Chapter Twelve Summer
Chapter Twelve
Summer
“Come on, come on, come on.”
I turn the key in the ignition again, but nothing happens.
“Shit!” I slam my hands against the steering wheel repeatedly. “Fuck!”
This isn’t the first time that my father’s old cruiser has decided to die on me. This was his squad car back in the day, and when the department decided to retire this model, he bought it for dirt cheap because he just couldn’t let it go.
I guess the good part is that I’ve always had something to drive when I visit Port Harbor, but it would be nice to have something far more reliable. If I did, maybe I wouldn’t be stuck in the parking lot of Stick Taps at nearly eleven o’clock on a Tuesday night with nobody around.
My first instinct is to call my father, but I know he’s been pulling a lot of late shifts over the last week or so to give his deputies a bit of summer with their families.
I hate that he’s working so much, because there’s no way the stress is good for his heart, but that’s just the kind of stand-up guy my father has always been.
He’s always sacrificed for the happiness of others.
I know that Noah and Odette live a mile or so up the road, but I really don’t want to bother them this late. I’d rather call a tow truck than bug the almost newlyweds. I’m sure they have better things to be doing tonight than helping me. And I don’t have Warner’s number saved.
You could call Ezra.
The thought flits through my mind, but I push it away instantly.
My boss is the last person I want to see right now, especially after that stunt he pulled on Sunday with Warner, sending him to clean the bathrooms because he thought we were flirting.
It was embarrassing, but more than that, it was infuriating.
What right did he have to act jealous? He’s the one who pulled away from our kiss and has been cold toward me since.
Hell, he hasn’t even spoken to me since he walked away two nights ago.
I push thoughts of Ezra from my head as I sling open the door and pop the hood of the car.
I’m under the hood when a loud noise rings out through the otherwise quiet night. At first I think it’s one of the animals. There are so many of them hanging around here that it could easily explain it.
But then I see them off in the distance—headlights.
So no animal, then. It’s a car. And it’s going fast.
The driver whips into the lot of Stick Taps before I know it, and my entire body begins to buzz.
Somehow I know exactly who it is speeding into the parking lot, as if they’re in a car chase or something.
The car skids to a stop when they see me, their headlights shining directly into my eyes. I hold my hand up to block them, even though it barely does anything.
The door opens, and out steps a six-foot-three frame I am all too familiar with.
“What’s wrong?” Ezra’s deep voice floats through the air, and I hate how the little hairs on my arms stick up.
Despite my traitorous body, I don’t have the patience to deal with him tonight, not when the car won’t start and all I want to do is go home, eat something, and crawl into bed. I’m tired. It’s been a long day.
“Hello to you too,” I say as he stomps toward me, his limp a bit more noticeable today.
That’s not the only thing noticeable. His hair is wet, making his already dark locks even darker, and he’s not wearing his typical slacks and button-up shirt.
He’s traded them for black joggers and a simple gray T-shirt, and even though I didn’t think it was possible, it’s even hotter than his math teacher wannabe look.
He looks good. Too good.
I stare anywhere but at him.
“Hi,” he says curtly. “What’s wrong? Car trouble?”
“No, I just thought I’d change my oil before I went home.” I roll my eyes. “Yes, car trouble. It won’t start.”
“Hmm. Have you tried—”
“I swear, if you say jiggling the key, I might scream. I’ve tried everything and nada.”
He nods. “All right. Mind if I look?”
I wave my hand, moving out of the way. “I didn’t realize you were a mechanic, but sure, be my guest.”
“I know enough to get me in trouble.”
Oh, I don’t doubt that at all.
He slips past me, and I’m hit with the scent of his soap again.
It’s earthy and clean and smells entirely too damn good, and that’s the problem.
No matter how annoyed I am with him, I still find him attractive.
Which is why it’s impossible to peel my eyes off him as he leans over the car, and even harder when I notice how his T-shirt stretches over the muscles in his back.
“Well, I’ve got nothing,” Ezra says after a few minutes, and I snap my gaze back to him.
“I figured. It’s fine. I’ll call a tow truck.”
“A tow truck?” He looks offended that I even suggested it. “What for? So they can charge you an arm and a leg to get picked up in the middle of the night? Not a chance. I’ll drive you home. I just have to grab something from inside real quick.”
“What? No.”
“Yes.”
“No,” I say, more firmly this time. I am not going anywhere with him. He can bat those long lashes at me all he wants. It’s not happening.
He sighs like he’s tired of me. “Summer, I swear—”
“What? What do you swear, Ezra?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, his lips set in a hard line, and I don’t care. I don’t give a shit that he’s mad. I don’t care if I’m being stubborn. And I really don’t care if I have to walk back into town. It’s infinitely better than being stuck in the car with him.
“Look, it’s been a long fucking day, okay? So, can you not be stubborn just this once? Please?”
Please.
It’s such a simple word, and I hate how it undoes all the false bravado I’ve been holding on to. That, coupled with how tired he truly does look . . .
Ugh, I hate myself for it, but I snap my mouth closed and nod. “Fine. But I’m giving you gas money.”
He huffs. “Whatever you say, Sunny.”
Then he leaves me standing there as he heads into the cidery.
I watch him leave, already regretting my decision, then make my way over to his sporty-looking sedan. I don’t know much about car culture, but it’s evident that whatever this is, it’s expensive. And likely very fast.
Something about that sends a rush through me as I open the passenger door. There’s a pizza box from I Heart Pizza Pie sitting in it, and the smell of oregano and tomato sauce has my stomach instantly rumbling.
I grab the box containing the best sourdough pizza I’ve ever had and slip into the seat, holding it on my lap, reveling in how warm it feels on the cool summer night.
Ezra comes out a few moments later, then slides into the driver’s seat and hands me a folder.
“What’s this?”
“Plans for the kitchen,” he explains as he buckles his seat belt. I do the same. “I was going to go over them before bed.”
“But it’s late,” I say absently as I flip open the folder and begin looking everything over. I immediately see issues with it. The placements are off, and it doesn’t flow well. He should move the stove, the prep tables, and the storage.
“I don’t, uh, I don’t sleep very much.” He turns his car around, the engine rumbling loudly, even though we aren’t moving fast. “Might as well be productive.”
“Makes sense,” I say, but I can’t help but feel a bit sad thinking of Ezra sitting up at night alone in his place, just working. Does he do anything else? Does he not have people to hang out with?
Then I remember what an ass he is, and all my sympathy goes out the window.
“We can get your car looked at tomorrow. Do you work?”
“You’re the one with my schedule memorized. You tell me,” I say sarcastically.
He casts me a side-eye glance as he pulls out of the parking lot, and all it does is make me want to antagonize him more. I don’t know what that says about me, but right now I don’t care. I want to rile him up like he’s riled me up.
“What? You’re not going to speed out of here like a bat out of hell?”
“Is that a challenge? Because that sure sounds like a challenge.”
I snort. “Please. I doubt you could win a race against a sloth.”
His eyes narrow momentarily before he says, “Hang on to that pizza, will you?”
And it’s the last thing I hear before I’m thrown back in the seat. My heart settles into my throat as I hug the box tightly. My initial reaction is to scream at him to stop, but I don’t. I trust him, and that thought scares me a little.
He presses on the pedal more, and I glance over at him, and I’m surprised to find the pure elation on his face. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so happy before. It’s like everything that sits so heavily on his shoulders is lifted, and he’s free.
It’s a really good look for him.
“You good?” he shouts over the whine of the engine, and I don’t dare look at the speedometer.
“Yes!” I yell back.
He goes a little harder, then downshifts and eases onto the brake, the car slowing down but not in a way that jerks you forward. We roll to a stop at the end of the road leading up to the cidery, and I’m instantly annoyed by the grin stretched across my face.
“Fun?” Ezra asks with a smile of his own.
I shrug. “It was fine.”
“Fine, my ass. That was a fucking blast, and you know it.”
My lips twitch involuntarily, and I force a stoic face. “Whatever.”
But Ezra doesn’t stop grinning, and dammit if it doesn’t make me want to grin again too.
“God, I could do that every day if it weren’t for your father always busting me.
It reminds me of being on the ice. It feels like flying.
” His words are laced with longing, and I’m suddenly hit with the desire to be able to rewind the clock for him so he could do things differently and get hockey back.
“But that’s why we have the iceplex. It’s my way of connecting with the game again. ”
He doesn’t say anything else, and I don’t offer anything either. I don’t know what to say. Losing my kitchen is nothing like what happened to him. I can still cook. He only has his dream from the sidelines.