That One Summer: A Collection of Steamy Contemporary Romance

Chapter 5

Caleb

As I walked out ofSweet Bliss Bakery with a handful of pastry and the bell tinkling behind me, the lightness in my step should have had me worried. Aneka Powell. No, it was Shaw now. For however much longer that would last, I shouldn’t forget.

Aneka was as stunning as the day I’d left her. A little tired and wary, but still temptation incarnate. Those cinnamon-colored eyes had always been my undoing. And that sassy mouth I’d kissed once. Only once, but I remembered.

When I called Natalie this morning, I only hoped to sniff around and see what she knew about Aneka’s visit. They’d been best friends forever. The next thing I knew, I was ordering every honey bun in the city and telling her to tell Aneka if she wanted one, she’d have to come to my party.

But Natalie suggested I tell her myself. At eleven sharp.

Now, I was practically whistling with joy and tempting fate.

Was she dating? The scandal was a couple of years old. I scoured stories, but none mentioned anything official about their divorce. She was still the “estranged wife.”

I didn’t want to be too forward, but I couldn’t help it.

That night at the lake popped into my head again. I’d been so insecure then, unsure of what I could offer a girl like her. Smart. Beautiful. From a respectable home with normal parents. But that was a long time ago.

What a fucking fool Elijah Shaw was.

I could never know what went on between them, but seeing her today, still sweet, still flirty, still Aneka... No, Elijah was a fucking buster.

I waited while she lingered inside before finally coming out of the bakery. I jumped out and rounded the front of my truck to open the passenger side door. She grabbed the hand grip and propelled herself inside. I held my breath to resist the urge to help her, imagining putting a hand on her elbow or, better, her hip.

I got back in the truck and exhaled. The rush of excitement at having her in the passenger seat took me right back to when I was sixteen.

“What do you want to see first?” I asked.

“Let’s drive the length of Main and then up the drag on Middleton. I couldn’t see very well last night, but it looks like there are all new businesses and some new construction.”

“Yeah. I contracted a friend’s company to fix up some of the buildings. He works in construction and real estate—or he used to. He’s doing oil and gas right now, but his old company is getting into co-working, selecting sites near tech centers where they think remote workers might cluster.”

“And they picked Bliss? You’d think Longview or Tyler might be better.”

“They have some spaces there too, but Bliss offers even more of a small-town feel. Plus, the college is nearby, and it has a new tech program.”

“The one you endowed.”

“Yeah.”

The developer hadn’t been sold on Bliss until I promised them greater investment to expand the talent base. It took some maneuvering, but the community college president was thrilled to hire more professors and manage internship programs and other support for young people in the area. With how expensive college had gotten, a lot of kids were looking for options closer to the towns where they grew up. The big Texas cities got pricier by the day.

“You’re pouring a lot of money into the town. I’m surprised,” Aneka said.

“Why?” I glanced at her.

“You have some friends here and your grandmother was here, but I never thought you’d come back. You seemed more excited than anyone to get out of here after graduation.”

I shrugged. “I was tired of people telling me what to do. Weren’t we all? That’s what it’s like to be eighteen.”

And I was more tired than most because my life was more chaotic than most. Social services, teachers, counselors, my mom, and even my grandmother—everyone had an opinion about where I should live, what I should be doing. Hardly any of them ever listened to me. So I acted up to let them know I had choices. After a few knots in my skull, I realized making the bad ones screwed me over way more than it taught anyone else a lesson.

“I suppose.”

Aneka looked out the window and sighed before continuing.

“Leaving here didn’t stop me from letting people tell me what to do with my life. I thought it would. Like I’d get outside the city limits, and magically, all the voices in my head about what I should and shouldn’t do would go quiet. They actually got louder because they were in my head,” she mused.

“The call was coming from inside the house, huh?” I laughed. “Like a horror movie.”

“Yes! Exactly that.” She tipped her head back and cackled. “This is Strathairn Road. Let’s go by the high school.”

I turned up the familiar street. Aneka gazed out the window, taking in the changes while I filled her in on my journey from high school graduate to entrepreneur. A few minutes later, we drove by the sturdy red brick of Bliss High School, where I spent my time dodging trouble between class and doing homework in the locker room because I didn’t want to go home.

“Remember that time when Mr. Reynolds caught us trying to sneak out to get ice cream at the dairy on senior skip day?” I chuckled.

Aneka giggled. “I think he was more shocked than angry. He thought you and Colton were a bad influence on me, Natalie, and Sierra.”

Sierra Robards. Her father was recently out of the military and moved to town for her last semester in school. She’d barely gotten to know all of us before we graduated and scattered, but I had a feeling she was used to not getting attached. That’s probably why I’d invited her. Nothing is as bonding as getting into trouble together.

I was a bad influence back then.

I laughed, ignoring the nostalgic pang in my chest. “You two got to be friends, though, right? Didn’t she go to UT with you? Whatever happened to her?”

“Sierra? Yeah. We kept in touch.” Aneka’s smile faded. “She passed away three years ago. Cancer. She came to Houston for treatment. She had so many things she wanted to do. She stayed with me while she went through chemo.”

“Damn. I didn’t know.”

“God. We’re at that age, aren’t we?” she moaned.

“Forties is too young to be that age,” I countered. “I’m sorry for Sarah. That’s tragic.”

“It is. And we are that age. You start to lose people. We start talking about our aches and pains. You think about all the compromises you’ve made and the things you’ve left undone. You don’t want to run out of time.”

Her voiced faded away.

I grimaced. “No one is running out of time.”

“Middle age, Caleb. It’s here,” she sang.

“You need to stop.”

“Time stops for no one.”

“Woman, you sound grim. Don’t make me pull over and put you out,” I joked, glad for the levity.

We passed the middle school down the road and turned the corner. I knew what to show her next.

“Don’t. With these new buildings, I’ll get turned around. You’re gonna have me lost.” She poked my arm, and it tingled.

“Here’s the new community center.” I smiled at my grandmother’s name in bold block letters on the side of the building.

“Marjorie Rose Conroy Community Center,” Aneka read aloud. “Look at you, making your mark.”

I didn’t respond right away. Explaining what all this meant to me often choked me up, and dumping that on her felt like too much.

“You’re right. Middle age has come knocking, and I want to leave something behind besides work.”

And, if I were honest, I’d come back because I knew all the people who’d doubted me, from Mr. Reynolds to Aneka’s dad, would have to drive by the buildings I’d built, the businesses I brought to town. The woman who used to clean their houses and hitch rides down the hill because she didn’t have a car had her name on a building.

“It’s a lot nicer than the old one,” Aneka exclaimed as I drove through the lot.

My pride surged at seeing her marvel at the transformation. Sleek, modern panels and large windows replaced the old, crumbling brick exterior.

She tapped on the window. “I spent so many summers there playing basketball in the club league. I’m glad to see it’s not falling down like a few years ago.”

“Those were fun times,” I agreed. “You were a baller back then. That’s for sure.”

She turned to me with a beaming smile. “I was. Do you think we can stop in and look around?”

“It’s closed today, but I happen to have a key,” I said and swung into a parking spot.

We hopped out.

“You probably want to show off your skills again, huh?” I teased.

“I haven’t played in a couple years. Not since Naomi—that’s my daughter—was in high school. We used to face off in the driveway. She always had trouble with my fall away jumper.”

Aneka leaped up and dropped back, extending her arms in what might have been an unstoppable fade away.

I doubled over laughing, and she smacked my shoulder.

“I don’t know what’s so funny. I was a beast.”

I unlocked the front door and turned off the alarm.

We walked inside and through the bright halls. Aneka whistled. As we got closer to the basketball court, she paused. The gleaming floor, freshly painted lines, and pristine hoops seemed to transport her back in time.

“This is so much nicer than any of the facilities we used to have.” She stepped onto the court and bounced lightly on her toes. “I can almost hear our shoes squeaking, and my mom shouting at the refs, embarrassing Dad. I got my competitive streak from her.”

“Come on. Let’s see if you’ve still got it,” I challenged, picking up a women’s basketball from a nearby rack and tossing it to her.

“Prepare to be amazed,” she warned with a wink, dribbling with ease before launching it towards the hoop. The sound of the swish filled the gym, accompanied by triumphant laughter.

“You still got it, but don’t think I’ll let you win that easy,” I shot back.

“Bring it on,” she taunted. Her eyes sparkled with friendly rivalry.

“Okay. Okay. But I’m in jeans, and as you pointed out, I’m advanced in age. Go easy on me. I don’t want to pull a hamstring.”

Her laughter echoed along with rubbered twang of the ball bouncing on the polished wood. We faced off on one end.

“I’m not overconfident. I remember that game you had against the Redhawks? You intercepted that pass and ran it back. I know I can’t sleep on your hops—even if they were football hops.”

She crossed over and dribbled between her legs. I got the feeling she was sandbagging, but I puffed out my chest.

“You better not.”

“What are we doing?”

“HORSE?” I suggested. “We’ll trade shots.”

“Okay. You start, newbie,” she called out and bounce passed me the ball.

Newbie. No one had called me that since I was fourteen. Colton started it when I first came to Bliss from Chicago. The guys on the football team razzed me with the nickname for over a year.

“That hurts. I got here over thirty years ago,” I shot back, then frowned. Why was my age suddenly giving me heartburn?

“You got them to stop.”

I had. The freshman team won our division that year. I led the state in tackles.

Aneka laughed, her cheeks flushing slightly. “And then you helped lead the Bliss Bobcats to the state championship in football. Football is king, and you were king of the football team, Mr. All-State Middle Linebacker.”

“It was a rough transition when Mom first sent me here from Chicago.”

“People were in awe of you. I’m not sure you remember that.” She cleared her throat. “But you must know it now. If they weren’t amazed by the athlete with a perfect score on his math SATs and a five on the AP Calculus exam, they’re shook by the billionaire tech entrepreneur who made the cover of Forbes.”

She threw me the ball. I caught it and dribbled away, flooded with too much of the admiration in her echoing voice. She kept tabs on me.

“Along with nine other people.”

“Making the top ten tech visionaries is an accomplishment.”

“Are we going to play or not?” I dribbled left and right through the lane, spun, and laid up the ball, grabbing it again as it dropped.

“Is that your first shot?”

“Ready to get your H?” I yelled and bounced the ball to her.

“All right, all right. I see you,” she said. “Let’s hope I’ve still got some of that old magic.”

She took the ball back to the top of the key and mimicked my steps, spinning back to the right and laying up the ball.

“Did you think that would be hard?”

“Maybe,” I admitted, chuckling and taking a deep breath. The familiar rush of adrenaline that came from being near her hit me all over again.

We traded turns, and I did my best, but soon enough, I was at H-O-R, and she had only missed one.

Aneka dribbled to the baseline, pulled up, and launched a fadeaway jump shot. The ball arced gracefully through the air, dropping cleanly through the hoop without even touching the rim. She danced in a circle, then aimed her daring eyes back at me.

“Good luck.” She winked and tapped the spot where she stood with her toe.

I took my position next to her and raised a brow at the distance and lack of backboard to orient my shot. She was close enough to make sweat bead on my brow. It wasn’t the exertion of our silly game. Or the heat, which we left behind the minute we stepped into the building. It was the boldness of her challenge and the smell of her skin.

Lemon? Yes. And something sweeter. Her soap or her shampoo. Something that was getting into my head and the very distracted rest of me.

“You gonna give me space?” I asked with a hard swallow.

“Are you intimidated?” She giggled.

“Nope. Just crowded.” I circled my elbow. “I need space to work.”

Aneka took a dramatic step back and bowed. “By all means, go to work.”

I bounced the ball twice, staring at the rim to gauge the distance, then jumped. At the peak of my leap, I drew back and let the ball fly.

Total air ball.

“Well, that’s embarrassing.” I turned to her, chagrined, before retrieving the ball.

“It is, but you looked really good. Very professional. You still have your legs,” she said encouragingly. “I’m sure if you weren’t in jeans, you’d have nailed it. I’m at an advantage. I dressed for the gym this morning.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the difference here is sportswear.”

I dribbled a few feet from the baseline and took an angle on the three-point line.

“I need to use my advantages. Man strength,” I said, stopping my dribble to flex.

Aneka’s eyes widened, and she nipped at her bottom lip. I was getting to her as much as she was getting to me. Leveraging the confidence boost, I sailed a perfect shot that banked off the corner of the painted square on the backboard and dropped in.

“Hell, yeah, baby,” I whooped.

Aneka collected the ball and jogged to join me. “You’re awfully confident.”

She thrust the ball into my chest, then pulled it back, but I grabbed her hands.

“Scared, ‘Neka?”

“Never, newbie.” She grinned and fanned her lashes. “Man strength can’t beat skill.”

She took a position at my side and knocked me with her hip to move me from the spot. I ignored the sparks shooting up and down my leg and scooted sideways.

The hard, competitive focus in her face as she squared the basket dropped my confidence two notches. Three hard dribbles, and she raised the ball to a long-arching shot in one smooth motion. No bank shot. Only a mocking swish.

“Technically, that’s not the same shot,” I argued weakly.

The ball bounced with decreasing energy and rolled to the end of the gym.

“I know. It’s better.” She grabbed my elbow. “Admit it.”

“I say that’s an O.”

“Bullshit,” she screamed at the top of her lungs, laughing.

My brow shot up. Had I ever heard Aneka Powell, churchgoing sweetheart, preacher’s daughter, and all-around good girl, swear? I hadn’t.

I clutched my chest with one hand and fanned my face with the other. “Oh, my! Such language.”

She was already jogging to retrieve the ball.

“I call it like I see it. No more holding back. Bullshit!” She yelled again, louder this time. Energy zinged off her as she dribbled her way back to me.

“Okay, okay. You got me.”

“I know I did.” She danced over with the ball, scooping it up and tapping it on my shoulders as she bobbed and weaved.

Yeah. She had me. Still. After all this time.

Curly coils of hair escaped her high bun to frame her face, which glowed with sweat and the arrogance of near victory. She settled the ball at her hip.

“You needed to get that off your chest?” I asked, imagining my next shot to distract me from the trickle of sweat disappearing into the neckline of her T-shirt.

“What?” Her spicy brown eyes crinkled at the corners.

“Bullshit. Do you need to yell it again?”

She blinked and blushed. “I don’t get to scream at the top of my lungs enough.”

“Why not?”

“I’m the mom. I have to hold it together.”

“How old are your kids? Twins, right?”

“Yes. Twenty.”

“The divorce must be hard on them.” I struggled to keep my voice even.

“They’re angry and disappointed, but managing. Honestly, they’re doing well, considering the drama. I might oversell how much they need me. They spend most of their time worrying about me, and I worry about them.” She paused and drew large circles in the air with her fingers. “Round and round we go.”

I smiled. “That’s nice, though. Having people who worry about you.”

My friends and loyal employees looked out for me and for my business. They supported my ambitions, but sometimes I wondered what I was missing. Colton, my business partners Victor and Ian—they were like brothers to me. Or so I thought. How could I know when I’d never had close family aside from Grandma Marjorie, who died eight years ago.

I never had a relationship with my father, and he was dead too. My mother and I hadn’t spoken since she’d called me up a few months after Grandma’s funeral blitzed and wanting money. I told her not to bother calling again if she couldn’t speak to me without slurring her words. All the money and “help” I’d given her had done nothing but deepen her spiral.

“You have a lot of people who worry about you,” Aneka said.

“I have a lot of people who depend on me. Admire me. But worry? Only a few.”

“I’d bet money that’s not true.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re still you. You always make friends. You have a way of endearing yourself.”

“Endearing?” I winced. “That’s sounds pathetic.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“It does.”

Her brow crinkled, like she was mad at me for not understanding, but then smoothed. She tilted her head to the side and examined me.

“Okay. How about charming? You’re very charming.”

“Better. Thank you. Leave me with a little pride while you kick my ass,” I said, then cleared my throat. “You’re up. Be nice.”

She wasn’t. She cruised back down to the baseline and fired. The swoosh of the net mocked me. She retrieved the ball and handed it to me with a smug grin.

Aneka was so close. Her body brushed against mine as she passed. My mind wandered briefly, remembering the way her hips swayed when she danced at prom with that square Jimmy Witt. Okay, he wasn’t a square. He was just the kind of guy Mr. Powell probably slapped on the back and called, “Son” with affection. I swallowed hard, shoving the past to the back of mind.

“Maybe you’ll do better if I challenge your shot a little. Make you raise your game,” she teased and shimmied in front of me like a defender.

My pulse quickened. Fighting it was pointless. The way her body moved put a goofy smile on my face and had me googly eyed. I couldn’t see on the court in front of me, but suddenly, all I saw was metaphorical runway.

If she was going to spend more time in Bliss, we could reconnect. And from there, who knew?

Focus.

She wiggled her fingers in front of my face one last time, then jogged backward. I squared up and shot. The ball sailed through the air right on track, hit the back of the rim, and bounced up. I raised a fist, hoping for mercy. It hit the rim again, then bounced out.

Aneka danced, waving her arms and hooting.

“I’ve still got it!”

I chased down the ball and tossed it back to her. “No gloating.”

“Gloating is the best part.”

She dribbled the ball between her legs back and forth. I pounced and tried to swipe it away, but she picked it up and spun around. I ended up encircling her in my arms. Her back pressed into my chest. The lemon and strawberry—that’s was it, strawberry—in her hair tingled my nose.

“You’ve hurt my masculine pride. I need to snatch the ball back and go home pouty,” I suggested.

“Are you really so sensitive?” She twisted back and gazed up, long lashes fluttering on her cheeks.

“Terribly.”

I held her a little tighter.

“You’re a big strong man, and your basketball skills are amazing,” she sang in a saccharine, girly voice.

“I don’t need your basketball lies, woman. I am a big, strong man, and I have other skills in my toolbox.”

Her nostrils flared, and her eyes flashed. Desire?

For sure.

I smiled.

She leaned back and patted the side of my face.

“You’re awfully cocky for a guy who’s had his ass handed to him.”

I squeezed her closer and lowered my head to whisper directly into her ear.

“This feels like a win to me.”

She wriggled out of my grasp and turned. “I had fun.”

“Me too.”

We stared at each other, saying nothing else. I tugged up the hem of my shirt to wipe my face. She rolled her wrist over to check the time.

“I really need to run some errands before your party tonight. But this was fun. We should do it again.”

“Definitely,” I agreed, feeling an unexpected pang of disappointment at our impending parting. At least I had the drive back to her place. “You never ate your honey bun.”

“Well, now it’s my victory snack.”

“I might not hand it over, so I can lure you into another afternoon date.”

“Is that what this was? A date.”

“Actually, no.”

Her head snapped back. “No?”

“Me airballing while you beat the hell out of me in those raggedy shoes? No. I ain’t letting this count as our first date,” I said.

“Is that how it is?”

“Damn skippy,” I shot back.

“I always wanted you to ask me out, you know?”

Aneka cocked her head to the side. Sweat dripped down her cheek, and her eyes locked on me, waiting.

“You told me that once.”

“You remember that?”

“I could never forget that night.” I took a single step toward her and tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “That’s why I’m glad you’re back.”

“Me too.”

Her bottom lip caught in her teeth, and she turned away, dribbling the ball back to the rack.

“Take me home, newbie,” she shouted.

That was the best idea she’d had all day—even if she didn’t mean it the way my body heard it.

“Yes, ma’am.”