream. Wide blue eyes stared at me, unblinking.

Oh, shit. Don’t do this to me. Don’t freak out.

“Good morning,” I said through the raw fear choking me. I swallowed past the boulder in my throat to clear the morning hoarseness in my tone.

Her expression never changed, but her stillness was alarming. “Morning.” Her mouth opened and closed, but nothing else escaped.

I cupped her cheek, not knowing what in the hell to do. I’d never actually slept with a woman before, not in the literal sense, and Summer was too important to screw this up. Brushing my thumb across her lower lip, I stared at her, trying to get a read on her state.

After what seemed like ten eternities, her lashes fell to half-mast and she turned her head, nuzzling her face into my palm. The relief felled me. I leaned in to kiss her and—

The bedroom door opened. Dee barreled inside the room, shattering the quiet, Rick on her heels. They both froze like a comical cartoon, gaze darting between us, but I wasn’t laughing.

Summer leapt off of the bed, taking the sheet with her and wrapping it around her like a shield. Except her legs got tangled and she did a precarious dance to avoid falling before finally righting herself. I thought she was going to have an embolism right there on the spot by the way she froze. I pulled the blanket up to my waist.

Moments ticked by, the four of us staring at each other.

Dee laughed and placed a hand on her chest. “Well, it’s about time.” She looked at Summer. “I guess this means you broke up with Matt.”

If it were possible, Summer’s already pale complexion lost several more shades. She placed one hand to her forehead and white-knuckled the sheet with the other. “Oh, God.” Then, she was a flurry of motion, running around the room picking up discarded articles of clothing while I could do nothing but lie there and watch, shock keeping me immobile. She muttered another “Oh, God” and fled from the room, clothes bunched at her chest and the sheet flying behind her.

I sat up slowly, testing out my theory this was an effed up nightmare. But no. That just happened.

“Something I said?” Dee asked. Her confused, wary gaze shifted between me, the doorway, and Rick—who’d yet to prove he wasn’t a statue. “I didn’t realize she wasn’t alone. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” It was mine. I should have made sure Matt was out of the picture before I made a move. Knowing Summer, the guilt was probably eating her alive. Matt had told her to explore her options. They hadn’t closed their open relationship, far as I knew. But Summer wouldn’t see it that way.

Determined to go after her, calm her down, make sure she was okay, I rolled out of bed and searched for clothes.

Dee made a strangled noise and covered her eyes. “Ian! A warning next time.”

“Am I ruining you for Rick?”

Humor aside, I couldn’t shake the crazy notion if I didn’t fix this and fast, I’d lose Summer. My entire world, my life, just ran from the room. I grabbed my jeans off the floor and hopped into them, leaving them unbuttoned while I frantically crawled around trying to locate my shirt. There. Under the bed.

“I have to go talk to her.”

Rick blocked the doorway and put a hand on my chest. “I’ll go.” I pushed his arm away, fire roaring through my veins. “Ian.” Rick’s firm voice had me snapping my gaze to his. “I’ll go. You stay.”

His brows lifted as if to say understand? And it hit me. He was right. Summer needed the objectivity of an outside party like Rick and some distance from me to think. That’s how she rolled. I was the type to act now, think later. She took longer to process things and then she proceeded. And she couldn’t exactly come to me with this issue in the mean time, as I was the issue.

The pent up breath whooshed out of my lungs. “You’re right. Okay.” Dropping on the side of the bed, I ran my fingers through my hair, over my face.

After Rick walked out, Dee sat next to me on the edge of the bed. “So. Want some breakfast?”

A rumble vibrated my chest, which quickly turned into a panicked laugh that bubbled out and filled the room with its nervous, ridiculous sound. And it took a whole hell of a lot of restraint to keep it from becoming hot, outlandish tears.

Summer

I made it as far as the front porch, the bed sheet wrapped around me and clothes bunched in my hands, and sat on the step. I inhaled sharply, but it didn’t assuage my guilt. Worst thing about it was, I’d known exactly what I was doing last night.

Matt was ready to upend his life and move to Charlotte to be closer to me, wanted a committed relationship with me, and I’d slept with someone else. Granted, I hadn’t agreed to Matt’s offer and he’d left the door open for me to change my mind, but still. It seemed wrong.

Being with Ian last night had been wonderful, something I’d wanted my whole life. Passion and a connection. For someone to see me, see past all the dark, ugly shadows, and want me anyway. But I should have ended things with Matt first. And I had no idea where things stood with Ian. Let’s face it, he wasn’t the type to settle down and that’s what I needed.

The screen door slammed, and Rick stepped out. He sat next to me and stared at the yard, contemplative. “Enjoying your morning-after freak out?”

I didn’t respond, just buried my face in the bed sheet.

“The sex must’ve really sucked. We share the room right next to yours. No wall banging.”

I laughed, which I’m sure was his intention. “Shut up.”

“No, really. I can’t wait to tease Ian about it. Not even an Oh, God, yes!”

Laughing harder, I grabbed my side. “As if you could hear anything over Dee’s snoring.”

“True, that.” He sobered, studying me. “Can I assume Matt is still in the picture?”

Shame swamped me. I was now one of those women who cheated on her boyfriend. Sort of. We were still able to see other people, according to Matt.

Rick rubbed a comforting hand over my back. “If you love Matt, you have to tell him and try to work it out. I suspect you don’t, though, so what about Ian?”

I didn’t love Matt. If last night had taught me anything, it was that Matt wasn’t The One. Ian...I didn’t know what to do about. “I’ll figure it out.”

“I know you will.” He wrapped an arm around me and drew me to his side. “Do me a favor, though. Go with your gut, not your head. You have enough going on up there. Let your heart do some of the work.”

I rested my head on his shoulder. “Love you.”

“Love you harder.”

Two hours later, Matt still wasn’t home. I paced the living room of his beach house, needing to talk to him, my stomach churning. I couldn’t move in either direction unless I had a sit down with him. He’d texted that he was meeting up with some friends and that he’d see me on the beach for our bonfire, but I didn’t want to drag this out. He deserved better than that.

Glancing around, I searched for something to distract me, and my gaze landed on a wall of photos. As I stepped closer, my heart stopped. With a shaking hand, I removed one of the pictures and stared. My mom and dad were holding me. I was maybe two or three, but that couldn’t be right. Sharon had taken off when I’d been an infant. I didn’t recognize the backdrop. Somewhere near the Smokey Mountains, I assumed, by the foggy hills and lush greenery. Sharon’s head was turned from the camera, nuzzling my neck. And she looked happy holding me. Natural.

My stomach twisted and a cold sweat broke out on my back. Dread filled my chest. Had...Daddy lied to me? He’d never once given me the impression she’d come back. The only person who’d be able to tell me would be Sharon. Her words from that day in my kitchen filtered from memory.

You don’t know everything, Summer.

When I got home to Wylie, perhaps it would be wise to reach out to her, let her have her say. Until then, worrying wouldn’t do any good.

I replaced the photo and rubbed my arm, glancing at the other pictures. There was a photo of Ian, Matt, Jenny, Rick, Dee, and myself. It was taken on the beach a couple years ago. Everyone was looking at the camera except Ian, because he was focused on me. His expression had a twisted kind of...longing. Sad. Lost. I’d known Ian my whole life and couldn’t ever remember seeing that look before. And it was directed at me.

Other memories dotted the wall. Me running down the pier with Ian and Rick, suspended mid-jump over the water, our tiny hands clasped together. Sighing, I traced the outline of my father’s face in another photo, holding Ian in a fond embrace when he was ten.

There they were, frozen in time, the two men I loved with all my heart. Tears filled my eyes, blurring the images. I’d never been one to cry, but lately it seemed as if that’s all I did.

It was getting late, and it didn’t look like Matt was going to be back at a reasonable time. I sent him a text that I wanted us talk alone when he returned, and then I headed for the beach.

According to Dee, Ian had taken off hours ago on his father’s custom chrome Harley Davidson Fat Boy after revving the engine until the windows nearly broke from the sound barrier. I kind of felt like I’d been left in a figurative cloud of dust, wondering when and if he’d return. Worse, what to say when he did.

Ian didn’t even like motorcycles.

I helped Dee put the last of the wood on the pile for our bonfire, and then sat in the sand next to her. She lay back, leaning on her elbows, silent. Closing my eyes, I tipped my head and let the sun beat on my face. It was a hot one today and I was thankful. It edged out some of the cold laying dormant inside me from all the unresolved issues.

Last night kept playing over in my mind. Was Ian’s interest only the physical reaction I gave him or something more emotional? I had no doubt he loved me. He’d been a rock all my life and had proven I mattered to him as much as he did to me.

But in love? Even as inexperienced as I was, I knew sex didn’t equal love. And Ian had never, never shown any sign he wanted one woman for the long haul. I was probably getting a little ahead of myself, but that was a huge factor.

Through the years, I’d become an expert at isolating my heart, hiding my feelings. Whether it had been to show Daddy I was strong, or to pretend the kids at school hadn’t wounded me with words, or to assure my friends I was okay, that I wouldn’t slip back into the dark, I’d learned to keep the pain bottled. And that was probably the most genuine explanation as to why there was no connection to the guys I’d dated.

But Ian wasn’t just some guy. He knew me inside and out and there was no hiding from him. So, yeah. I needed answers, before we went past the breaking point.

“Was the sex that bad?”

My gaze jerked to Dee. Her over-sized Audrey Hepburn sunglasses were masking the grin in her eyes I knew was there. “No. It was very good, actually.” Earth-shattering was more like it. For one night, I had everything I’d sought, not only physically, but emotionally.

But then the sun had come up.

Adjusting her red bikini, Dee sat up. “If it was good, then what’s the big deal?”

I looked out over the ocean at the white-capped swells and gray-blue water. Seagulls cried overhead and brine filled the air. “It was Ian, Dee. I slept with Ian.” Never mind that it seemed like a betrayal to Matt.

“Yep. As I said before, ‘bout time.”

I shook my head, wondering why she wasn’t pissed at me. Ian and I had disrupted The Force last night with regards to our tight circle of friends.

“For the record, I didn’t know. I mean, I had suspected something, but…”

To me, it was almost as disturbing that others assumed this would happen. It had shocked the heck out of me.

I needed a distraction, and I’d completely been ignoring what Dee had told me the other night. She had a big thing weighing on her, too, and I was being an awful friend. “Let’s go into town and get you a pregnancy test.” I took her hand and squeezed.

“I’ll let you change the topic now, but only because it’s about me.” She grinned. “I might be a mommy soon.”

Ah, the happy. “I’m going to spoil it rotten.”

“Come on, Auntie Summer.”

I loved the sound of that.

Ian was in the driveway when we returned from the pharmacy, sitting on his father’s motorcycle wearing turquoise swimming trunks and a deep frown. God, even moody and radiating pure pissed off male he was yummy. His golden tan skin and ropey muscle. The bad boy, back-off posture. I shook my head. He stole my breath, and I wondered how I’d gone my entire friendship with him and not known how addictive he could be, not fully realized the appeal of him as a man.

Dee looked at me from the passenger seat. “Want me to stick around?”

I shook my head and tried to swallow as we exited the car. I walked slowly toward him, my heartbeat going bonkers as I ate the distance. He tracked my every step, not meeting my gaze. Anxiety clawed at me that we’d screwed everything up. Or I had.

Dee went inside the house with her bag.

I waited until the door closed before speaking. “You okay?” Are we okay? I pressed a hand to my stomach, but the queasiness didn’t cease.

Instead of answering, he dismounted the bike and leaned against it. Dark-tinted sunglasses masked his eyes, so I was unable to read anything from him. He crossed his ankles and folded his arms over his chest. Those arms had held me when my father died, had possessively cradled me last night after we’d made love. Now, his body language screamed to stay away. A scary, unwanted feeling rose inside me and I nearly lunged at him. His jaw clenched tight as he glanced away.

I struggled to find something to break the ice. “Where did you go?”

“For a drive. You?” His hard, clipped answer was like a slap.

“To get a pregnancy test.” His head whipped up. “For Dee,” I amended quickly.

He exhaled, his shoulders stiff. “We didn’t use protection the second time.”

I’d been so wrapped up in being with him, I hadn’t paid attention. Safety was important, but I trusted him. Besides, I hadn’t been with anyone in a long time. “I’m on the pill.”

He nodded, looked up at the house.

I couldn’t take this. Tears battered my throat. “Ian, I’m sorry.”

He stilled for several moments, then finally turned his head to look at me. “For last night or this morning?”

I rubbed the tension in my forehead, trying to get a grip on my emotions and keep the tears at bay. A bitter taste grew in my mouth and despite the humid heat, cold seeped all the way to my bones. “That night in your room at home, you said you wanted to talk, Ian. So talk.”

“Doesn’t matter. At first light, you took off right into his arms.” Every word ripped from his mouth as if I’d irreparably wounded him.

A swift, brutal jab of pain hit me square in the chest, stealing my breath. “I went over there to talk to him, to end it.”

“For three fucking hours?”

I flinched. “He wasn’t home. I—“

“Fine,” he said with a nod. “Fine, Summer. It’s undone. I’m waving a magic wand and last night never happened.”

“Ian…”

But he shoved off the bike and strode inside.

CHAPTER TEN

Five Years Ago—Age Nineteen

I curled up in a ball on my bed, wishing Dee didn’t have a night class this evening. I badly needed a girl around. I didn’t know if it was normal to discuss these things with a mother, since I’d never had one, but girls did discuss sex with their girlfriends, right? I was just glad Daddy didn’t have a treatment today and had turned in early.

How stupid of me to have romanticized the idea of sex. There wasn’t a damn thing romantic about it. I had just decided at a party tonight to go ahead and get it over with. With some guy from my English Lit class. I was sick of the virgin moniker hanging over me and the opportunity arose. Everyone else had sex long before they were in their second year of college.

The guy, Jason, had a lot more to drink than me, but neither of us were drunk. I’d heard the first time wasn’t always good, but it had been terrible. He hadn’t done much by way of foreplay, and the burning had been awful. Not wanting him to know it was my first time, I’d lain there, biting my tongue and holding my breath. Luckily, he hadn’t lasted long and I was out of his dorm room before the condom had come off. My stomach was still cramping.

Showering at home, I had stood under the spray until the water ran cold and I was forced to step out. The whole thing had been mortifying.

“Hey.” Ian leaned on my bedroom doorway. “Do you have our chem book? I can’t find mine and I have a paper due…” He straightened suddenly. “What’s wrong?”

I stayed tight in a ball, but lifted my head. Ian had been at that party tonight, too, with some new chick glued to his side. He didn’t have girlfriends long enough to learn their names. He may have seen me leave with Jason.

Not wanting to worry him, I forced a smile. “Too much beer, not enough food.”

He grinned. “Lightweight.”

“Lush.” I jerked my chin. “My chemistry book is on the desk. Take it.”

Instead of grabbing the book, he came over to the other side of the bed and curled up with me. He covered us both with the blanket. “Go to sleep,” he whispered. “In the morning, eat a piece of white toast.” Arm around my belly, he spooned me, the heat from his body seeping into me.

I was pretty sure white toast wouldn’t fix this, but he didn’t need to know that. At least it was over with. I’d finally had sex and it could only get better from here, right?

Ian ran his fingers through my hair, apparently trying to dislodge my nonexistent hangover. Leaning into his hand, I closed my eyes.

“Summer?”

“Yeah.”

He sighed, dropping his forehead to my shoulder. “The first time...it always sucks. Especially for a girl.”

I blinked, lying still. “How did you know?”

“I know you. And I saw you leave with that guy.” He paused, and I got the impression he wanted to say more. Eventually, he sighed again. “He didn’t hurt you, did he? Do I need to kill him?”

Even after my crappy night, he pulled a smile from me. “No, he didn’t hurt me. No need for a murder charge tonight.”

Present

“Marshmallow?” Dee asked, shoving one in my face.

I pulled the white goo off her roasting stick and popped it into my mouth. The sugar rush did little to improve my mood.

The air smelled of campfire and saltwater, the night mild. A breeze blew in from the ocean, making the wild grass sway. It was a beautiful night. Great friends, gorgeous setting.

All I wanted to do was hop in my car and drive straight home.

Flanked between Matt and Ian, I stared at the glowing embers in the bonfire and tried to ignore the tension. Matt had arrived ten minutes after dusk, which meant I hadn’t had a chance to talk to him yet. Ian had picked up Jenny and shown up five minutes later. He hadn’t so much as looked at me or spoken a word.

The pain in my chest rose to a high point, boiling over and threatening to cripple me. How could he claim our night together hadn’t happened? Had it really meant that little to him or was he reacting out of anger? I hadn’t meant to hurt him by rushing out this morning, but the guilt was a living thing inside me, taking up space. Before I could set things straight with Ian, I needed to have it out with Matt. I hated this unresolved crap causing strain between all of us. Matt wasn’t oblivious either. He kept shooting looks at Ian.

Forget the bonfire. “I think I’m going in.” I stood and brushed the sand from my legs, hoping Matt would follow and I could get one issue out of the way. Later, I’d track Ian down.

Ian lifted his head, held my gaze in his impenetrable one for several moments, and then looked away. His jaw ticked.

“You’re going to miss the fireworks.” Dee pouted.

“You’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.” Turning, I looked at Matt. “Can we talk upstairs?”

Matt stood. “Sure, beautiful.”

I could feel Ian’s gaze on my back with every step. The boom of the first warning firecracker went off as I walked up the house stairs, Matt right behind me. We stepped into the dark bedroom, not bothering with the light. On impulse, I went right to the window, watching the flash of the fireworks on numb autopilot. How was I supposed to do this? How was I supposed to break his heart?

Matt came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, and planted a kiss on my neck. I glanced down at Ian on the beach, spine stiff as he faced the bonfire. A bereft hole of pain expanded in my chest.

I knew now what it was like to feel something potent for a man. All those years, wanting but not having. The ache and pleasure equally tormenting. Except now Ian seemed over it and I was left with the answers I’d always thought I wanted.

I turned and opened my eyes, half expecting to see Ian there. Instead, Matt stood before me. Tipping my head back, I smiled through the haze in my eyes.

He stared at me with a knowing look of resignation. He nodded, backed up a step. “You finally noticed, didn’t you?”

Willing the tears back, I blew out a breath. “Noticed what?”

His gaze darted toward the window and back to me. “Ian.” The name came out of his mouth in a coarse grunt.

Was I the only person in a thousand mile radius that had no idea Ian had… What? What exactly had Ian felt? “I did something last night that’s going to upset you and, I swear, the last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

Matt closed the gap between us and put his arms around me. “This is going to sound crazy, maybe a bit martyr-like, but I’m relieved you noticed what was going on with Ian.” He rested his chin on top of my head. “I’m not gonna lie to you. It bothered the hell out of me, but now that you know…”

Oh, God. I’m the worst person on the planet. “I slept with Ian last night.”

Matt froze, dropped his arms, and backed away from me.

Damn it. I hadn’t meant to spit it out like that.

Silence hung. The fireworks display through the window flashed a myriad of colors over his face.

“What?”

“God, Matt. I don’t know what to say.”

“With Ian?” His gaze darted to the window, betrayal in his eyes. “This is my fault. I was more concerned about you feeling trapped than what would happen if you found someone else. I guess I just thought if I gave you time and space, you’d come around.”

I tried to reach for him, but he took another step back and held up his palm. “I’m so very sorry.”

He didn’t throw an object at me or yell until he blew a blood clot or storm out of the room as I expected he might. Instead, he ran a hand over his face and started to pace. After several minutes, he turned to me from across the room, as if it disgusted him to be near me. I was appalled at how much that hurt. Before the romantic relationship and what I’d done, we were friends once.

“Did it mean anything?”

Unsure how to answer that, I remained silent. It meant everything, possibly ruined everything. Saying so would add insult to injury, plus I didn’t want to give him encouragement we could keep going.

“Did it mean anything?” he shouted.

I startled at his tone. Matt had never raised his voice before. He was always in control. Always calm and understanding. Tears fell unbidden down my cheeks. I cried alone usually, if at all, not wanting the weakness to show, the vulnerability. The worry in others’ eyes when they noticed pain from someone else.

I refused to wipe them away this time. “It doesn’t matter. Matt, I don’t think you and I are going to work out.”

His gaze softened as if he understood, had been expecting that answer. A distressed hint infused his eyes. He stepped closer. “I’m going to give you something I’ve been meaning to give you for over a year.”

Sniffing, I stared at him.

He stepped in front of me, his expression somber. “I’m going to give you this, Summer, and then I’m going to walk out that door. You think about it. I mean, really think about it. I’ll come to Charlotte in two weeks to see you. Two weeks. We’ll talk then.” Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out a small black box, held it up in emphasis, and set it down on the windowsill. “That’s where I was all day today. I drove back to Greensboro to get it.”

I gasped, my hand flying over my mouth. I glanced from the box to him and back to the box again. No. Seriously? Oh God! “Matt?”

“He’s loved you a long time, but so have I. And unlike him, I’d never hurt you. You won’t ever have to question whether you’re enough or if I’d stray from you.” His gaze swept over my face. “If he’s what you want, I can’t change your mind. I won’t be second place, Summer. We both deserve better than that.” He pointed to the box. “Don’t toss us aside just yet. Think about it.” He walked to the door. “Two weeks.”

The door closed behind him. Alone, I stood there, his words bashing around inside my head. The insecurity of whether I’d be enough for Ian or whether he’d need to move on to another woman was forefront in my mind. Matt was right about that. It had been a concern from the start. Ian may have already done that by claiming our night never happened.

But to accept Matt’s offer for that reason alone didn’t sit right. Yes, I cared about him. Deeply. He wasn’t The One, but how many people ever found their true mate, their other half? Settling for a good thing wasn’t the worst decision I could make. He would take care of me. I could trust him.

Except...except he wasn’t Ian.

When my hands shook and my eyes welled again, I picked up the box and opened it. The ring inside had tiny diamonds around the top of the band, with a large carat set in the center. Princess cut. Huge. Not something I would have picked. Still, it was lovely.

The thought of being alone, of not having a family of my own, weighed heavily. Was I forever destined to see doors closing, people walking? When would it be my turn for happy? When would someone stick around for me? With the exception of Rick and Dee, Ian was the only one who’d constantly been there. Until today. Today put a chasm of space between us, and I feared we’d never seal the gap.

I slid down the wall and into a heap on the floor, my body quaking from the force of the sobs.

Ian

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Matt walking across the beach toward his house, back rigid and his stride long. She’d sent him away? She’d...ended it with him? My pulse beat thready, building an erratic rhythm.

All day I’d been kicking myself, trapped in a wretched state of pissed off and hurt. She’d bailed on me this morning, had gone right to Matt, and nothing had wreaked agony quite like her rejection. A two hour ride on Dad’s Harley hadn’t cut through the pain. Our confrontation in the driveway only added to the mix. It was as if she’d been...amputated from my life.

But Matt was leaving.

I glanced at Rick, who had seen it, too. Rick nodded, his gaze understanding. “Ian, go check on Summer, will you? I don’t think she’s feeling well. I’ll take Jenny home.”

Fireworks exploded over us, sending shocks of light across the water. The start of the finale boomed, matching my heartbeat. Leaving my friends on the sand, I jogged to the house and ran up the stairs, into our bedroom.

Out of breath, I scanned the dim room, searching for her through the flashes of red and blue. She sat in a chair by the window, her knees curled up to her chest, watching the sky. Shoulders slumped, unblinking, she didn’t acknowledge me.

An oh-shit sensation clutched my airway. Everything about her radiated dark, that she’d slipped back into the shadows where even I might not be able to reach her. My worst fear come to life—that her depression had sunk its claws in.

“Matt went home,” she said softly. Too softly. Her gaze trained on the sky, she didn’t look at me.

Thoroughbred horses ran through my chest, trampled organs. “I saw him leave.”

Her hand went to her arm and began rubbing absently. “He’s heading back to Greensboro.”

I walked closer as she spoke, worry and fear taking on a new name. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, but dry. I knelt in front of her and had no choice but to wonder if I’d taken him away from her. She’d made her choice to be with me, but if she thought it was a mistake, I’d fix it. It would kill me, but I’d do it. “Is he what you want?”

She turned her head, finally looking at me, but there was nothing in her eyes. She’d checked out. “I’m sorry about this morning. You asked me earlier what I was sorry about. It’s not last night. I had to fix things with Matt before...”

Expelling a breath, I tried not to hope. “Before what, sweetheart?”

She stared at her hand, fingers in a tight fist. “I told him about what happened last night. He got mad, but then he gave me this and said he wouldn’t hurt me, that I’d never have to wonder if....”

I looked at the engagement ring in her palm, my world completely off its axis. The room spun and my breath stalled and I swear my heart stopped cold. My jaw was clenched so tight I thought my molars might crack. “Wouldn’t have to wonder about what?” I barely choked out the words. She hadn’t put the ring on, but had she said yes?

Her gaze lifted to mine, wet and pleading. “Wouldn’t have to wonder if I was enough.”

What in the hell did that mean? Surely that couldn’t possibly be a concern for her. But as I looked into her halt-the-world blue eyes, searched her expression and dug below the surface, my heart cracked right in two. She bit her quivering lip, lashes wet and chest not moving air.

“Why would you ever think you’re not enough?” She tried to look away, but I cupped her jaw and gently turned her head back to face me. “Why?”

Her chest expanded with a slow inhalation. “Because you never settle. You lose interest and—“

“Twenty-eight years of friendship and I haven’t been bored yet.” I paused, debating my next statement. “I’ve wanted you in my arms for half that time, and my interest hasn’t begun to fade.” She gasped, and it hit me, really hit me what was going on inside her pretty head. “It’s not me you don’t trust. You don’t fully engage your heart in relationships, too scared to open up and love someone because they might leave. It’s all you’ve ever known, and I get that, I do. But look at me. I’m here.”

Her gaze took a slow exploration of my face, as if picking apart my words and dissecting them for meaning. She was considering that ring in her hand and a marriage proposal from a guy who gave her no passion, just the safety net. I couldn’t even blame her. Her dad was dead, her mom had abandoned her, she had no other family to speak of, and all her previous relationships had tanked, proving to her she was easy to leave behind.

I wasn’t them, but I wasn’t sure she got that, would take the risk, because I was all she had and that would be enough to keep her walls erected. “What did you tell him?” I jerked my chin to her hand. It didn’t even suit her, the ring. She wasn’t flashy and ostentatious. She was simple elegance and beauty.

She looked down, her fingers trembling. “He told me to think about it. He’s coming to Charlotte in two weeks to find out what I want.”

So I had two weeks to prove to her I was the better choice. Love over contentment. Substance over safety. Even I wasn’t so sure I could break through, but she was worth the effort. Worth everything.

“I won’t ever leave you.”

Her brow wrinkled, and she shook her head, expression still dazed. Like kindergarten, this was going to be about show and tell, I guessed. Carefully, I unfolded her fingers from the ring and set it in the box on the windowsill, closing the lid with a decisive snap.

I rose to my feet and held out my hand. “You’re tired. Come on.”

Walking her to the bed, I stopped her by the edge with a gentle hand on her shoulder. I undressed her slowly and slipped a tee over her head. Encouraging her to lie down, I undressed, leaving on my briefs, and climbed in after her. The twin bed ensured we’d stay wrapped up together through the night. I wanted her, but she’d had a trying night, and knowing her, she needed to be held. I pulled her back to my front and spooned her, breathing in her lilac scent.

“Get some sleep, sweetheart.”

After a few minutes, she relaxed against me and her breathing evened out. I lay there, holding her, and hoped to hell I could breach her walls. I planned and plotted but, in the end, I thought doing what I’ve always done was the best course, adding the intimacy we had to the mix.

My cell vibrated from the nightstand where I’d left it. Without checking the screen, I answered, not wanting to wake her. “Yeah?”

“Is that any way to answer the phone?”

I grinned. “Hi, Mama.”

“Why are you whispering?”

“Summer is sleeping.”

“Gotcha.”

My grin widened. “Why are you whispering now?”

She laughed. “I don’t know. Anyway, I was calling to tell you we’re heading home. I wanted to spend some time with you and my surrogate daughter while you were still at the beach house.”

I knew that was coming. “Okay. Where are you?” I checked the nightstand clock, surprised it was only eleven-thirty.

“On 85. Your daddy drives like a drunk mule. We should be there by morning.”

Trying my best not to laugh and wake Summer, I bit my tongue. “Be safe. Love you.”

Summer stirred as I set the phone aside. She rotated in my arms to face me, her long lashes lifting. Her gaze met mine, unblinking, soft.

“The parental units are on their way home. They’ll be here in the morning.”

She smiled and my heart puttered. “You’d better go back to your bed, then.”

Slowly, I shook my head, telling her I was all-in. If we got outed by my folks, so be it. I wanted them to know. “Not on your life.” I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

Leaning closer, she brushed her nose against mine. Her breath teased my mouth. “Ian?”

She didn’t need to ask. I pressed my lips to hers and kissed her, not with heat, but something deeper. I wasn’t going to take it any farther than a kiss. She needed to understand that’s not all this was, so I explored her mouth and told her I cared with my own. Sex with her had been beyond my expectations, but tonight wasn’t about passion, it was about building trust.

Nearing the point of no return, I eased away and rested my cheek on her forehead. “Goodnight.”

Summer

Ian’s mama came out to join me on the porch swing after supper and handed me a glass of sweet tea. I took it as she sat next to me, setting the swing in motion. I traced the condensation on the glass with my finger and stared at the yard. The air was humid and sticky, but now that the sun had set, it was comfortable. A slight breeze wafted off the water on the other side of the house, scented with brine. Crickets chirped in the long grass and the rustle of palm leaves crackled. Perfection.

Ruth looked at me over the lip of her glass as she drank. “So, you and Ian, eh?”

I offered a short, breathy laugh, still a little shocked myself. His parents had arrived late this morning. After they’d gotten settled and we’d sat down for lunch, Ian had flagged their attention, said he had something to tell them, and kissed me in front of everyone. Ian never did anything half-assed, that’s for sure. Dee had clapped, Rick had shaken his head with a grin, and Ian’s folks had spent the rest of the day teetering between glee and concern. I always got the impression they’d hoped we would date but, after all this time, they probably had more questions than I did.

“Yeah,” I said, as if that was an adequate enough answer.

The whole thing was a kaleidoscope of crazy. Ian had run hot and cold most of the day yesterday, and then some kind of resignation had set in and he seemed determined to prove everything Matt had said was wrong. The fact Ian had never committed to a woman or had any idea what went into a relationship made me wonder if this wasn’t a pissing contest for him. And Matt’s proposal still hung in the air, dangling between us.

Ruth patted my knee. “I wondered when you two would catch up. The rest of us already knew this day would come.”

I sighed, irritation itching under my skin. Seemed the whole world saw something I hadn’t, and it made me feel like that teased kid in school not in on the joke. Did no one get all there was to lose if this went south? Had no one paid attention to Ian’s dating history?

“You know, Ian’s daddy and I were best friends growing up. Tom, too.”

My gaze jerked to hers. I knew they’d grown up together, and the similarities between them and me with my boys was uncanny, but I wondered where she was going with this.

Ruth glanced at the yard, her gaze lost in the past. “Sharon came along later. She was this wild, carefree thing and I worried for Tom. Mark and I had it easy. We became sweethearts in high school, and I worried about how dating might change things, but once I let go, the rest is history. Falling in love with your best friend...” She shook her head and smiled at me. “There’s no stronger bond than that.”

I looked away, understanding. Doubt still niggled in my mind. There were similarities, sure, but a world of difference, too. Mark and Ruth falling in love young hadn’t allowed insecurities to seep in, hadn’t put years in between to wonder about the romantic foundation versus the friendship. Mark seemed to always know what he wanted and went after it. Ian just recently decided to test the waters, which made me question the validity.

Ruth took a sip of her tea. “Your daddy and Sharon were different. She swept in and he was a goner. They’d dated on and off so many times I couldn’t keep track. All he wanted was her, and she was a leaf in the wind.”

She turned on the swing to face me fully. “Her leaving, it wasn’t your fault. I think even Tom saw it coming, but he was too in love with her to care.”

I nodded, thinking about the picture I’d found at Matt’s. “Did she ever come back?”

Ruth’s shoulders lifted as she drew in air, as if preparing herself. “Once, when you were about three. I warned Tom it was a bad move, but he wanted to give her the chance to know you. And he never got over her, so I’m sure there was hope she’d want to stay. They took you to Ashville, in the mountains, for a vacation.” Her smile fell. “A week after you got back, Sharon left. Tom told her that was it. If she left this time, she couldn’t come back. That he loved her, but he loved you more.”

A sob ripped from my chest before I could stop it. Hot tears burned my eyes and fell down my cheeks.

Ruth took the glass from me and set it aside as I covered my face. She pulled me into her arms like she’d done so many times when I was a child and held me. The swing rocked and the breeze blew and I cried. For my daddy, who gave up true love to raise me right, who wound up alone for his efforts. For my mother, who I wasn’t worth enough for her to sacrifice her free ways, who’d never wanted me. Daddy had never been bitter with me or made Sharon out to be a monster. He’d woven wistful excuses about her absence and had done everything in his power to make up for the hole. It was unfair that I’d cost him love, and instead of hating me, resenting me for it, he’d loved me with all he had. I missed him so damn bad.

Ruth kissed the top of my head awhile later as I calmed down. “He regretted nothing, darlin’. He loved you so much.” She sighed. “You’re a lot like her. The good parts, mind you. You look a lot like her, the eyes and coloring. You have her spirit and whimsical nature. But don’t let that fool you. There’s so much of your daddy in there, too. Your strong and giving heart. Dedication when you believe in something. You, Summer, are not her. So don’t let that kind of doubt cloud what you and Ian have together. Understand me?”

I nodded, letting her soft floral perfume comfort me, so familiar I closed my eyes. She was right about a lot of things, but she’d skimmed over the other areas of my DNA. Bad genetics I’d also inherited. I didn’t know if I was strong enough to stop the cycle and change the pattern set for me.

But, God, I wanted to try.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Seven Years Ago—Age Twenty-One

Most people on their twenty-first birthday go out drinking with co-workers and friends. They get drunk and rowdy and loud, enjoying the milestone in their life. It’s probably, of all the birthdays in life, the one remembered with the most fondness.

But I hadn’t done that today for my birthday. Instead, I’d stayed home with Daddy, who needed someone with him nearly every minute now-a-days. I looked across the living room at him sleeping in the recliner. His frail frame was huddled under a massive amount of blankets, because no matter what I did, he was always cold. He barely ate due to the chemo making everything taste bad and upsetting his stomach. He didn’t even look like my Daddy anymore. And today, he’d made the decision to stop treatment. According to him, it was delaying the inevitable.

I brought my knees to my chest and burrowed deeper into the couch. Earlier, after attempting to spoon-feed him some chicken broth, I tried to get him to lie down in bed upstairs. The response I’d gotten was the one I got every time I asked. If I get up the stairs, I won’t get back down.

Daddy had remembered my birthday, which was surprising because he slept ninety percent of the time and wasn’t very oriented. He’d even ordered this music box over the internet when I and his day nurse hadn’t been paying attention. It was the saddest, sweetest thing I’d ever seen. It played Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star when I opened the lid. Years ago, before the cancer had eaten away at him, he would have made me something like that with his large, rough hands.

Ian’s parents had called to say happy birthday. Wanting me to go out and have fun, they offered to drive up and stay with Daddy tonight. I had respectfully declined. It was my responsibility. My daddy.

My last birthday with him.

Mrs. Memmer had started calling me their surrogate daughter since they’d moved down to Seasmoke full time. I thought it was sweet, but I shouldn’t have to be anyone’s surrogate anything. Though I wouldn’t have it any other way, I shouldn’t have to hire a nurse to watch him while I finished up my last semester of college, only to rush home and stay with him.

Sharon wasn’t coming back. I had accepted that, but it sure didn’t mean I understood it. Fleetingly, I imagined my mother calling, as I’d pictured her doing on every birthday in my memory, but it was ten o’clock at night, and the call never came. I should be used to that, too.

When the phone rang, I nearly jumped out of my skin at the timing. An eye on Daddy, I picked up the receiver and walked onto the porch. “Hello?”

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

I grinned for the first time all day. “Hey, Ian. You remembered.”

“Of course, I remembered. Can you come over for an hour?”

I poked my head through the window to check on Daddy, who was knocked out on pain meds and exhaustion, his oxygen mask in place. “He should sleep for a while. Sure. I can’t stay long, though.”

I wrapped my bathrobe tighter around my body to ward off the January frigidity and wind to make the hike next door. My Snoopy slippers crunched on the frozen grass. I should have put flannel pants on. It was freezing out. Ian could care less what I wore anyway.

Taking the stairs two at a time, I pushed Ian’s bedroom door open to find Rick, Dee, and Ian holding balloons and presents. I nearly doubled over with appreciation.

My hand fluttered to my chest. “Oh God, you guys!”

Ian dropped a wrapped gift into my hands. “Not quite a surprise party, but…” He shrugged. I took in the wideness of his shoulders and muscles in his arms. When had Ian gotten so built? Probably from all the woodworking in his workshop.

“No, no. Are you kidding? This is so sweet.” Looking down at the present, I grinned wickedly. “Can I open it?”

When he rolled his eyes at my stupid question, I ripped into it. Pulling the department store clothing box apart, I drew out a short, navy cotton nightgown that buttoned to the waist and had little stars and moons embroidered around them.

“I love it, Ian.”

He nodded, running his hands through his hair. He only did that when he was upset, and he suddenly avoided my eyes.

My stomach sank. “What’s wrong?”

He cleared his throat. “Nothing. Happy birthday.”

Dee jumped up and down. “Open mine!”

I placed my hands on both sides of Ian’s face, drawing him down to kiss his cheek and whisper, “Thank you,” before turning to Dee.

Present

I stepped onto the pier and gazed out over the ocean. Nighttime here was different than back home. There weren’t any city lights to disguise the stars. The ocean looked black, as dark as the sky above, so that across the horizon, I couldn’t tell where the sky ended and the water began. It was kind of like looking into heaven, like looking into the earth’s soul.

The air was heavy, as heavy as my thoughts that had eluded me from sleep. Closing my eyes, I breathed in the salty fragrance and let the sound of the water enclose me, calm me. The waves crashing against the dock caused a rhythmic sway on the planks beneath my feet. This was heaven, or damn near close. I’d always wanted to paint this scene here at Seasmoke, when the rest of the world didn’t exist but me and the ocean and the night. Somehow, by doing that, though, the world would see and know my inner thoughts while here in these moments, and it just wouldn’t mean as much.

The drum of footsteps from behind broke me from my reverie. Turning, I found Ian coming toward me. Shirtless—he hadn’t even bothered with the button on his jeans—he strode closer in bare feet with a bottle of wine in one hand and glasses in the other.

All I could think was how damn delicious he looked in the moonlight. Heat pooled in my belly and spread throughout my body like a wildfire.

“You shouldn’t be out here by yourself.” He poured a glass of white wine and handed it to me, the look in his eyes saying, it looks like you need this.

I took the glass from him and sipped before answering. “That’s the point, to be by myself.”

He raked a gaze over me and I felt it from my hair roots to my toenails. “And if you fell in?”

Maybe it was the moonlight. Maybe it was the call of the ocean. Whatever it was, something made the tension and doubt I’d been harboring about us slither off into the ether. “Then you’d save me. You always do.”

His eyes darkened when he looked at me, his long lashes shadowing his cheeks as he shut his eyes. “I suppose I do.” Carnal lust looked back at me when his lids lifted again. “And you save me right back.”

I didn’t see how. I’d always felt like he did so much for me and I never gave half as much.

He shook his head as if reading my thoughts. “Every day, Summer.” As if to stop himself from saying more, he drew in a breath and faced the water. “What are you doing awake at this hour?”

I moved to stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder. “I was just thinking.”

When he turned his head, I thought I might explode from all the heat radiating in his gaze. “That’s a dangerous pastime.”

“I was thinking about what my dad said in the hospital before he died. That thing about friendship being important. He was best friends with your parents. He was friends with my mother and look what happened.”

The muscle in his jaw knotted, the passion in his eyes going cold. “You’re not her.”

“No, I’m more like him.” Ruth was right about that, which was my point in bringing this up. “I’m not letting it happen to us, Ian.”

His eyebrows slammed together. “Maybe you are a little like her, then.”

It was a slap in the face. Ian and I fought a lot, he challenged me when most preferred to placate, but he’d never been cruel. I whirled and tried to leave, but he caught my arm before I could take so much as a step.

“I didn’t mean that,” he whispered. “Christ, I didn’t mean that.” He held my neck with one hand, thumb sliding along my jaw, and it eased the anger that had built. “You just...being with you scares me to death. We’re three days in, Summer, and I keep waiting for you to run, to give me some excuse—“

I gripped the wrist of the hand he held me with and he met my eyes. Emotion had his dialed to near black. Unsure what to make of him, I swallowed hard. The past two nights, he’d held me in his arms while we’d crammed into that small bed. We hadn’t made love again, but he’d kissed me endlessly long moments before we went to sleep.

“What I meant was, I’m not letting anything come between us, Ian.”

His eyes darted back and forth between mine, and it killed me he’d been sick with worry about this.

“I’m not going to make the same mistakes my parents did. Me and you, always. Nothing, not sex or other people or circumstances, will put a wedge in our friendship. No matter how this plays out, we will always stay me and you.”

He swallowed, and it seemed to take effort. “I want this new aspect of us to work.”

God, so did I. It was scary and there was a lot at stake, but so did I. No one had ever made me feel the way he did. And not just on a physical level. Ian had been inside me so long, I didn’t know how to breathe without him.

Seeking a small reprieve, I glanced at my feet, seeing our initials carved into the planks. We were maybe ten when we’d put them there. “Remember when we were kids and we’d run off this pier to see how far we could jump in?”

“Yeah.” One corner of his mouth quirked, and he dropped his hand. I missed the touch. He set the wine bottle down by his feet.

“Wanna do it now?”

The look he gave me was part you’re crazy and part hell yeah. Taking the wine glass from me, he tossed it into the ocean and pulled me to him. “I have a better idea.”

His kiss was drugging, pulling me under into this deep bliss that was satiating and excruciating all at once. I wanted my hands in his hair to tug him closer, bring the kiss deeper, but he had them trapped between our bodies. The hard planes of his chest was a contrast to the softness of his skin beneath my fingertips. His tender kiss was nothing like the desperation with which he held me.

Too soon, he wrenched away, but rested his forehead to mine. “For the record, your dad meant that love was nothing without friendship.” His jaw tensed. “We can have both, if you just let me in.”

I reeled. What did he mean, let him in? He was already embedded—

He grabbed my thighs and lifted me. I wrapped my arms and legs around him as he shifted and sat on the pier, me in his lap. Before I could catch my breath, his hands were in my hair and he was kissing me again. This time wasn’t gentle. He swallowed me whole, fought and won in a game of dominance, and the heat was enough to reduce us to ash.

He gripped my thighs and slid his hands up, connecting with my damp panties. I was dressed for bed, which meant I was only wearing a T-shirt. He groaned as if appreciating the access and slid his fingers inside the waistband at my hips. And ripped.

I gasped against his mouth as warm air hit the damp curls between my legs. He grinned and worked his hand between us, unzipping his jeans and freeing his erection. Then he grabbed my hips and pulled me flush with him, held me there while he thrust. His hot shaft slid between my folds and I whimpered. His hands shoved under my shirt, kneading my breasts while I rode him. It wasn’t enough to have him against me. I needed him inside me.

“Ian...”

“Shh. We’ll get there.” He tugged my shirt up and, with his palms on my back, he sucked one nipple into his mouth and swirled his tongue around the hardened peak. As if anticipating me crying out, he slapped a hand over my mouth to contain the noise and moved to the other breast.

I ground against him, hands fisted in his hair, legs shaking as they banded around his back. “Ian,” I pleaded, wondering who was doing it, because I’d never been reduced to begging.

A groan deep in his throat, he grabbed my ass, lifted me until I was positioned over his shaft, and brought me down on him. Before I’d even fully acknowledged him filling me, he cupped my head, brought my lips to his, and barked a hoarse cry into my mouth. He stilled, muscles vibrating, panting. His chest rose and fell, his arm around my back tense. He stayed like that long moments as if unable to move.

I opened my eyes to find him watching me. Raw animal hunger and caged aggression. My breath caught.

“Summer...” His broken whisper cut me. But he didn’t finish his thought.

Gaze never leaving mine, he wrapped his arms around me and thrust. Breaths rasping, he did it again and again, locking me in his gaze, in his arms, and I splintered. Clenching him inside me, I buried my face in his thick, dark hair as tremors wracked my body. He opened his mouth against my throat, his stubble deliciously abrading. He came with another shout against my skin, arms banding tighter like he thought I’d disappear.

Breaths soughing, we held each other, tangled, as the waves lapped below us.

“Will you sit down, please?” Dee waved an impatient hand at me.

We were holed up together in the small bathroom upstairs, staring at the pregnancy test. I fidgeted, wringing my hands, pacing, making Dee more nervous. I couldn’t help it. “Sorry.” I sat on the edge of the tub. “You should be doing this with Rick.”

“No, I should be right here with you, so we can tell them after if I’m…” She let the statement hang for a moment. “How much longer?”

“Thirty seconds.” I closed my eyes tight, blew out a breath.

The week had gone by so quickly, like it usually did when we were here. An emotional roller coaster, but quick. Tomorrow, we’d be heading home. I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen with Ian and I when we got back to Wylie. Would the dynamic change? We’d been in our own world here, but returning home was a slap of reality.

And wow. Dee pregnant? It would be wonderful to be an auntie. A pang of jealousy and longing filled me. I wanted us to raise our children together, to give our kids even a glimmer of what we had growing up. Summers by the creek, catching bullfrogs, climbing trees. There was nothing more heady, more concrete, than turning around and seeing my friends always there, covering my back. The camaraderie and loyalty and security only a true bond could hold.

I didn’t even know if Ian wanted kids. We’d made love, had our friendship, but there were so many things left up in the air. Matt’s proposal, too. Selfish as it seemed, I kept that in the back of my mind as a backup plan, as if expecting Ian and I to fail. Matt deserved better than that, and no matter what, I knew in my heart I’d say no when the two weeks had expired.

But every time a woman walked by on the beach, I’d wondered if Ian was checking her out. When we curled up after making love, I’d worried he was getting bored. He never gave me any indication that was the case, but yet the thoughts kept needling me.

“Okay, you do it.” Dee looked at me with wide eyes.

I stood, taking the test in my shaking hand. Two lines. We’d read the box a hundred times, but I checked it again. “You’re having a baby.”

“I’m what?” A little denial edged her voice.

My smile turned into a full grin. I took her shoulders and shook her. “You and Rick are having a baby.” I said the words slowly, over-pronunciating.

“Oh, my God.” Dee screamed. She grabbed her stomach and jumped. Laughing. “Oh, my God!”

Rick’s concerned knock and shouts through the door startled us both.

I leaned against the door, laughing. “He’s going to go crazy,” I whispered, then raised my voice so he could hear. “We’ll be out in a second.”

We squealed again for good measure.

When we got downstairs, Ian was stalking the living room, his parents were calmly sitting on the sofa, and Rick was staring out the patio door.

“What was the hold-up?” Ian barked. “We’re going to miss our dinner reservation.”

Ruth sighed. “You’re going to wear a hole in my carpet if you don’t calm down.”

“Hey, Rivers?” I held up the pregnancy test wrapped with paper towel.

Rick faced me. His confused gaze met mine, then darted to his wife, jaw unhinged and a hopeful question in his eyes.

Dee smiled and ran into his arms.

Rick glanced at me over her shoulder as if seeking confirmation, proof.

God, my heart was so damn happy. “You’re going to be a daddy.”

He pulled Dee away from him, holding her at arm’s length, eyes wide with shock. “Are you serious?”

She nodded.

I nodded.

Ian laughed like a hyena. “No shit? Congrats, man.”

Mark chuckled and smacked Ian on the back while Ruth hugged Dee. “Well, how ‘bout that. Uncle Ian. Has a nice ring to it.”

Ian sat with a stupid grin and scratched his jaw. His parents, flanking him, wrapped him in an embrace on their old sofa, which creaked underneath the weight of them. It dawned on me, with hurricane force, that I’d never have a moment like this. My parents were gone, and I wasn’t sure where Ian and I were headed. I might never ever have kids.

Regardless, I watched my friends at the happiest I’d ever seen them, my heart so full it hurt. I think fell in love with Ian at that moment, suspended it in time for memory’s sake. I had suspected the shift after that first time we’d made love, but this moment clenched it. From birth, we’d loved each other. But this feeling in the pit of my stomach wasn’t for the friendship I had with the boy next door. It ached deep inside me, burned with blue fire, and consumed.

His gaze met mine from across the room, and it was like being leveled and erected in the same breath. I nodded, understanding.

I bit my lip and stepped away from the easel, assessing the painting of Wylie that was mostly finished. My gaze skimmed over the other works, partially finished, and I made mental notes, gearing myself up for the week.

I hadn’t planned on painting tonight. I’d had a busy day sitting down with Rick to discuss a business plan, visiting my student Jon in the hospital, and finalizing details with Eric for the benefit. Plus, my attorney Tim and I had gone back and forth via phone regarding the issue of the house. It seemed Sharon was not going to back down on signing over the deed. I was wiped, but I needed to get my head back into the game. I’d been standing here for an hour, playing with color ideas and brush strokes, and I thought I finally had my mojo.

Sighing, I pulled my phone from my back pocket as a text chimed.

Ian: I have a problem. Can u come over?

My stomach bottomed out as my thumbs flew over the keypad. What’s wrong?

Rushing into my bedroom to grab clean clothes, I threw them on as I waited for his response. My heartbeat a sickening thud, I glanced at the screen.

Ian: Just come.

Oh God. Flipping lights off along the way, I bolted down the stairs and out the back door. Visions of him injured from a saw in his workshop or shooting a nail through his foot swam to mind as I raced across the grass. I waved the mosquitoes away from my face and skidded to a halt at the shed behind his house.

Dark. Crickets chirped.

I turned for the house, calling his name. Not in the living room. Or kitchen. “Ian?”

“Up here, in the bedroom.”

Taking the stairs two at a time, I rounded the landing and jerked to a stop over the threshold. Breaths soughing, I found him sitting cross-legged on his big bed, book in his hand. A quick glance around the room showed nothing amiss.

I refocused on him. “What’s wrong?”

He set the book aside and rose. His dark eyes zeroed in on me. With a naughty twist to his mouth, he ate the distance in three strides. I had the impression of being his prey a heartbeat before he cupped my face and kissed me. Long, languid strokes of his tongue stole whatever breath I had left and I instinctually leaned into him. My hands settled at his waist. Hard muscle shifted under my palms, and I traced a path around to his back.

After a nip to my lower lip, he pulled away to look down at me, pupils swallowing his irises. “Nothing’s wrong.”

I blinked. “You texted. You said you had an emergency.”

He stroked my jaw with his thumb, the calluses scraping my skin. “No, I said I had a problem, which is fixed now.”

“What?”

His grin was wicked hot, and I followed the sensual curve of his mouth to the dark stubble over his jaw, clenching my thighs.

“I missed you and had this fierce need to kiss you. A big problem in my book because you weren’t here.”

I pulled away, eyes narrowed. “Let me get this straight. You texted me that you had an emergency—“

“I said I had a problem.”

“—scaring the life out of me that you might be hurt—“

“Aw, sweetheart, I’m fine.”

“—and all so you could kiss me?”

He glanced at the ceiling and nodded, lower lip jutting. “Sounds about right.”

I slapped his chest and he laughed. “Jerk.”

“Worrywart.” He sobered, hand skimming over my hair and pulling out my ponytail. “Were you in the middle of something? Did I interrupt?”

Sort of. “Yes.”

“And you dropped what you were doing to come over. Because you thought I needed you or I was hurt.” Not a question and his tone indicated he was baiting me.

“Yes.”

He dragged his fingers over the back of my neck and heat infused every cell in my body. “What if you’d been covered in paint and on a breakthrough masterpiece of your adult career? Would you have come if I called?”

It was really hard to concentrate when his hard chest was pressed to mine and he was teasing me with gentle touches. “Yes.”

“And if you were teaching a class or across town saving the homeless, would you have come then if I called?”

Saving the homeless? “Of course, I would. You know that.”

A gotcha look lit his eyes and his lips curved.

I sighed, jarred back to a squabble we’d had in the car on the way home from visiting my student at the hospital. I’d been distracted and had mentioned I feared I got way more out of our friendship than he did. Needless to say, he hadn’t liked that. He’d jerked the car to the side of the road, threw the car in Park, and glared at me. Don’t you ever, ever say something so stupid again. We clear on that, Summer? Good. Gear back in Drive, he’d peeled back onto the road.

Torn between pissed off and moved, I stared at him. “So the text was a ruse to prove your point from earlier today?”

A slow shake of his head. “No, I really wanted to kiss you. Proving my point was an added perk.” When I said nothing, because no words would come, he brushed his nose with mine. “You did make me pretty irate with that comment, though. I don’t know what in the hell put that notion into your head.”

This was one of the reasons I tended to bite my tongue a lot around him. If I let slip one of my insecurities or concerns he disagreed with, he went ballistic. Any indication from my lips that I wasn’t...perfect threw him into overprotective caveman mode.

He studied my face. “When I was eight and had the chickenpox, you brought my class work home from school and did it for me. So I ‘could rest,’ as you put it.” He dragged me right back to him when I tried to pull away. “And junior year of high school, when I broke my foot, who showed up at all my baseball games wearing a homemade T-shirt that said Be glad Ian’s benched or you’d be weeping? Even though you hate crowds and you knew the girls would make fun of you, you came, chin up and rooting for me.”

That had been pretty badass of me, but he’d been devastated to be injured during their championship year—

“And it was you who researched lumber suppliers and furniture competitors in order to convince me to take the leap of owning my store. You believed I could do it, pushed me to take the chance on something I loved so I would be happy.” His gaze softened suddenly, as if winding down from his storm. “Who checks out her bedroom window every night to make sure my workshop light is off before going to bed? Because she’s afraid I might have an accident?”

I opened and closed my mouth. Sighed. “Okay, okay. I get your point.”

His jaw clenched. “I don’t think you do. I don’t think you have a glimmer of an idea how much I need you. Yeah, sweetheart, I wiped your tears and watched your back and held your hand through the rough patches. But you? You give a piece of yourself every day to those who matter to you. No matter how bad things get, others come first. You shove aside your needs to give, even when you have nothing left.”

Holding the side of my head, he gave me a firm shake. “If it kills me, if it takes until my dying day, I will get to you, get through to you.” Tension eased from his muscles as the fight died in his eyes. “You matter.”

Shaken, I could do little more than stare at him. I had no idea he felt this strongly about me. I mean, yes, I knew Ian loved me and he’d always been there. But this side of him, this unguarded, almost needy part of him I’d never seen, was a blow. My chest filled, heart full and throat tight.

Reaching up, I threaded my fingers through his soft black strands and tugged his mouth to mine. “I want you.”

It seemed to take him a second to absorb my words, but then he gripped my waist and hauled me up his body, mouth closing over mine in a desperate, open kiss. Tongues clashed. Teeth scraped. Moans rumbled.

He backed us toward the bed, inching my shirt up my belly. “Tell me again. Tell me you want me.” Off went my shirt, and he groaned at the discovery I wasn’t wearing a bra.

“I want you.”

Jerking his shirt over his head, I wet my lips as I took him in. Sun-kissed skin, light dusting of hair, ropey muscle shifting. A flex of his bicep and my gaze dropped to where his hands were unfastening his shorts. Through hooded eyes, he watched me as he dropped everything and kicked the garments away. Blood roared through my veins. He had a slight happy trail of hair that descended toward a thick erection. The crown brushed his naval as he wrapped his fingers around the girth and stroked. Mesmerized, my fingers twitched, and then he stepped forward, strong, hard thighs bulging.

He nodded, indicating I should strip the rest of the way. Wasting no time, I shucked my shorts and panties. His heated gaze raked over me, and suddenly I was unsure. We’d been together before, but that had been on vacation. This time, we were at home and it felt more...real. A choice rather than a heated whim. With his slow exploration, his nostrils flared, and I wondered about the other women he’d been with. My breasts were on the smallish side and though I had some curves, my body type was more willowy.

A measured exhale hissed through his teeth. “Beautiful. Come here.”

Closing the short distance, I wrapped my arms around his waist, needing the familiar feel of him against me. We met, skin to skin, and the nerves settled. This was Ian I was with. He’d take good care of me.

As if sensing the shift in me, he leaned in for a kiss, starting off light and morphing into madness. His shaft pressed between us, his hands roaming over my ribs to cup my breasts. He pulled back for air. “Tell me you want me.”

Unsure why he, of all people, needed the reassurance, I slid my hands up his back and gripped his shoulders. I tilted my head to look into his eyes, and awe stared back at me. Perhaps I’d been wrong. Maybe he’d just waited too long to hear the words. “I want you.”

Another kiss and my calves hit the mattress. He resurfaced for air as my head spun. “Tell me you need me.”

“I need you.”

With a gentle push on my shoulder from him, I lay on the bed and he rose over me. He scooped an arm under me and placed me in the center of the bed. His mouth came right back to mine as he settled between my thighs. I slid my hands into his hair, arching for more, for him to fill me. He ground his shaft between my folds and groaned at the slick glide.

He suddenly broke away and stared down at me, his eyes glazed as if coming out of a dream. A slight wrinkle formed between his brows as his warm breath fanned my mouth. “Tell me you’re mine,” he pleaded, lips brushing mine as he spoke. His chest rose and fell rapidly. He held the back of my head, keeping me to him as a barrage of emotion swam in his eyes. “Please. Tell me you’re mine.”

I had a sinking suspicion I had always been his. It just had taken me way longer than him to realize it. “I’m yours.”

A choking noise in his throat and then his mouth closed over mine. He adjusted and nudged my opening, slid inside me slowly until I was full. He stilled for a moment, cradled between my thighs, allowing me to adjust. His eyes were pinched closed, his lips parting against mine as if he couldn’t handle the sensation of being joined.

Dragging in a breath, he opened his eyes. Met my gaze. He eased out, his hot shaft gliding along my sensitive walls, and I whimpered at the withdrawal. “Shh,” he soothed, just his tip inside me. His arms slid between me and the mattress, hugging me closer, like he couldn’t stand the air between us. “Want you. Need you. Mine.”

And then he drove forward, one long thrust with something to prove, and my lungs emptied. He rocked inside me, burying his face in my neck. His rough outgrowth branded my skin, a delicious burn. I traced the contours of his back, past his hips to his ass, reveling in the firm muscles working under my palms. He pumped harder at my exploration, issuing wounded noises muted by my skin.

His response fueled my need and the stirrings of release curled low in my belly. I scratched my way to his sides, losing myself to the way his gluts worked, the rigid tension in his abs. If possible, his arms banded tighter. A thin sheen of sweat broke out on our skin, adding to the sensual glide of our bodies. His shaft pulsed inside me and I knew he was close. Which veered me over the edge and I bowed, grabbing what I could to hold on. His hair. His shoulders. His back. His ass. My legs cinched around his waist, nudging him deeper.

He gave a hoarse yell and pumped twice more, arms bulging and spine rigid as he spilled into me. When his chest started moving again, keeping himself wrapped around me, face buried, he rose to his knees, bringing me with him until we were sitting, me straddling him.

Though I was still catching my breath and aftershocks trembled through me, the suspicious wetness on my shoulder was not lost on me. Yet he rocked me as if I needed the consoling.

We’d been back home more than a week when Dee dragged me through the entire mall, stopping in every children’s clothing store. I had a sinking suspicion, when things settled down after my art benefit in a week, we’d be making a trip to Hickory for baby furniture ideas to slam Ian with. I didn’t mind one iota. I was so very damn happy for my friends.

We sat at a table in the food court, dropping packages by our feet. I had to admit, I was impressed. “How did you find so much baby stuff without even knowing the sex yet?”

Dee grinned. “I’m an expert.”

I laughed. That she was. Dee had managed to find me the perfect dress for the benefit, too, with shoes to match. Without her, I wouldn’t have a clue about these things. I’d show up looking like a train wreck and Eric from the museum would shun me dead.

Dee’s face sobered. “Listen, Summer. I wanted to talk to you alone before we went home.” She fiddled with her styrofoam chai tea cup before coming out with it. “We’re friends. More than that, and you’re going to be this baby’s only auntie.”

“Yes,” I hedged, not liking the sound of this.

“How are things with you and Ian?”

I blinked. “Fine.” Actually, not much had changed. We still acted and did things like always, except sex was involved. Really fabulous sex. It was both reassuring and frightening.

“Summer, listen to me. I’ve let you change topics and avoid serious conversations the entire time we’ve been friends. I know you didn’t have it easy in life. You’ve seen and done things that most people our age shouldn’t have to experience.”

I froze, nervous energy skittering up my spine.

She inhaled sharply before speaking again, as if gathering courage. “You’re not fine. I know that. You know that. You’ve always managed to pull through okay before, so I just made sure to be there if you ever needed me. But this isn’t before, this is now, and this is the rest of your life.” She leaned back in her chair. “I love you. You’re the most unselfish person I know. So it’s time to think about you for a change.”

“What is this about, Dee?” Because I was getting a little scared.

Her gaze bore into mine. “It’s about you holding back, waiting for the other shoe to drop. I can see it in your eyes. The depression, it’s not your fault. But your actions and choices are up to you. Ian loves you and I think you’re trying to talk yourself out of it. No one deserves to be happy more than you. I just...I just wanted to say that.”

I swallowed and looked away, her words a direct hit. It was true. I had been hovering in some strange kind of limbo, waiting for Ian to say, Let’s just be friends again. I didn’t know why, or even what was wrong with me, but I couldn’t shake the feeling. Maybe it was my depression not allowing me to be truly happy. Maybe I was just so used to Fate saying, screw you, I’d just come to expect misery after a shot of joy.

Ian hadn’t come right out and said he loved me, not in those exact words, yet his actions told me he did. I was so in love with him, I was scared to death it would all be taken from me. A cosmic joke at my expense.

Through the years, and especially after Daddy died, Rick and Ian had been my little knights, protecting me. Ian had been the worse of the two, bringing it upon himself to ensure I was happy. I could sense the worry pouring from him, and I never quite knew how to handle that. I’d always tried to buck up, show I was good, so it would ease the burden he’d put on himself. That I wasn’t weak. That I could handle things alone. In the process, I think I lost my ability to ask for help when I needed it because Ian anticipated my needs and just acted. I didn’t know how to tell him I was scared, or communicate my concerns.

In truth, I never wanted to see that look in Ian’s eyes again like I had after Daddy died. I had been so wrapped up in grief I hadn’t realized how selfish I’d been. As a gut reaction, I held off on telling him when I was upset or even why.

I had barely finished my laundry from our trip to Seasmoke when I sat down at the desk in my bedroom. Unfortunately, I’d been sitting here for two hours now, staring at my mother’s address, the scrap of paper in one hand and an invitation to my art benefit in the other.

I had questions for Sharon. Like why had she come back only to leave again? Or how was it a mother could abandon her child? What happened to keep her away? Why had Daddy lied?

To be comfortable enough in my decision to officially end things with Matt and go for it with Ian required me to look into my past, possibly explain some things and get answers. Maybe it would help me understand myself, why I was the way I was. The past had shaped me into who I am, good and bad, and I guess I just didn’t trust I could be happy.

Or, really, that I deserved it.

I couldn’t keep doing this to myself. Dee had been right to confront me. It was the kick I’d needed.

An image of Matt standing in my driveway holding a bouquet of daisies flooded my mind. It had been a simple and sweet offer. And it had meant something to me. Daisies, my favorite. It meant Matt cared enough to notice the details, to get beneath the surface of what I showed others and really know me. That one tiny little gesture kept tripping me up because...it was more than Ian had ever tried to do. Yes, Ian took care of me. Yes, Ian cared. Yet, I thought he’d been so wrapped up in those things, he couldn’t see past that to...me.

If I mailed this invitation, maybe I could get answers. Closure. Family.

Or forgive myself.

I sighed. That was a lot of maybes.

Placing the invitation in an envelope, I addressed it, stamped it, and prayed to God it was the right thing to do.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Four Years Ago—Age Twenty-Four

The fact I’d been plateau-ing on my current anti-depressants only added to the downslide. I’d been too busy taking care of Daddy to let my doc know my body had built up a tolerance and they were no longer affective. My friends were here, had been talking about me as if I wasn’t aware, like I’d already vanished into the void of nothing that beckoned. They’d come after the funeral...two days ago? A week? Ian, Rick, Dee...one after another. They never left me alone. Ian most of all. Begging me to get up. To shower. To look at him. To drink tea. To say something.

Their voices rose from the living room, up the stairs to where I was, and I just wanted them to go the hell away. White noise. Nothing but white noise. Static and humming rattling in my ears.

Nothing mattered anymore.

The kitchen door opened and closed. Blessed silence followed.

With great effort, I turned my head, avoiding the fragments of light reflecting off the IV bag. The mechanical bed’s mattress was too firm, digging into my joints now that I’d turned off the circulation machine.

Daddy had spent his remaining few months here in this bed until that last trip to the hospital. My last ditch attempt to get him to change his mind about a feeding tube to prolong the process. He wouldn’t do it.

In the aftermath, I’d gotten through the funeral in autopilot. Did what I had to do to put Daddy to rest. I hadn’t eaten in I couldn’t remember how long. I couldn’t muster the energy to care about anything. My bones ached and my muscles were flaccid and my stomach clutched. I wanted nothing more than to be left alone. I deserved that, didn’t I? After everything? And sleep. I needed more sleep. I was so damn tired all the time, my eyelids so heavy. Maybe if I slept long enough, I wouldn’t wake up and this agonizing pain would end.

I burrowed deeper into Daddy’s bed, covering my head with the quilt. It didn’t smell like him anymore, like aged pine and Ivory soap. The expulsion of that little vice nearly tore me in half. A sob ripped from my chest. Tears poured from my eyes, hot against my cheeks and trailing onto the pillow. Even his scent had been taken away. Everything had been taken away. I was alone now. With Daddy dead and my mother nothing but a ghost of someone’s memory, I was utterly, utterly alone.

I just wanted to curl up and die, too.

Ian had taken the medicine out of the room once before, but a bottle of sleeping pills and an old Morphine prescription of Daddy’s were clutched in my hand. Two more bottles of painkillers sat on the nightstand within reach. I’d snuck them out of the bathroom earlier. Yesterday? That should be enough pills. When I could move, I would use them. Swallow them like I’d tried and failed to do with the pain and it would all end.

God, it hurt so bad.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. I almost groaned, but it required too much energy. Someone stopped outside the room and sighed. In my cocoon of blankets, I couldn’t see who, but I knew it was Ian. He paused, and I assumed he was staring at me, trying to find a way to reach me. He wouldn’t. The dark was too welcoming, the end my only hope.

“Summer, sweetheart.” His voice was rough, like he’d been yelling. The bed dipped with his weight and the corner of the quilt lifted from my head.

I blinked, frowning at the needling invasion of light, and tried to pull the blanket back. It wouldn’t give. His face appeared before mine, cheek resting on the pillow beside me. His eyes were red-rimmed, his hair disheveled, and more than a week’s worth of whiskers covered his jaw. Shadows pooled under his eyes as he looked at me, looked right inside me, and our pain collided. His lips pressed together in a tight line and his eyebrows connected in a frown as if he were holding on by a thread not to weep.

The bed shifted. He lifted his hand and drew a ragged breath, skimming his palm over my matted hair. “Sweetheart, please. I’m five seconds from carting you off to the hospital. Don’t make me take you there. I’m worried fucking sick. What can I do? Tell me, and I’ll do it.”

I closed my eyes, not wanting to see his pain, feel it. The burden of his on top of mine would cripple me.

His forehead rested against mine, and his movement caused the pills in my hands to rattle. He stilled, then eased away slowly, eyes round in horror. “Summer?” His voice broke on my name, a panicked, jagged whisper. He sat up so fast dizziness swamped me. The blanket tore off my body. “Christ, no.” He muttered to himself, to me, babbling incoherent words. I tried to hold on, but he forced my fingers loose and took the meds away. He held up the bottles, studying them as if counting how many were left, his hands shaking.

“Give them back,” I begged. Didn’t he get it? I needed them. They’d all be so much better off without me.

His tortured gaze landed on the nightstand and he made a noise like a wounded animal. Swiping the remaining medicine into his hands, he stormed from the room. The toilet lid cracked against the tank. Pills landed in water with a splat. The whoosh of a flush followed.

I clutched the sheets, weeping. Now what would I do to end it all? In the distance, just beyond the buzz and hum in my ears, water started running.

Ian reemerged and lifted me, carrying me away from the sanctity of bed. Wanting to fight, I raised my arm, but I was too weak and it fell limp. He took us into the bathroom, stepped over the threshold of the tub, and banded his arms around me.

A shock of freezing water poured over my head, my neck, down my back, and I screamed. Clawing at him, I attempted to climb up his body, get away from the jarring cold, but he held me firm. I lifted my head and glared at him, hissing through clenched teeth. A shiver wracked my body, convulsing through my limbs as my teeth chattered.

We were nose to nose, fully dressed, and at a standstill. Fierce determination and frenetic worry looked back at me through dark chocolate eyes. Water sluiced over his head. He blinked past the torrent, gaze never leaving mine.

After a few moments, his rigid muscles relaxed and he sighed. “There you are.” His tone was still wrecked, but relief seeped through the rough timbre, as if he’d been searching for and finally had found me. “There’s my girl.”

Reaching behind us, he adjusted the spray to a hotter setting, never looking away from my eyes. Like a beacon, I latched onto the connection and fisted my hands in his drenched shirt. Hot water replaced the cold and he sat on the floor of the tub, me cradled in his lap.

He pushed wet strands of hair from my face and cupped my cheek, his calloused palm rough in contrast to the gentle touch. “I got you. I’ve always got you.” His gaze swept my face and tears shone in his eyes. “Never forget that.”

I nodded. Sobbed. “I’m sorry.”

His chest hitched and he pressed a kiss to my forehead, trembling despite the steam swirling around us.

Present

“I still say you should have Ian here with you for this, not me.” Rick shoved his hands into his pockets.

I gave him a baleful look. “You’re the accountant.”

“He’s the business owner, and you’re avoiding him.”

Yeah, well, couldn’t deny that one. I couldn’t shake all the doubts in my head. We had such a good thing going. I’d cook dinner at his place, we’d have eyes-rolling-back-in-my-head, I-can’t-move sex afterward. We laughed. We talked. We acted like a normal couple. But the past couple days, I’d made excuses about needing to paint in order to avoid him. The painting part was true, not that I’d gotten any work done.

I just...I just couldn’t lose him. And I somehow knew I would. The kind of happy he made me never lasted.

I was trying, though. So hard, I was trying. For him. Ian had been right in what he’d said at Seasmoke. I couldn’t trust myself to be happy. And the only time in my life I could remember ever being that way was with him. Our childhood, our teen years—all him. It was like being inside a glass room. I could see the possibilities, but couldn’t reach them. I didn’t know how to break the window.

Sighing, I looked around the commercial space for sale. I had been toying with the idea of opening my own store for so long now. And Rick was right. Ian should be here. He worried about me so much that any time something was wrong or I thought about moving forward, a part inside of me froze when it came time to include him. I loved him so much, first as friends, then as more, that the thought of hurting him like I’d selfishly done after Daddy died tore me to shreds. I was trying so hard to be brave for him when I didn’t need to anymore. Another cycle I couldn’t break. He enabled the pattern, too. Thing was, I wasn’t the only one who didn’t trust me. He didn’t either. His reactions all our lives proved he didn’t think I could stand on my own two feet, couldn’t be strong enough to make it.

Glass room.

The realtor impatiently tapped the toe of her navy blue, open-toed pump on the linoleum floor. I wondered how a foot her size squeezed into them. Darcy Mae Wilmot of Wilmot Realty was a three hundred pound woman with big bar hair straight out of 1985, and she didn’t look pleased to be here. Apparently, office space was beneath her. She lifted her brows and cleared her throat. Loudly.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and looked at Rick. “What do you think?”

He pondered a moment, tilting his head. “Honestly, this is a really tough economy to be starting a business right now. It’s going to eat up the rest of your dad’s life insurance money.” Rick rubbed his chin. “On the other hand, it is reasonably priced and you would have quite a few customers, or students, already. The location is right smack dab in the tourist trap.”

I wanted to have a summer art program for school age kids and move the Saturday art therapy classes here year round. I could sell my paintings, too. That was the tentative business plan, with other ideas Rick had incorporated for later.

I pointed to the west wall. “I could hang paintings there. It’s right behind the counter and easily seen. And back there,” I pointed to my right, “I could put up the kids’ work for display. There’s room for at least fifteen easel stations and the back area is perfect for storage. Good light.”

Rick looked at me with a knowing grin. “Thought a lot about it, eh?” He turned to the realtor. “I think she’ll take it.”

I flung myself into his arms, holding tight as he spun me around.

With the old owners anxious to sell, I was able to close on my new studio in a little less than four days. I was beside myself with excitement. It was a ginormous step, but I was going to make it work.

Al from the little Ma and Pa hardware store down the road had put in some new black and white checkered tile flooring for me this morning. Last night, I had stayed until near the crack of dawn putting a new paint color on the walls, so it would be done before installers got here. Stepping back to analyze the pale lilac color, I nodded in satisfaction. I’d added a heavy cream tone and blended it together with a fan brush stroke, making the area appear more like wallpaper. I wanted to have the space presentable by this time tomorrow, so I could announce it at the art benefit.

There were still a few things left to do, but I needed to head home for that first. Beyond excited at the prospect, I’d ordered fifteen easels from an art supply warehouse I had used in the past for bulk items. They were sitting at home, having arrived with the brushes and acrylic paint I’d also ordered.

Through the years, I had kept some of my students’ work. I’d decided that a photo and painting of each child who had passed away from my class would get a spot on the back wall. Forever frozen in place, forever young. A donation box for my charities would be set up by the front door on the glass case. There was a greeting card program Rick had installed on my computer at home, so I could convert my older paintings into cards. Not one to work with watercolor often, I had very few of them, but they would make the better choice for stationery. Those would go in the glass case under the counter.

Grinning fully, I sighed. My place. My own place. How many times had I thought about doing this? Now it was real.

Best of all, I’d never have to argue with the school board again about my art therapy program. I would still teach at the high school and elementary school—I needed the income—but my Saturday classes were being moved here.

Turning full circle, I grinned again. Now, to run home and shower, pick up the stuff, and turn it from an empty space to Quinn’s Place. That’s what I had decided to call it. I wanted to shout it to the world. To tell everyone that…

Aside from Rick, no one knew yet. The parents wouldn’t hear the news until tomorrow night. I had my suspicions Ian knew, but we hadn’t had a conversation about it.

And the day after tomorrow, Matt was supposed to come.

Ian

The two weeks following our trip to Seasmoke had gone by in a blink. I finally, after years of hoping and pining, had her in my arms. She still snuck out of bed in the mornings because she was a much early riser than me and she held back a part of herself, but I had her. Everything I’d wanted. We ate dinner at her place, slept at mine. Had amazing, mind-blowing sex. The friendship had held and we talked as always. Our schedules, for the most part, meshed well. We...were making it work. I’d done everything in my power to show her we could do this.

Yet...she was withdrawing from me. Little things adding up to big things. I had no idea why. We clicked on every level. I had given everything in me to show her what she meant to me. Her medication was working fine, but I couldn’t shake what would happen if the depression returned and I couldn’t bring her back.

I sighed, pushing away from the desk in my shop office and paced.

Rick had told me about her new studio this morning. Instead of grinding out my frustration in my workshop, I’d come to my store and played with some things for her. I glanced at the east wall of the back room as if I could see through it and down the block to where her place was located. Summer hadn’t said a word. That hurt. Gutted, actually. We’d talked in passing about her idea. Because it had been a wistful daydream of hers, I’d given my two cents on the subject, but it had been more than a year since she’d brought it up. And then she just up and did it. Without saying a thing to me.

Someday, those guards of hers would come down. I could only hope the damage to us wouldn’t be irreparable.

“Can I come in?”

Christ, and there she was, covered in purple paint and looking nervous. Of all things, nervous. With me. My stupid, naive heart thumped behind my ribs, regardless of the injury she kept doling the organ.

I ran my hands through my hair. I’d seen her this morning, but I ached to touch her. Anger battled with need inside me. “Yeah, come in.” I sat down.

She took two steps and stopped. Her gaze landed on my desk, to the laptop I’d left open. An interesting display of emotion fluttered over her face before she locked gazes with me.

“Rick told me,” I said before she could question what was on the screen.

“I should have told you myself.”

“Yes, you should have.” I didn’t bother keeping the irritation from my tone. She’d hurt me, even if she hadn’t meant to. A few beats passed, and I couldn’t take the silence. “Why didn’t you?”

“I thought you might try to talk me out of it.”

Of all the stupid... “What the hell, Summer?”

Rubbing her forehead, she stared at the carpet. “You hate that I do the therapy program.”

My teeth gnashed. “Wrong. I hate what it does to you. More over, I hate your reasons for doing it.”

Her blue eyes met mine, confusion in her brow. “What does that mean?”

I leaned forward. “I mean your twisted sense of guilt.” I hesitated, then decided to go for broke. If I wanted her to talk to me, I needed to extend an olive branch, too. “What you do with those kids is admirable. You give them joy and support on a level their families and doctors can’t. The benefit, the class, it’s selfless, just like you. Not many people would go to the lengths you do for what might pan out to be a hopeless effort.” I stared into her eyes, wanting for all the world for her to really hear me. “But none of it will bring your dad back. And his death wasn’t your fault.”

Her eyes filled, lips trembling. I forced myself to stay in my chair when every ingrained instinct told me to pull her in my arms. Blinking repeatedly, she glanced away.

I fisted my hands. “No matter what you do, sweetheart, I will support you. Whether it’s your benefit, a new studio, or you want to visit the Mayan ruins and do a tribal mating ritual—“ there, a watery laugh “—I will support you. Even if I think you’re wrong or I don’t agree. Understand me?”

Pressing her palms to her eyes, she nodded repeatedly. Then, she launched herself at me, climbing into my lap and burying her face in my neck, arms banding around my head.

And Christ, just like that, my world righted. We weren’t okay, not by a long shot, but she was starting to figure out what I’d been telling her all along. I loved her so damn much I couldn’t breathe. I’d thought about telling her a trillion times since we’d made love the first time, but I didn’t think she was ready to hear it yet.

I held her a moment more and kissed her temple. “Want to see what I’ve been working on?”

She eased back and kissed me, holding my jaw as if I might bolt. Pulling away, she stared into my eyes and I got lost in the sapphire twilight of hers for elongated minutes. Hours. Years. She drew in a breath and...smiled.

Turning her focus to my laptop, she stared at the Web site for her studio I had been playing with. That kind of thing she wouldn’t have thought of herself. She probably would have known what color paint she wanted on the walls, how she was going to arrange everything, but she wouldn’t think of the business end. That was my expertise. When I’d opened my shop, she did everything to make it presentable, to look good. I made it run and thrive.

“You did that for me? A Web site?”

I’d do anything for you. Why can’t you see that?

I cleared my throat. “Yep. It hasn’t launched yet because it needs your approval first. There’s some other things I played with, too.” Reaching around her, not wanting her to climb off my lap, I tapped a few keys and showed her the site first. “I’ll change the background color to that purple you have all over your hair.” I grinned. With a couple finger taps, I switched it.

“Not purple. Lilac.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief. Cute, that.

I kissed her briefly on the mouth. “Whatever.”

As we went over the rest of the site, she made comments here and there, but didn’t want anything changed. The header of each page read Quinn’s Place, with a child-sized hand print in paint before it and a paint brush after as an exclamation point.

“I love that,” she said. “I’m going to use that for the sign on the door.”

I nodded and she read through her bio on the second page with a picture of her and her father at the bottom. Before the threat of tears could come again, I clicked over to the page which had sampling pictures of her art, and the page with photos of her and the kids. “The links to your two charities are here and on the home page.”

“Can we add a page? I’m going to convert my watercolors into some greeting cards. Can customers buy them online, too?”

“Sure.” I set about doing that. I linked credit card apps to her account after she gave me the account info and added a PayPal option. I copied the watercolor prints from her art page to the store to display the samples. “There’s also a page with a downloadable enrollment form for kids to sign up. I’ll make copies to put in the studio.”

She was quiet a moment. “You thought of everything, didn’t you?”

I looked at her, really looked at her. She still didn’t fully get it, the lengths I’d go to for her, but she would. Hell, she’d do the same for me, and had.

I jerked my chin to the desk. “Look at this. It’s for the benefit tomorrow night.”

She picked up the folder with her logo on the front, ran her hand over the child handprint and lettering displaying her studio name. With avid interest, I watched her go through the brochure and business cards I’d printed, along with the enrollment form.

“There’s a hundred more over there to pass out at the benefit.”

She looked at the box on the floor and then back to me, bewilderment and awe in her eyes. “I…” She hook her head. “I don’t know what to say, Ian. This is all…I can’t thank you enough. How did you get all the information?”

“Rick. You also told me a lot about your ideas awhile back. I remembered.”

She cupped my face. “Thank you.” She opened her mouth to say more, and my chest thumped in anticipation, but she just shook her head and dropped a kiss on my lips. “Thank you.”

Summer

I hung my dress for tomorrow night inside the closet door. Dee, awesome friend that she was, had found me the perfect ensemble. Turning my head, I smiled in admiration at my latest painting. This one would not go on sale tomorrow, and was worth every moment of sleeplessness to complete. I had barely resisted the urge to run over to Dee’s place the moment I’d finished. Tomorrow night, I’d give it to Rick and Dee when we had a quiet moment.

The chimes in my window tinkled. A fresh breeze blew in, smelling faintly of wildflowers and rain. I needed air and to wind down, so I picked up my glass of sweet tea and headed downstairs.

Sitting on my front porch steps, I breathed in humid summer air and closed my eyes. The crickets had died down and fireflies blinked in the distance. The creek behind the house ran steady over the crinkle of leaves whirring in the breeze. Stars twinkled overhead, too many for counting. Perfection.

My cell phone chirped in my pocket. I pulled it out and hesitated to answer after glancing at the display. My stomach churned. “Hi, Matt.”

“Hey, beautiful. Will you be around Sunday morning?”

Nervous tension crept up my spine. He’d given me two weeks and time was up. I’d been so distracted I’d almost forgotten. But, it would close a chapter in my life. Both of us needed to move on, and he deserved a face to face. “Yes. You coming by?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “What are you doing right now? You sound tired.”

I smiled. “I just finished a painting and I’m relaxing on the porch.” Though we would never work as a couple, I thought about the sweet little things he did for me, like calling me beautiful and bringing me daisies.

He laughed. “Well, you are beautiful and I’ll have to thank Ian for the daisies.”

Not realizing I’d spoken the last part aloud, I bit my lip. Then it hit me, what he’d said in response. “What?”

“I ran into Ian in Charlotte last time I was down there. I was buying you roses and he stopped me. Told me to buy daisies instead. I’ll admit, it didn’t seem as romantic, but I figured he was the best friend and would know what he was talking about. They did make you happy.”

My chest grew tight. “Yeah.”

We exchanged a few more pleasantries and disconnected.

Shaken, I stared out over the yard and tried to get a grip. It was just flowers, right? Not a big deal. Except I’d used that trivial gesture to focus on how Matt saw me in ways Ian didn’t. I always got the impression Ian couldn’t see past our history to the little things that mattered to me, couldn’t find his way around my depression to the person under all of it. Yet, this kind of proved he did.

And if he had feelings for me, even as recent as a few weeks ago, why would he help Matt pick out flowers I preferred instead of letting Matt flounder?

Rising, I sank my feet into the grass and made my way next door.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Ian

Exhausted beyond comprehensive thought, I dragged myself into the living room after grinding for hours in the workshop on a curio cabinet. A custom order the client wanted by the end of next week. My muscles were strained and protested movement, but the burn felt good. Besides, a shower and eight solid hours of sleep would fix the discomfort.

I wondered if Summer was coming by. Probably not. She’d said she had paintings to finish up, thus my late night in the workshop. I’d forgo sleep to see her...

As if I’d conjured her, she rose from the recliner in the corner and flipped on a light. The excitement of having her here died when I read the distressed look in her eyes and the border of irritation in the twist of her mouth.

“Matt called.”

I shoved my hands in my back pockets. “I could give two shits.” Christ, tell me we weren’t going to fight over that guy. I thought he was finally out of the picture, that I’d proven to her we were the better fit.

“You ran into him a few weeks ago, told him to buy me daisies instead of roses.”

I studied her a good long time, but I couldn’t figure this riddle out to save my life. “And?”

Flustered, she rubbed her arm, and the tell had worry kicking in my gut. “They’re my favorite.”

Uh, no. Was this some kind of test? I was never good at them. “Orchids are your favorite flower, though daisies are a close second.”

She started breathing heavy, her gaze flittering around the room in panic mode.

I stepped forward, but stopped. I couldn’t fathom a guess, but something about the damn flowers was important to her, enough to storm over here at nearly midnight and put her in a tizzy. “Are we going to have a fight about flowers?” Tension and confusion laced my tone, because...damn. What the hell?

Hand on her forehead, she looked at me through wide, bottomless eyes. “How...” She cleared her throat. “How long have you had feelings for me?”

Every muscle in my body went rigid to the point of pain. From Matt to flowers to this. With the sinking suspicion my answer might make or break me, I tried to swallow past the boulder and think. I’d hinted I’d wanted her for a long time, but we’d not actually discussed the logistics. To me, it didn’t matter. We were together now.

“How long?” Her voice rose an octave.

I ran a hand through my hair. “I can’t pinpoint a date on the calendar, Summer. It just...” I blew out a frustrated breath. “It started as teenage hormones, I think. But then it didn’t go away. And through the years, lust turned to desire and...”

Trembling, she was trembling like she had no idea I loved her. “And what?”

Anger beat at my temples. “And you know what? I can remember the exact day I realized I was insanely, madly, hopelessly in fucking love with you. Four years ago, when you wanted to end it all and I almost couldn’t bring you back. My nightmare began that day. I slid right out of denial and into holy shit and haven’t been able to comprehend a future without you in it since.”

Breaths soughing, I stared at the ceiling. Shit. Shit squared. I hadn’t wanted to throw that back at her, but it was the God’s honest truth. Every day of those early years, lusting after her and wishing she’d catch on, paled in comparison to the last four years when I knew I was in love with her. That this ache inside wasn’t just physical, but an emotional fist that would never unfurl.

“I would think a man who’s supposedly in love with me wouldn’t want to give my boyfriend the advantage of telling him my favorite flowers were daisies and not roses.” The anger had drained from her voice, leaving a quiet tremor in its place.

We were back to flowers. But I was starting to understand. Maybe.

“There’s no supposedly about it, sweetheart. I’m in love with you.” I forced myself to look at her and the bafflement in her expression sliced. After everything life had thrown at her, she didn’t think she was lovable. Her mom had walked and her dad had died and she’d been picked on by classmates, rendering her the opinion she wasn’t worthy of love. “I thought he was what you wanted, so I helped the guy out. I just wanted you happy. That’s all.”

More arm rubbing. “What about your happiness? Don’t you deserve to be happy?”

I had no answer for that. Not one she’d understand.

“I don’t want Matt.”

Christ in Heaven and all that was holy...

I rounded the table and pinned her to the wall with my body. Her eyes flew wide. The flash of heat all but sparked an inferno between us. The irony of her between a rock and a hard place, like I’d figuratively been for years, was laughable and not lost on me.

A breath shuddered out of her and I dropped my gaze to her perfect mouth.

Done with talk, I went for action. I crushed my mouth to hers and kissed her with all I had left. Then I took her against the wall in my living room, and again in my bed, in case she hadn’t gotten the memo I was all in.

I watched from my seat as Summer walked up to the podium in the Charlotte Art Museum, fidgeting with her dress. What a dress it was, too. Long, deep burgundy, and a slip-satin that hugged her hips and waist. The neckline swept low, peeking at the swell of her breasts. The tone complimented her skin, especially when she blushed, and it was really damn difficult watching her move in that thing when all I could think about was getting it off her.

She placed a hand to her hair, which was in some complicated twist concoction, and tapped the microphone. “Can I have your attention, please?”

Yeah, she had my attention, all right. A new fantasy ran amuck through my dirty mind. One in which I took out those pins in her hair, one by one, until the strands fell over her shoulders so my hands could roam through them. Then I’d fist that dress and shove the material up past her hips and—

Hell. I was flanked between my parents, Rick and Dee, in a room full of people. I folded my arms over my chest and shifted in my seat. Uncomfortable didn’t begin to describe the tightness behind my fly. The damn tuxedo wasn’t helping either.

Everyone shuffled to take their seats in the ballroom. Summer spotted us from the stage and visibly relaxed. In years past, when she’d given her thanks to the attendees and delivered a speech, she’d look at me so her nerves wouldn’t consume her. I gave her something to focus on. Summer and crowds didn’t mix. Plus, she hated attention.

“I would like to thank all of you for coming here tonight.” She bowed her head, the audience probably figuring she was reading off of a card, but I knew better. She started out her speech the same every year and it was the most difficult part for her. “There are very few things in life more precious than children. In this room are parents who have lost a child to a terminal illness and parents with a child who have been diagnosed with a life-threatening illness.”

She lifted her head to the crowd. “We were able to raise more this year than last for our two charities and the art therapy program.”

The crowd clapped.

She grinned.

I basked, a smile curving my lips.

“All ten of my paintings, as well as the students’ pictures and the artist donations, have sold out. So, thank you.” She bowed her head at the applause.

Christ, she glowed. I was so damn proud of her.

“Lastly, I have some bad news.” Her mock pout was too cute for words. “We will no longer be having art therapy at Baker Elementary School.” She paused. “Starting in two weeks, it will now be held at Quinn’s Place, my new studio.” It took a full three minutes of grinning and waving her hand to calm the cheers down. “With a very special thanks to Rick and Dee O’Callahaun, and Ian Memmer for helping me get it running, Quinn’s Place will open next Friday.” She held up one of the folders I’d compiled for her. “These will have all the information you need. They’re being passed out now.”

Summer nodded to Eric Holcomb, the museum director, and he began distributing the folders to the tables. She started to step down from the stage when another woman came up beside her to halt her progress. My gut twisted in recognition and worry ate at the lining. I nearly rose from my seat to stand beside Summer, but Rick put a hand on my arm and squeezed.

“My name is Nancy Melbourne, and my son, Jon, is in Miss Quinn’s therapy class.” Summer glanced down as the woman sniffled. My knee bounced in restlessness. “Jon is in the hospital with little time left. He wanted me to say he wished he was here.” Nancy wiped her eyes with a tissue. “Jon was not the first child she’s touched, and he won’t be the last.”

Nancy smiled at Summer, who was rubbing the skin off her arm, before turning back to the crowd. “The parents and children would like to dedicate an award—” Nancy read from a plaque in her hand “—to Summer Quinn, for the patience, courage, sacrifice, and beauty she has bestowed upon us. Thank you for the last five years.”

She turned toward Summer, handing her the plaque, as the crowd stood cheering. Summer’s hands shook as she accepted it and, damn...my eyes burned. That had been a really great thing for her class to do. She gave endlessly and it was relieving to know it didn’t go unrecognized by someone other than me.

After the tables had been fully cleared of dinner and the orchestra was through playing, I finally got a moment alone with her in a corner as the crowd dispersed. I handed her a champagne flute. “Well done, sweetheart.”

She smiled and took a sip from her glass, nodding to Eric as he sidled up to us. “Thanks for everything.”

He waved his hand with dramatic flair. “That’s why you pay me the big bucks. Miranda did a great job on your hair.”

She reached up to touch it. “Thanks. I suppose your ego doesn’t need the boost to say you were right. How’s the dress? Did Dee do well?”

I groaned my approval.

“Summer, my dear, if I weren’t as gay as they come, I’d ravish you. I most definitely approve. The hair, the dress, and the date.” His eyes shifted to me. “You, handsome, are lick-able. Rawr.”

Uh... “Thanks?”

Summer laughed and slid her arm around my waist, dipping her hand under my jacket to trace her fingers over the base of my spine. I sucked in a careful breath and cleared my throat.

Eric said his goodbyes, then Rick and Dee made their way over. Summer directed us to a secluded part of the ballroom, a smile playing on her lips.

She dropped her hand on a covered canvas. “One painting of mine wasn’t purchased.”

Dee frowned. “But you said all of them—”

“This one was not meant to be bought.” Rick brows rose. “Correct?”

Huh. Okay, she had my interest. I wondered if this was what had kept her up late last night.

Summer nodded and removed the sheet.

Dee gasped, Rick stilled, and I was...floored.

It was a portrait of Dee from behind, sitting in a rocking chair, holding a child to her chest. The baby’s face was hidden so all that could be seen was the top of its head. Rick was leaning against a window frame, facing forward, a smile curving his lips as he watched his wife and child, adoration in his eyes. The brush strokes and low lighting she’d used added a secret whimsy to the piece.

“For your nursery.” Summer watched our friends for their reaction, but all I could see was her. She took my breath away.

“It’s really something, sweetheart,” I choked.

Dee snapped to. “Oh, Summer. It’s lovely!”

“Yes.” Rick cleared his throat, not unmoved. “It is lovely.” Pulling Summer close, he kissed her cheek. “I love it. I love you. Thank you.”

Summer patted her chest. “It’s from here. And I love you, too.”

Every time I saw one of her pieces, it blew me away. She painted with the passion she tried to bottle in her life—a coping mechanism on her part, since she abhorred attention. I got to see that side of her, though, the one most never did. When we made love or fought or laughed at some ridiculous thing, she came alive.

I was about to suggest we leave so I could get her out of that dress when someone from the Charlotte Observer pulled her aside, occupying a good twenty minutes.

Eventually, she made her way back, where I’d been pretending to listen to the conversation between my parents, Rick, and Dee when, in actuality, I was imagining all the ways I’d get her to moan my name.

“I’ll meet you back home?” She smiled, clutching her purse.

We’d taken separate cars since she’d needed to be here early. I leaned close to her so the others couldn’t hear, closing my eyes as her lilac scent enveloped me. “The parental units are staying at my place tonight and driving back to Seasmoke tomorrow. I’ll meet you in your bedroom.” I nuzzled her ear with my nose. “I can’t wait to unwrap you.”

She sucked in a breath, eyes clouding. “Okay.” On unsteady legs, she headed for the door.

We stood by the coat check area, awaiting Dee and Mom’s purse, when my mother gasped.

“Oh no, it can’t be!” She grabbed my father’s arm. “Honey, look!”

I followed their gaze to the door, where a woman was talking to Summer. Her shoulders were a little tense, but there wasn’t anything that triggered an alarm from me. I didn’t see the big deal. After Summer stepped outside, the woman on her heels, I refocused on them. My dad’s eyes grew comically large and my mom looked like she was gonna pass out.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s Sharon.” Mom’s wide eyes met mine. “That’s Summer’s mother.”

Christ. No. What?

My heart shoved against my chest. I made for the door and stepped outside, scanning the sidewalk and street, but she wasn’t there. Hell. Racing back inside, I motioned for the others to hurry up. We rushed to the valet stand in unison.

“Did anyone know about this?” I stopped pacing long enough to glare at my parents, then Rick and Dee.

They shook their heads. The driver pulled up with my parents’ car, Rick and Dee’s right behind. Mine was rounding the corner from the parking garage. I rubbed the tension in my neck.

“I had a talk with Summer at Seasmoke about her mama.” Mom stepped up to the passenger side of their car and held the door open. “I thought it was time to tell her some things. Maybe Summer invited her, that’s why Sharon came?”

If so, it was one more thing in a long line she hadn’t told me. It was getting a little tiresome.

“I can’t take this. I’m worried sick.” I pulled the ticket from my pocket and handed it to the valet. I glanced at Rick and Dee, standing outside their vehicle. “I’ll call you.”

I jumped in the car, peeled out, and headed toward Summer.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Summer

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel as I made the last turn for home. It had been a struggle to focus on the drive so I didn’t kill myself in a violent wreck before I was able to confront Sharon.

Again.

When someone had tapped my arm as I was leaving the benefit and Sharon stood there, that last hold I had on sanity pulled away like a rug under my feet. Just like the first time Sharon had shown up, it had taken me a moment to realize who I was looking at. She’d made the effort to come and I felt trapped. Not wanting to cause a scene, I’d told her to follow me back to the house.

Headlights in my rearview mirror informed me Sharon had stayed close. I pulled into the drive, exited the car, and walked to the front door. I didn’t say a word when Sharon silently followed me into the house. Making my way through the living room to the kitchen, I flipped the lights on and set a kettle to boil.

Unsure what to do, my head was a mess, I turned away from the stove to my mother. Sharon wore a short black cocktail dress with heels that made my feet hurt just by looking at them. Her short, champagne-colored hair was neatly styled away from her face, showing fine lines around her eyes.

“I’m just going to make some tea and then we can go sit in the other room.”

She nodded, wringing her hands. “I was surprised to get your invitation in the mail. I didn’t think you’d ever want to see me again.”

I still wasn’t so sure I did, so I turned back to the stove, choosing my words carefully. “I feel bad about what I said the last time you were here. Regardless of how I feel, you came all the way from Texas to see me…”

The kettle whistled. I transferred the tea bags into mugs and handed one to Sharon, who looked as tired as me. Letting my hands warm around the mug, I sighed. “Listen, when I was growing up, Daddy—”

The back door flew open, banging against the wall, and Ian barreled inside. He took mere seconds to size up Sharon and then turned those violently frightened dark eyes on me. His mouth thinned. “Are you all right?” His hands fisted at his sides as he huffed air like he’d run all the way here.

Sharon’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline, a cross between amusement and alarm in her expression.

“I’m fine, Ian. You can wait upstairs.”

“The hell, I can. I’m not leaving.” He zeroed in on Sharon. “What in the hell are you doing here?” Sharon stepped back in surprise. He looked to me. “What is she doing here?”

Moving closer, I slid my arms around his waist and kissed his jaw. His tense muscles eased a margin, but he was still rigid with concern. “I’m okay,” I said softly. “I asked her to come. Please wait upstairs?”

He looked down his nose at me, hesitant. His chest stopped moving as he studied me. A tick from his jaw, and he finally nodded.

Sharon made a sound of acknowledgement. “Ian Memmer? Mark and Ruth’s boy?”

Up went Ian’s spine as he whipped her a glance that would have made a Hell’s Angel cower.

“Ian,” I warned.

He sighed, and cupped my cheek. I covered his hand with my own. “You sure, sweetheart?”

“Positive.”

Drawing in a harsh breath, he nodded and let it out. After he left the room and I heard his footsteps on the stairs, I closed my eyes to pull a second of composure.

“I’m sorry. He’s…protective.”

Sharon pressed her lips together to hide a smirk. “He used to have colic as a baby. Such a little temper as a toddler.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Some things haven’t changed.”

Sharon brought a hand up to her throat and shook her head. “My Lord, he looks just like Mark.”

I grinned, and suddenly, the tension in the room dissolved. The past twenty years slipped away. For a moment, we were just mother and daughter, sharing a laugh. “He does look just like his dad, but I don’t know where he gets the broody thing.”

“He still lives next door? Are you two…a couple?”

“It’s complicated and new, but yes.” A little surprised I’d admitted her into this part of my life, I paused. “Let’s go sit in the living room.”

Curling my feet under me, I sat in a recliner and adjusted my dress to cover my legs.

Sharon perched on the edge of the couch as if preparing to run if necessary.

I wondered how to start a conversation with a woman I never knew, but yet held all the secrets of my past. Though not physically here, she’d been such a presence in my life. “Growing up, Daddy used fairy tales to explain why you weren’t here.”

Sharon opened her mouth, but quickly closed it again. Instead of talking, she sipped her tea.

I tried a different tactic. “When we were kids, the Memmers bought a beach house in Myrtle. I found a picture of you, me, and Daddy. We were in the mountains somewhere—”

“Ashville.” She cleared her throat and looked at me. “You were two-and-a-half. The Holcombs and the Memmers were there with us. The O’Callahauns couldn’t come, or didn’t want to because I was there. You used to play with their son, um…Rick.”

I processed that information. “Rick got married a couple years ago. His wife, Dee, is expecting.”

Sharon smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “What about the picture?”

Drawing a breath, I forced myself not to chicken out. “Daddy never told me you came back. And then I saw that and…”

“And you wanted to know what happened?” Sharon set her tea cup on the table and wrung her hands. When she looked up at me again, tears brimmed her lashes. “I’ve been waiting a long time to have this conversation, Summer. When I came here before, I understood why you were angry. I didn’t realize Tom hadn’t told you.”

My worst fear right there—that Daddy hadn’t been honest with me. And here it was, the moment I’d wished for all my life. I wondered if a person could take wishes back.

“When you were a baby and I left, it was just like I said before, I wasn’t cut out for being a mother. I’m a recovering alcoholic. I was a social drinker then, but after you were born, my depression got worse. I moved to Houston, where my grandparents lived. After a couple years, I called Tom, and he agreed to let me see you. We took that trip to Ashville and I knew then what a mistake I’d made.”

She had depression, too. Is that where I’d gotten it from? Heredity? The fragile connection had been enough to make me pause. Because...I understood.

“And yet you left again.”

The bitterness in my tone couldn’t be helped. The drumming in my ears should’ve served as a warning. I was still so very angry. For every missed birthday and school function, and every moment that should have been mine. If Sharon had died when I was a baby, maybe things would be different. I wouldn’t have tortured myself with what was so wrong with me that even my mother didn’t want me. But that hadn’t happened. Sharon had left on her own.

“Because he asked me to.” Sharon’s calm gaze met mine.

“What?”

Tears spilled out of her eyes and into her lap. She didn’t try to brush them away. “He said he loved me and always would. He said there would never be anyone else for as long as he lived. But he couldn’t trust me not to change my mind again, to not drink again, and that protecting you meant losing me.”

Oh God, the pain. I stood and turned my back. The room blurred around me. I placed a hand on the wall for support. Daddy had kept my mother from me. I thought was going to be sick. Plopping back into the chair with a hand over my mouth, I breathed through the nausea.

“I could have fought him, but you were everything to Tom, and he was everything to me.” Her voice broke, dangerously close to a wail. “I thought I was doing the right thing. After the trip to Ashville, I never drank again.”

I pinched my eyes closed, like the scared kid I’d been all those years ago. When I opened them, Sharon was in front of me, kneeling and trying to take my hands.

“I’m sorry. I should have come sooner. I should have stayed then.”

Trembling, I blew out a breath and was surprised to find my cheeks wet, my mother wiping the tears away like I’d wanted her to do too many times.

She was here now. What did that mean?

“Don’t be angry with him,” she said. “He was protecting you. I could have come anyway and didn’t because I was weak. I was a coward. My depression has been under control for a long time, but my guilt isn’t. I let it control my life. My mother had depression, too.”

“So do I.” My hollow voice rang in my ears. Would it even have mattered if Sharon had been here? If Daddy hadn’t died? I still would’ve had this condition. Looking back on my life, I’d let depression and anxiety control me. I’d sought help, thanks to Ian, but it had almost been too late for me.

All the energy drained out of me. Blame didn’t do any good now. It wouldn’t fix the broken girl I’d been or change the past.

I looked into my mother’s eyes, eyes that were the exact same shade of blue as mine. “He died four years ago.”

“I know. I found out after the funeral. I actually started driving to see you—”

I shook my head to stop her. “Yes, you should have come, but that’s not what I meant. He never remarried, never loved anyone else but you.” I slid my hands out from under hers. “And I think he wished for this moment all the years he was alive. He was my whole world, so we need to grant him that wish.”

Standing, I glanced around the living room and everything that reminded me of Daddy. “I need some time to think about this.” Again, just like before, I paused over what to call my mother. “Give me some time.”

“My coming here was not about the house, Summer.” She handed me an envelope. “I just wanted you and the house was an excuse. When you told me to go, I panicked.”

“What is this?” I tore open the envelope.

Sharon didn’t have to answer, I saw for myself. She’d signed the house back into my name. It was over. Things as they should be. So why did it still feel all wrong?

Sharon grabbed her purse from the couch and reached into it. “I didn’t know what to expect, so I booked a room for the week. Here’s where I’m staying. Not that you need to call right away or anything…” Pausing, the ramble left hanging, she clutched her purse to her chest.

She walked to the door and hesitated again. Turning, she avoided my eyes. “I’m not the best person to be giving advice, and maybe it’s none of my business, but the complicated part of your relationship with Ian? Try to fix it. Don’t go twenty years only to look back and regret it.”

I watched her go, frozen for a few moments, then glanced at the staircase and sighed. Ian was waiting for round two.

If someone had told me three months ago my long-lost mother would be coming back to see me, that it had been Daddy’s choice to keep her away, that Ian Memmer was in love with me, that Matt Holcomb would ask me to marry him, and that I’d be opening my own studio, I would’ve committed them to the loony bin, complete with a straight jacket, padded walls, and crafts on Sundays. But, there it was. That’s exactly what had happened.

And my head reeled.

Leaning back on my elbows, I breathed in the early dawn from my porch steps and listened to the crickets fade into the morning. Cicadas buzzed. Leaves rustled with a caressing breeze.

I hadn’t slept a wink. Not. One. Wink.

Ian and I had it out after I’d gone upstairs last night. He’d been sick with worry and I’d reassured him. We’d had angry sex, and then made love. We’d talked into the hours about what I planned to do about Sharon. He’d been unusually mum on the subject. Awhile ago, I’d left him sleeping in my bed in order to wait for Matt, who was on his way.

That conversation with my mother loomed over me like a cloud. My first instinct was to shut her out of my life for good this time after what she’d said about Daddy. But, when I’d thought about it later, guilt set it. It must have taken a huge amount of courage to show up on her daughter’s doorstep after twenty-eight years and say she was sorry. To take all the blame and bare her soul.

It hadn’t been easy for me growing up. Daddy loved me, provided for me, gave me everything I desired and filled in Sharon’s absence the best he could. Most of all, he tried so damn hard to get me not to hate her. But I did. When it came down to it, I’d hated her for every tear, every insecurity. She’d walked out on us, simple as that. But I was starting to understand why she’d done what she had, and though I could never make the same mistakes as her, a part of me identified with her actions. Now she wanted to walk back into my life.

And Daddy? I knew he’d done what he thought was best for me, at the risk of his own happiness and heart. But he’d lied to me. I’d had him up on this pedestal my whole life, and he’d come down last night. I should be devastated by that alone, but instead it left me with some semblance of closure to know he was human, that he made mistakes.

I could still smell my mother’s scent in my living room this morning. In my father’s stories, Sharon had planted the lilac bushes on the south edge of our property when they’d first bought the house. It was about the only proof she’d ever been here in the first place. Not one to wear perfumes, I often used lilac bath scents and lotions. My favorite. Comforting. Was it because, subconsciously, the flower was a tie to my mother?

I gazed across the expanse of the yard. Lilies and irises were starting to wilt to make way for the chrysanthemums and crocuses. The black-eyed Susans, coneflowers, and asters would hang around another month or so. It had taken me a number of years to get my perennial garden in order, and had kept me sane those years Daddy had been sick. It had also been therapeutic having my hands in the soil, bringing life outside while he’d been passing away inside.

Matt’s car pulled into the driveway. I pocketed my mother’s card and pulled out the engagement ring. This wasn’t going to be easy, and I prayed he wouldn’t hate me. I had a lot of great memories summering with Matt and, in a way, he’d helped to point me in the right direction, had shown me what I didn’t want from life or love. To settle. He’d make a great husband to some lucky woman, just not me.

Matt made his way out of the car, and I rose to meet him at the bottom step. His face was blank, but the way his gaze skimmed over me indicated he was completely prepared for rejection. God, I hated hurting him. He kissed my cheek, not my mouth, and it confirmed my suspicion he knew. Palm up, I offered the ring inside the box.

It took him a moment, but he accepted the box and nodded. Flipping open the lid, he fingered the ring. “I spent two hours in the jewelry store picking this out. I couldn’t decide which one you’d like. Gold, silver, big, small.” He looked up at me with a cute half-smile. “I should’ve known then this wouldn’t work. I couldn’t even pick out a ring because I had no idea what you’d like.”

The diamond was too big for my taste and I much preferred white gold. Still, it was a lovely ring and a lot of thought had gone into it. “You made a good choice. It’s beautiful.”

He looked relieved and sad at the same time. “We’ll always have Seasmoke in July?”

I smiled at his sweet, old fashioned revere. My heart broke a little for what might’ve been. “Always. And I want approval before you marry someone else. She has to measure up and be good enough.”

He laughed, but it was strained. Then he sobered, a wrinkle between his brows. “Ian has my approval for you.”

My breath hitched. I cupped his cheeks and brought his forehead to mine. “Thank you for being so good to me, so patient.”

His eyes fell closed in a slow blink. “It was nothing, Summer. Only what you deserved.”

Ah, he was such a good guy.

The screen door behind me snapped shut, and there stood one-hundred and eighty pounds of pure pissed off Ian.

Ian

Before Summer could get a word out, I vaulted down the stairs where Matt was backing away, palms up, and stepped between him and her. Fury pushed around inside my chest, knocked at my temples.

“I was just saying goodbye.”

“Ian...”

I shrugged off Summer’s hand. “Done. Now go.”

Matt’s gaze slid to Summer and softened. Something seemed to connect in the space between them. “I approve.” Then, a slow grin spread across his face and I nearly plowed my fist into his jaw. Matt looked at me. “She needs a guy who will fight for her.”

I felt the color drain from my face. Hell.

And then something crazy happened. Matt started laughing. Not a nervous I-don’t-get-the-punch-line kind of laugh. No, it was a hysterical, frenzied roar aimed at the sky. “I expect you’ve been wanting to knock my lights out for some time now, Ian.” His laughter died to just a grin. “I should have known better than to get between you two. Godspeed.” He rounded the hood and opened the driver’s door.

Summer ran over to the car, kissed him on the cheek, and shut the door for him once he was inside. She watched his car leave the circular drive until he was out of sight before she whirled on me. The look on her face was sheer ice.

Damn. Feeling a little exposed between her glacial stare and my lack of attire, I shoved my hands in my pockets. I’d heard Matt’s car, their voices, and hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt. I’d shoved into the tuxedo pants from the night before, which were wrinkled and hung loosely around my hips. I may or may not have forgotten to button them.

She wove around me and stomped toward the porch, fury making her visibly shake.

Double damn. “Summer, stop.”

She did, halfway up the porch steps, but didn’t turn around. She spoke so quietly I had to strain to hear. “I think that’s exactly what we need to do, Ian. Stop.”

No. What? “What?”

She turned around. Slowly, she lifted her watery gaze and looked me in the eyes.

And I knew, just knew she was going to run from me, like I’d feared from day goddamn one. A deadly fist clutched my heart and squeezed the beat right out. “I’m in love with you.”

A quivering breath escaped her lips. “And I love you.”

I waited for her to finish that sentence because, as sure as the sun rose, there was a but coming.

She turned and walked into the house. I took the stairs in one leap and followed her.

She paced in front of the fireplace, tension vibrating off of her. “Do you want marriage and kids?”

I was starting to get whiplash, but this was Summer in front of me and her mind went off on so many tangents, I had to force myself to remember that in order not to lash out. “Yes. With you.” I wanted it all with her.

“Even with the risk of them inheriting my depression?”

I frowned, not liking where this train wreck was headed. “Yes.”

“Even though you don’t trust me?”

She couldn’t possibly be serious. I bit my tongue and let her pace some more until she spit out just what the hell she meant by that. Instead, she turned her back on me as if she were going to bolt.

“Don’t turn away from me. You can hide from everyone else, but not me.” She stopped. “Explain, Summer, because I’m not getting it.”

Defeated, she hung her head and faced me. With a gaze heavenward, she sighed. “You never believed I could make it.” She brushed her tears with an angry swipe of her hand. “Time and time again, you pick me up, fight my battles, and all because you don’t think I can do it myself. I love you for wanting to protect me. I love you for all you’ve done for me and the man you are. But I’m not going to break, Ian.”

I reared and ran a hand down my face, over my neck. Hell. She wasn’t wrong. She was one of the strongest people I knew, had risen from ash too many times, but protecting her had always been my habit. A knee-jerk reaction.

“We have to stop doing this to each other.”

My gaze flew to hers.

She rubbed her arm, looked away. “I keep stuff from you. I know that, and I shouldn’t do it. It’s just...I’m hesitant to tell you certain things because you don’t have faith I’m strong enough. I have depression, and if not for you, I might not be here.”

Her voice broke, and my throat closed in response. She pressed her palms to her eyes and it took everything in me not to pull her in my arms.

“I’m not ever going to allow myself to sink that far, be that selfish. I know what my actions did to you and I’d never hurt you like that again. At some point, Ian, you have to trust me. And you just don’t.”

Visions of her after her father’s funeral flooded me. An assault of memory designed to cripple me where I stood. Me, helpless to do anything. Her thin, pale body lying in bed. Her completely unresponsive to anything I’d attempted to do to bring her back. Her sobbing uncontrollably, pills in her hands, prepared to...

The last hold on control I had slipped between my fingers. The gut-wrenching, bone-jarring terror from back then, and now, and every moment in between slammed into me. Hot, repressed tears burned my eyes, falling unbidden down my cheeks and over my chin. My chest hitched and I couldn’t bring in air. I was shocked the memories took this long to come, considering the magnitude of all I felt for her.

She stepped toward me, eyes round in anguish, in torment.

I lifted my hand and shook my head. I couldn’t do what we both needed if she touched me. She was right. She didn’t trust that good things happen without a price, that I could love her no matter what. And I couldn’t trust her not to...die.

I fisted a hand over my tense stomach and wiped my eyes with my forearm. I drew in a ragged breath just deep enough to speak. “I have to leave you, Summer.” Christ, this was agony. More tears threatened. “I believe this might be the only way I can stop the pattern. I need to walk away.” Her worst damn fear, but what other way was there for me to stop hovering, for her to grasp my love? “I think only when you are truly alone can you see you never were.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Summer

Within moments of Ian leaving, my cell rang. If I hadn’t been so shocked, I probably would’ve ignored it. But at that point, I was still numb, staring at the door, shaking uncontrollably.

“Summer, it’s Elizabeth.” The elementary school principal. Why was she calling on a Sunday? In summer? “I’m sorry to report Jon Melbourne died late last night.”

I stared at the kitchen doorway, at the pictures my students had made for me posted on the fridge. Jon’s was right on top. A cute scene of us holding hands in the grass. In the picture, he’d given himself back the hair chemo had stolen.

It took me three attempts to find my voice and thank Elizabeth for calling. My phone fell from my limp fingers.

Everything seemed to wash through me in that moment. Every single thing. Daddy. My mother. Jon and all my other students. Ian. It all erupted from that cavern where I shoved things, stored them away to compartmentalize. Tears brimmed my eyes until the room swam in splotches of color and light with no shape.

Daddy was gone. I couldn’t trust Sharon’s motives for returning. Sweet Jon was dead.

Ian left me.

And just like that, quick as a rapid blink, I was the little girl all alone. The girl who had no one. Except this time, Ian wouldn’t be there to make it okay.

Without much conscious thought to what I was doing, I retrieved my phone. My fingers shook over the keypad as I typed in the foreign number on the card from my pocket. It rang. Once. Twice. A soft, confused voice answered.

Pressing my fingers to my mouth, tears poured out of my eyes as I fumbled with what to say. “Mom?” My voice broke and torrents of anguish pummeled my chest.

That seemed to be enough for her. Sharon said a bunch of nonsense with noises in the background like drawers opening and closing, and then we disconnected with assurances from her she was coming over.

Twenty minutes later, there she was, on my front porch and catching me moments before I collapsed. My sobs quaked against her chest while she kissed the top of my head and patted my hair. We made it as far as the entryway and I slid to the floor.

It hurt so damn bad.

Sharon didn’t ask what was wrong, didn’t offer meaningless platitudes. “Let it out,” she’d said. That was all. “Let it out.” She’d come without question.

How many times had I cried for her? How many miniscule tragedies had there been growing up she should’ve been there for? That she was here now didn’t compute, was illogical. I barely knew the woman whose shirt I drenched in my fisted hands. This was...wrong. Fury surged to smother my grief. Yes. Anger was so much better than misery.

I stilled. Jerked away from her. She looked at me, compassion and understanding in eyes that were a mirror of my own. I couldn’t...I just...

Slowly, I got to my feet and backed away. I don’t know how my legs held me up, but I bounded up the stairs. I paused outside Daddy’s old bedroom, now a guest room, and flinched when I noticed she had followed.

My gaze ran over the photos on the wall and something dark, something mean and cruel blackened me. Make her hurt as bad as I do.

Stepping into the room, I tore a framed photo off the wall. “See this? This was my senior prom. Dee did my hair because you weren’t here. Ian’s mama bought me the dress.” I smashed the photo on the floor, scattering glass everywhere. “And this one. This was my tenth birthday. Daddy spent that whole week making me a hope chest.” I smashed that one, too. “And this was my confirmation.” Smash. “Ian and I playing by the creek.” Smash. “Rick and I trying to make Easter dinner.” Smash. One by one, the photos came off the wall until there weren’t any memories left to throw in her face.

I grabbed my chest, soughing for breath as my heart kicked my ribs. She stood calmly in the doorway, silent tears trekking her cheeks. Her apologetic gaze roamed my face, taking the awful moment like she knew it was her due.

It hit me hard that I didn’t have any right to punish her. I had depression, too. If not for Daddy and Ian, I might’ve made the same poor choices as my mother, kept chasing a high which never could never be caught. Happiness, true happiness, came from within. The little things like a quiet summer night watching fireflies. The first sip of coffee on a cold fall morning. The laugh from a child I made feel better. Waking up next to the person I loved most in the world.

Yeah, she’d hurt me. She’d hurt Daddy. But she’d hurt herself most of all. Something I understood.

I looked at the pandemonium around me and started shaking. “Oh God. What have I done?” Not just the glass and splintered frames, but with Ian. Chaos. Everywhere, chaos.

Sharon looked down at my feet, seemed to note they were bare. “Um, don’t move.” She ran down the hall, opening and closing doors until she stood in the doorway again. Laying a blanket over the broken glass, she urged me over. “Come here.”

I did. Setting the past aside, I walked right to her. And the darkness lifted.

With an arm around my shoulders, she ushered me into my bedroom to lie down. Mom sat on the bed, back against the headboard, and urged my head into her lap. She held me tight against her, not letting up when the tears came again.

“I...miss...him.”

“I know,” she said, as if she did know. As if she’d been there too and knew exactly how empty I felt.

After some time, there were no more tears and my breaths hitched. “I got your shirt all wet.”

She brushed the hair away from my face. “Just a shirt. It’ll dry.” I took the tissue she passed me and wiped my nose. “Feel better?”

I groaned, laying sideways on a frump of blankets by the foot of the bed. “Yeah. A little. No.”

She laid next to me, our faces close, and I couldn’t help but be reminded of all the times Ian and I had lain like this together.

“You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to, but I’ll listen if you tell me what happened.” Mom tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear.

I had no idea when I’d started thinking of her as mother instead of Sharon, but it felt good to drop the pretense. Lightening, actually. There it was. All of my childhood wishes lying right beside me, comforting, listening.

I think only when you’re truly alone can you see you never were.

Ian was right. Daddy had been there. Rick and Dee had been there. Ian had been there. I’d foolishly taken them for granted at times, in the silly hope of having this very moment with my mother.

So I told Mom everything in a hushed whisper, as if speaking in a normal tone would break the bond. She would occasionally nod her head, encouraging me to keep talking, but she never interrupted. It was reassuring. It was cleansing. It was family.

When I was through, she talked about her life in Texas. That she was a secretary in a real estate attorney’s office. She liked gardening and crafts, but she wasn’t good at either. She had nice neighbors, but no real friends, because she always thought of her old life here and that’s all she dreamed about. So, for twenty-eight years, she’d lived in Houston, never falling in love, going through the motions, and wishing to come home one day.

Eventually, we ate some chicken noodle soup in the kitchen and then returned to my bedroom where she rubbed my back until I fell asleep.

I woke at dawn the next morning, feeling like a freight train had plowed me over. Twice.

My mother wasn’t here.

After using the bathroom and confirming that I looked like a freight train had hit me, I stepped into the hall to go downstairs. A note was taped to the guest room door.

I’m sorry you had such a rough night last night. I cleaned up the mess. I thought it was time to do that. I didn’t want to assume anything, so I’m at the hotel. Just call if you want. Mom

Opening the door, I came up short, my jaw dropping. It was clean. All of the pictures were in new frames, back up on the wall as if last night had never happened. The glass had been swept up and removed.

Heading downstairs, I started a pot of coffee and dialed Mom’s number while leaning against the counter.

“You didn’t have to do that, but thank you.”

She didn’t answer right away, the silence heavy. “Yes, I did.”

I pressed my lips together, nodding. And there was nothing more to say. It would take awhile to completely forgive and forget, but we were on our way.

I smiled. “You want to do lunch today?”

“I would love to.”

I’d taken Mom to my studio to show her around and it dawned on me how much time we’d already wasted. Over lunch, she had tentatively asked how I felt about her moving back to Wylie. The next day, she’d flown to Houston to make arrangements to put her condo up for sale. I’d spent the next two days idly, painting or cleaning or anything else to get my mind off of Ian.

At the cemetery, I breathed humid air and watched Jon Melbourne’s tiny casket as it was lowered into the ground. There wasn’t a sadder sight on earth than a coffin that size. I stood alone, behind the family as they mourned a child taken too young. A child who would never have a first kiss or fall in love. Who would never go to college or grow up and become a man.

How many years had I wasted being scared? How many years had I not lived? Loved?

Ian hadn’t returned any of my phone calls. I’d tried to go over there to tell him about my mother and everything else, wanting to show I wasn’t afraid to talk to him and, if for no other reason, to just see him. But the door remained locked. I had a key to his house somewhere at mine, but he’d never locked his door before. I got the hint and didn’t push.

Eventually, he would have to face me, though. I loved him. I was through hiding from myself and from my friends. Especially Ian. And the fact he’d stayed away from me this long proved he was trying to let me stand on my own without help. It had to be killing him, but he was doing it.

I’d been hollow since he walked out my door. Since he’d looked at me with tears in his eyes and sobs wracking his chest. Because of me. Because of us. Love like ours shouldn’t be separated. Something I’d rectify soon if I had to chain him down to hear me out. Yet the time apart had been therapeutic, something we’d needed.

Rick had come to Jon’s funeral, but not Dee or Ian. He stood on the other side of the casket, making no attempt to join me. I couldn’t help but notice the void. After the service was complete, I looked over at him and offered a weak smile.

Heading across the cemetery toward my father’s grave, Rick fell into step with me. We were silent until we reached the grave marker. A small potted orchid sat next to Daddy’s headstone. I tried to rub the pain out of my chest, but it was a futile effort. Ian had been here. He’d come to see Daddy and had left the flowers. Orchids, my favorite.

Rick wrapped an arm around my waist and drew me to his side. He looked at the plant. “Ian comes here on Sundays when you and Dee are at lunch.”

I didn’t visit Daddy’s grave very often. To me, he wasn’t here. This was his body, but not him. He was in the house we’d lived in, inside the photos on the wall, at Seasmoke in a chair by the ocean, inside my heart. Not here. Perhaps the real reason was, by coming here, it reminded me he was well and truly gone.

“How is Ian?” I asked, unable to help myself.

Rick shoved his hands in his pockets. “How do you think he is?”

Miserable. I knew he was. I closed my eyes and breathed deep before kneeling in front of the grave. Absently, I brushed some grass clippings from the stone face. “I didn’t know he came here.”

“You’re not the only one who misses your father, Summer.”

My chest constricted. Daddy had taught Ian about woodworking, how to build. He’d treated Ian like a son. In my own grief, I had sometimes overlooked how much Ian loved my father, too. Swallowing tears, I nodded.

“I hear your mother is moving back to town.” His feet shuffled behind me.

“Yes.” I rose, smoothing my black skirt. “We’re working on mending things.”

He didn’t say anything for a long time. “That must be really hard for you.” There was no malice or edge to his voice, just understanding.

“Actually, no.” I looked at him, my dear Rick, who had been a quiet pillar of support. I wanted to tell him how easy it was to talk to Mom, or how she’d held me when I’d cried, or that she’d spent the better part of twenty years almost as alone as me. But none of it needed to be said, really. What Rick really wanted to know was if I’d finally let go, if I finally forgave myself.

I made sure to hold his gaze when I spoke, so he would understand my meaning. “I’m sorry I wasn’t a better friend to you through the years, Rivers. I think I took you for granted.” He swallowed, a small smile curving his lips at my use of his nickname. “I’m sorry I hid things from you and made you worry more because of it. Mostly, I’m sorry I let my depression affect you, let it drown me. I never meant to do that.”

Eyes red with unshed tears, his gaze roamed my face. He took my hand and splayed my fingers over his chest, covering them with his own. “You were, are, the greatest friend a guy could ask for. Selfless, really. All I ever wanted for you was happiness, Summer. The kind of happy you made me. No one deserved it more or got it less. When we counted stars together on your front porch as kids, when we threw pennies into the Baker well, that’s what I wished for. That’s all I ever wished for.”

Kissing my fingertips, he dropped my hand and backed away. “Look at you.” He shook his head as if in awe. “I guess wishes come true, eh?” Turning, he headed toward his car. He got about twenty feet before I called out to him.

“I love you, you know.”

Turning halfway around, he grinned over his shoulder. For the first time in memory, he didn’t look like he was picking my brain or worried sick. “I know. Always known.” He kept walking. “Love you harder.”

I laughed, staring after him until he disappeared. I turned back to the grave. Kneeling, I bit my lip. “I thought if I held it all in, I wouldn’t bother anyone. It only served to worry you all more, didn’t it?”

A sudden and irrevocable need to keep talking wrapped around me. Like...he was listening.

“I hurt you, too, didn’t I? Wishing for her to come back when you were right there all along. It wasn’t fair to you. But I did love you, Daddy.” My voice broke. “So, so much. I love you still.” I sighed. “Mom came back. We talked a lot and I’m forgiving her. She’s moving here in a couple weeks. I can’t help but think the most tragic part in all this is she never stopped loving you.”

I sat in silence, letting the sun warm me for awhile. A whippoorwill called from a nearby tree, the sound both romantic and sad. I wondered what they were really saying.

After a long few moments, I pressed my hand to his grave. “Don’t worry about me anymore. I love you.”

I called Dee after leaving the cemetery, needing to get something off my chest. She picked up and I told her to sit down, as I feared she might get weepy. “I didn’t like you when you first moved to Wylie. There was no real reason. You did nothing wrong. But you know what changed my mind?” Unlike me, Dee wore her emotions on her sleeve. Time for me to do the same. “Prom night, alone in a bathroom stall, I sat and listened to you defend me against Ian’s date. You defended a girl you hardly knew, who wasn’t all that nice to you, simply because Ian and Rick loved me. So, you did, too.”

Dee cleared her throat. “You knew? You were there?”

“Yes and, in turn, I used you from that point on. I’d talk to you and tell you things because I knew you wouldn’t tell the others, and I could change the subject without much objection. I should’ve protected you, too. I shouldn’t have put you in that position. I should’ve told you how much I loved you. That lost, lonely girl you rescued in that bathroom may have needed it then, but I’m not her anymore.”

Dee’s breath caught. “Summer...”

“I’m so very sorry I hurt you.”

She sniffed. “Do you realize you just told me more in the past five minutes than you have in the past ten years? That’s all the apology I need.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Ian

Dee came back into the room, her eyes suspiciously wet, phone clutched in her hand. She sat next to me on the couch in their living room and deflated.

“What’s wrong?”

She waved her hand. “Nothing. Pregnancy hormones.”

I didn’t believe her, but I kept silent.

My knee bouncing, I stared at the front door, willing Rick to walk through. The three of us had decided it was best for Rick to attend Jon Melbourne’s funeral. In my effort to keep my distance, to let her stand on her own, I’d had to hear through the grapevine that Summer’s student had passed away. And about her mother moving back to Wylie.

It had taken everything in me not to race to her side and verify with my own two eyes she was all right. Strangely, the need wasn’t out of a sense to protect her, to unload her burden for her, but because I just wanted to be there for her. Next to her. For support, not as a knight. A hard habit to kick, but I’d done it. I guessed that meant the week we’d been apart had done more than kill me. It proved I was capable of trusting her.

In truth, I should’ve given her the credit she was due. She was the strongest person I knew. She’d handled more than what most people were dealt and had come out with her chin up. I’d been too close to the situation, to her, to see it.

The latch on the front door clicked and Rick strode in. I resisted bolting from my seat to interrogate him. He sat in a chair across from us and dropped his head back on the cushion. “She’s good. She’s...” He rubbed his chest as if to squelch an ache. “Damn, she’s really good.”

Dee nodded as if she’d known that.

Letting out a heavy sigh, I set my elbows on my knees and scrubbed my face with my hands.

“Relax, Ian. You did the right thing. What we should’ve done all along.” Rick shifted in his seat. “We did this to her. We made her like this. She’s been trying to tell us for too long she was okay. And, in response, we coddled her, making it impossible for her to talk to us.”

I knew that. The past week had only cemented the proof. Still, my gut ached and there was a black hole where my damn heart used to be. All those years of pining for her. I’d always thought if I could just get her to see me, the rest would fall into place. That if she noticed how deep my feelings ran, we’d get our ever after. Like her effing movies.

Turned out, it was way more complicated than just loving her. I’d spent too much time wishing and hoping, too much time tiptoeing around her, waiting for her to break, than actually seeing the woman.

Dee stood. “I’m going to get you two a beer and pretend I can have one.”

After she’d left, Rick eyed me. “You know, I did it as much for you as I did for her. The coddling.”

I jerked my gaze to his.

He crossed his arms. “I never confronted you either. I could have told you years ago to talk to her, to tell her how you feel, but I didn’t. That’s on me. I didn’t give you enough credit.”

I studied him, the guilt in his eyes, and the years cindered to dust. “I miss her.”

Rick nodded, glancing away. “I know you do. It’ll work out.”

Somehow, I wasn’t as confident. Optimism hadn’t gotten me anywhere but my friend’s couch and a gaping wound where Summer used to be.

Dee came back and handed us both a long neck bottle. “Can I smell it when you open it?”

And, look at that. I was capable of laughing.

I stayed another hour and then took off, needing to keep my hands busy. Making my way into the workshop behind my house, I sat at the drafting desk to sketch out nursery furniture for Rick and Dee. Building something for my new niece or nephew would keep me busy, keep me from crossing the distance to her. I’d walked away from her, a necessity, but she needed to chase me. Prove to me I was what she wanted. Reach for her happy. Until then, I’d build.

Donning safety goggles, I tried to cut and sand and nail and stain her right out of my head.

Futile.

Summer

A storm swept through the area just after dark, causing the humidity to reach uncomfortable highs and forcing an electricity in the air which had everything charged, including my nerves.

I stood by the front door and watched the torrent. The rain poured down in sheets, the wind bending the trees at unusual angles. In the distance, a roar of thunder boomed as the worst of the storm headed our way.

I checked my cell again. No missed calls. I sighed and dialed Ian’s house number, then his cell when he didn’t answer. His bedroom light was on and so was his porch light. They’d come on an hour ago when he’d left his workshop. He was home, just ignoring me. Rather than leaving yet another message, I dropped the phone on the table.

Somehow, I knew he was waiting for me. For me to come to him. He’d stayed radio silent for a week. He’d proven he trusted me to handle the obstacles on my own. He had to know through the rumor mill about my student passing away, about my mother’s visit. Yet, he hadn’t come, hadn’t tried to step in and take charge.

I guess it was time for me to go after him. He wasn’t my happy. I’d done that on my own. But he was my happy ending.

With a deep breath, I bounded out the door and into the storm. As I paced across the two acres, rain slapped my face, soaking my T-shirt to my chest and jeans to my thighs.

Leaping up the porch steps, I tried the doorknob. Locked. Pounding my fist against the door, I yelled over the rain. “Ian, open this door!” Two beats passed. Nothing. “Ian, I mean it. Open up!” Nothing.

I rounded the side of the house, rain dripping off my hair and into my eyes. “Ian!” Grabbing a handful of pea gravel from the base of the bushes lining his house, I tossed a few at his bedroom window. It was too high. Backing up a step, I tossed some more, this time hitting the window pane. “Ian Joshua Memmer, get down here!”

The curtain brushed aside from the window and then settled into place again. I couldn’t tell through the rain if he’d seen me or not.

Seconds later, he came out the front door and stopped halfway to me in the middle of the yard. His black T-shirt plastered to the hard planes of his chest, his flat stomach. The muscles in his biceps bunched as his hands fisted by his side. He said nothing, just stood there with his black hair matted from the rain and his thick lashes wet.

“I’ve been trying to call you for three days.”

He blinked the rain from his eyes, the shock receding and his jaw tense. “Come inside. You’re soaked.” I didn’t move. “Christ, Summer, you’re shivering. Come inside.”

I was shivering, I was soaked, and I was empty without him. “You left me.”

He strode forward two steps and stopped, still several paces away, as if remembering why he’d left me alone and forcing himself to stay back. His mouth firmed into a thin line, eyes darting back and forth between mine.

The night sky let out a flash of lightning and he broke the connection to look up.

“You left me.” Dropping his gaze back to me, the tortured, wrecked pain there told me how much it had cost him to do that, to walk away from me. “Thank you.”

His lips parted, eyebrows furrowed. Raindrops poured off his dark hair and over his face. He was the most glorious thing I’d ever laid eyes on. The muscled contours of his body were wrought tight with tension, his eyes pleading.

I nodded to his silent question. “Thank you. I know how much it killed you to leave me, but you did. You trusted that I’d still be here when you came back.” I pressed my hand to my heart. “I love you.”

He seemed to stop breathing. “How can you be sure?”

I shook my head, not understanding.

He stepped closer. “Why do you love me?”

I could barely detect his voice over the thrum of rain, but when his words registered, I almost fell to my knees. This was it. He wanted to know I loved him as a man and not the boy who’d saved me. Wanted to know I saw him. The fight in him was gone as he looked at me, his hope dangling for me to reach out.

“I love you because I think it’s adorable a grown man still eats Cocoa Puffs for breakfast.” I inched closer. “I love you because you’d rather spend time with me doing nothing than with someone else doing something.” Another step. “I love you for waiting ten years to tell me how you felt because you thought you’d lose me.” Step. “I love you because Daddy picked you for me.”

I closed the last of the distance between us, flush in front of him so I had to look up to see his face. Those beautifully dark eyes never left mine.

Ian blinked, ran a hand down his face, and blinked again. “Summer?” His voice was husky and edged with resignation.

“Yes?”

“It took you long enough.” A smile curved his mouth, spreading into a mischievous grin encompassing his entire face. But when he cupped my face, his hands frigid from the rain, there wasn’t any humor left, just the truth between us. “I love you, too. So damn much.”

He crushed his mouth to mine, his tongue sliding between my lips, telling me the story of us. I melted against him and sighed, tilting my head to give him better access to probe deeper, to draw him closer. The drenching storm forgotten, my entire body heated until I was alight with need and desire. Snaking his hands through my hair, he backed us up until my back hit a tree. He pinned me with his hips.

I laughed and drew away just enough to look at him. We needed to get out of this rain before we wound up making love out here against the tree, or on the lawn. But I couldn’t bring myself to move just yet. Wiping the rain from his face, I grinned.

Dropping his forehead to mine, he narrowed his eyes with a roguish gleam. “I’m serious. What the hell took you so long? A week, sweetheart?”

“Complain, complain.”

“Tease.”

“Brood.”

He smiled, tracing my lips with the pad of his thumb, and then pressed a kiss there. Lifting his head, he squinted through the rain and looked around as if gauging which of our houses was closer. Much to my delight, he bent, swept an arm under my legs, and carried me inside his house.

We barely made it to the bedroom before he set me on the bed and covered me with his body.

Perfection.

I woke a couple hours later to Ian’s arm draped over my middle and the sheet around our legs. A quick glance at the window and I noted it was still dark out, but the rain stopped.

I stretched, careful not to wake Ian, and grinned at how cute he looked all tousled after sex. Slipping from the bed, I grabbed a shirt from his dresser drawer and pulled my arms through. I made my way downstairs and stepped outside, breathing deep. The air had a tranquil, replenished scent that could only come from a good drenching storm.

I walked across the wet grass to my yard and eased onto the porch steps. The only sound was the rustling of the trees. Soon, fall would be sweeping in and changing things. With the sky clear, the moon illuminated my front yard, casting shadows across the lawn. The silly and sad romantic in me wanted to wish on the stars blinking brightly against the inky backdrop. But with my mother moving home, my new studio opening, good friends by my side, and Ian’s love, there seemed no need.

I’d found my happy. And I’d never let it go.

When Mom had things squared away in Houston, I was going to ask her to move into the house. It was time for me to let go of Daddy and move on. He would always be my father and I would always love him, but it was time to stop using his memory as a crutch and let him rest. Let the good memories wash back into the house. I’d only ask one thing from her after I gave her the house—to leave that photo on top of the fireplace mantle. The one of him and her in front of the lilac bush, because if it remained there, it would seem as if they were finally together again after twenty-eight years.

Ian’s shadow came into view, settling over me. For a moment, I imagined the boy I knew years ago coming over to ask me to play. Instead stood the man I grew to fall in love with. His hands were deep into the pockets of his jeans, his chest and feet bare. He leaned against the railing and pulled a hand out to rub through his hair. “You need to quit leaving my bed or you’re going to give me a complex.”

“What?”

He sat next to me on the step and stretched his long legs before him. “You come over every time it rains, and when I wake up in the morning, you’re gone. Now that we’re together, I always reach for you, hoping you’re there, but you never are.” Drawing his legs up, he rested his forearms on his knees.

“I’m sorry. I was just…saying goodbye to the house, I guess.”

“I don’t get it.”

My gaze took him in, all his rumpled yumminess. “Do you want to marry me?”

“You could give me a couple days to buy you a ring and ask properly,” he said dryly.

I grinned. “What I meant was, I want to move into your house and give my mother this one.” I swallowed, waiting for his reaction.

He stared at me for several moments, his gaze probing. “Are you sure? Your dad’s house? That’ll be really hard on you.”

“I’m sure.” I captured his mouth, pouring all my love into the kiss. “I love you.”

His lids grew heavy and his smile lazy. “Say it again.”

I laughed, then sighed against his mouth after he kissed me again. “I love you.”

Wow. Who knew? The boy next door, the love of my life. Me, Summer Quinn, was going to marry Ian Memmer and…

I straightened.

He cupped my jaw and brought my gaze to his. “Christ. What? You have that look that stops my heart.”

I frowned, just to tease him. “If we get married, my last name will be Memmer. Summer Memmer. I’ll sound like a Dr. Seuss book.”

He blinked. Then laughed. “Sweetheart, if that’s the biggest concern we have, I’ll take it.” He laid his head in my lap, and I stroked his hair. “Summer,” he said after awhile. “Don’t tell my mama you proposed to me.”

I bit my tongue to hide the smirk. “Okay.”

“And I want control over the remote once and awhile.”

“Okay. But my furniture gets moved to your house. And I get to paint some color on your walls.”

“Deal.” He lifted his head, kissed my knee, and laid it back down.

A breeze blew gently, cooling off my skin as I glanced upward and squinted at the moon. “Hmm.”

“What now?” His tone was sleepy. Nuzzling his cheek against the top of my thigh, he ran his finger up and down my calf, making me shiver.

“You’re not bitching about how my grass needs to be cut. Look at all the dandelions. Aren’t you twitchy?”

He laughed, the sound rough. “Got the rest of our lives to hassle you about it.”

“You won’t win.”

“Don’t I know it.” He kissed my leg again. “You’re really okay, sweetheart? About the house? Everything? We can take things slow.”

Maybe fairy tales were real. Maybe they did come true, after all.

My gaze never wavered from the sky as a new painting inspiration dug in. “No, I’m happy. I was just thinking how beautiful the moon looked tonight.”

About the Author:

Kelly Moran is a best-selling & award-winning romance author of enchanting ever-afters. She won the 2013 Catherine Award, is a Readers’ Choice Finalist, and a 2014 Award of Excellence Finalist through RWA, plus she earned one of the 10 Best Reads by USA TODAY’s HEA. Kelly’s been known to say she gets her ideas from everyone and everything around her and there’s always a book playing out in her head. No one who knows her bats an eyelash when she talks to herself. Her interests include: sappy movies, MLB, NFL, driving others insane, and sleeping when she can. She is a closet caffeine junkie and chocoholic, but don’t tell anyone. She resides in Wisconsin with her husband, three sons, and her black lab. Most of her family lives in the Carolinas, so she spends a lot of time there as well. She loves connecting with her readers.

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Check out these other great romances by Kelly Moran!

Covington Cove Series

Return to Me

All of Me

Phantoms Trilogy

Ghost of a Promise

Give Up the Ghost

Ghost of You

Single Titles

The Dysfunctional Test

Exposure

Summer's Road

Sheer Luck