Hot Lovin’ (Summer Lovin’)

1. Lottie

Chapter 1

Lottie

The seagulls squawk their morning symphony as I jog along the sandy edge of Sunrise Bay, the salty breeze teasing my ponytail into a riot.

My “jog” is more of a “fast walk.” I’m not built to be a runner—my thighs are too heavy with zero daylight between them, and my big boobs are too big. They’re barely contained by the sports bra I’ve crammed them into, giving me a very unsexy “uno-boob” look, which makes an unattractive slapping noise as I move.

But I don’t care. I embraced my jiggles, rolls, lumps, and bumps a long time ago. We’re all built differently, and I’m happy to break the stereotype that says big girls don’t exercise and eat crap. I eat healthily, but I don’t deny myself a daily treat. Life’s too damn short to say no to a juicy blueberry muffin or a slab of carrot cake.

I breathe deep, inhaling the tangy sea air. My “jog” to work is an inherent part of my morning routine and sets me up for the day. The rhythmic crash of the waves against the shore mixes with the distant hum of a fishing boat chugging its way out to sea, creating a soothing and invigorating soundtrack.

I moved to Sunrise Bay for work two months ago and immediately fell in love with the quaint coastal town. Something seemed to settle in my bones when I moved into my cozy, modern coastal house a few miles from the beach. I love the clean lines, open spaces, and reclaimed elements that reflect the surroundings and add warmth to my home. It’s a far cry from the city life I left behind.

Excited barking cuts across my thoughts, and I grin at the sight of Captain, Mr. Jenkins’ schnauzer, attempting to herd the waves back into the ocean. His fur, damp and scruffy, stands in defiance of his futile mission.

“Good luck with that, Captain.” I chuckle to myself, slowing as I approach the weathered boardwalk. The planks creak underfoot, a familiar serenade of my daily route.

“Morning, Lottie!” Sally calls from the Beachside Café.

Sally stands behind the counter, wiping the same spot with a dishcloth, her auburn hair pulled back in a messy bun. The rear patio doors are opened wide, and her voice carries over the sound of sizzling bacon and the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

I slow my pace. “Hey, Sally! Save me a muffin, will you? The blueberry ones are basically a health food, right?” I quip, breathing in the scent of pastries mingled with the sea breeze.

“No calories in those bad boys!” she calls, her pretty face breaking into a grin. The sunlight catches the freckles scattered across her nose, making her look younger than she is.

I give her a thumbs up before picking up my pace again, my sneakers leaving faint imprints on the damp sand coating the boardwalk. The occasional piece of driftwood catches my eye, but I stay focused, the rhythm of my breathing syncing with the ebb and flow of the tide.

I’d like to think that my morning exercise doubles as a community service. My smile and wave routine to the locals is a reminder that there’s always something to be happy about. It’s part of what makes me good at my job. As a social worker, I carry an arsenal of optimism—it’s necessary ammunition in a world where I’m often the bearer of bad news. Or witness to some pretty heinous life choices. That smile and wave seem to make the world a better place for all of us.

As I step into our small office unit, greeted by the familiar hum of the shared printer. The space we occupy is modest but functional. The reception area has a couple of worn but comfortable chairs for visitors, a small desk for our receptionist, and a scattering of motivational posters on the walls—reminders of resilience and hope.

The small kitchen allows us to make coffee and store our lunches, although we tend to favor Sally’s amazing coffee and delicious food at the Beachside Café.

The playroom occupies the final room, a colorful space where foster kids or the children of parents who need our help can play safely while we talk and deal with paperwork.

“Morning, Sandy.” I smile at the pretty, dark-haired young woman behind the reception desk. “How’s Billie?”

“Oh, she’s much better, thanks, Lottie,” Sandy says, her blue eyes sparkling in her round face. “Luckily, it was only a forty-eight-hour thing. She’s back at school today.”

Sandy is a single mom to Billie, her eight-year-old daughter. Sandy had to take off from work a few days ago to pick Billie up from school when they called to say she was running a temperature.

“Ah, that’s great. Kids bounce back so quickly,” I say, pausing to grab a cup of water from the cooler. “It’s good to have you back. We missed you.”

“I appreciate you and Jan being so understanding about me having to take time off,” Sandy says gratefully. “It’s tough not having a husband or parents to fall back on.”

“That’s what I love about working here. We’re a team. And Billie is your priority. She’s a wonderful kid. You’re doing a great job,” I tell her.

The phone rings, and Sandy gives me a grateful smile as she reaches for the handset.

I leave her to it, heading up the hallway that leads to my and Jan’s offices. Each room is no bigger than a generous closet, but we make do. Jan’s office is the first on the left, and her door is slightly ajar.

“Good morning, Jan,” I say cheerily, poking my head through the opening.

My boss is already hard at work, glasses perched on her nose, brow furrowed in concentration as she types away on her computer. Her office is a mirror image of mine but always immaculate. Shelves line the walls, filled with books on social work, psychology, and a few framed photos of her family and her and I at various charity events.

The energy in our small office unit is a blend of quiet determination and relentless optimism. It’s a place where we face the harsh realities of the world head-on but never lose sight of the little joys that keep us going.

Jan looks up at my greeting, her serious expression melting into a warm smile. “Good morning, Lottie. How are you today?”

“Ready to make the world a better place, one smile at a time,” I reply with a wink.

Jan nods approvingly. “That’s the spirit. By the way, there’s a new case on your desk. It came in late yesterday.”

A familiar blend of anticipation and concern stirs in my stomach. “Thanks for letting me know. What’s it about?”

“Aiden Walker. Age four. The details are in the file. I was here working late when it came in last night. Had to get the sheriff involved. Aiden needs our help urgently,” she explains, her tone turning serious.

“Got it. I’ll dive into it right away,” I say, the weight of responsibility settling on my shoulders. I give her a sympathetic smile. “Another late one, huh?”

“Trying to get as much done before I abandon you,” she says with a grimace.

“You’re not abandoning us. You’re taking a well-earned vacation. Two weeks in Bali. I’m so jealous.” I sigh dreamily. “But no one deserves the break more than you, Jan. You work hard.”

“We all do,” my boss says firmly. “But I am sorry to leave you when things are so busy.”

I wave off her apology. “When are they not? Understaffed. Underpaid. Overworked. That’s the social worker mantra, right?”

Jan chuckles. “Right. But nothing beats the satisfaction of righting social injustice and contributing to positive social change,” she says as if quoting from a manual. Our job is about so much more than that, and we both know it.

“I grin. “What would the world do without us?”

Jan shakes her head with a wry smile. “Dread to think.”

“Right. I’ll get to work. I’ll catch you later before you leave.” With a small wave, I continue to my office further down the hall.

As I enter, sunlight streams through the small window, bouncing off the seafoam-green walls. Unlike Jan’s organized space, my desk is cluttered with case files and sticky notes. A solitary potted plant sits on the windowsill, having somehow survived my inconsistent watering schedule.

I close the door, and my gaze falls on the brown folder sitting on the top of the pile with a red sticky note. That color never means anything good. It’s the hue of heartache and broken homes, and I’ve come to recognize it all too well.

“Let’s see what we have here,” I mutter, settling into my chair and flipping the folder open with practiced ease.

I skim the contents, and a familiar pang tugs at my heartstrings. Aiden, a five-year-old boy with eyes too old for his single-digit age, stares back at me from the photo stapled to the report. His wide, solemn eyes and the dark circles beneath them tell a story no child should ever know.

“Okay, kid,” I whisper as if he can hear me. “Let’s get you out of there.”

According to the file, Aiden’s parents, Alicia and Mike Hartless, are the types who give monsters a run for their money. The details make my stomach churn, but I can’t afford to lose my composure, not when a child’s safety is on the line. Aiden needs me at my professional best.

Aiden’s file reveals he was taken to the hospital the night before, but it’s not the first time he’s been treated there. Due to the wounds and bruises on the boy’s body and his obvious malnourishment, the hospital staff alerted the authorities. At four years old, Aiden’s little eyes are haunted and woeful, tugging at every protective instinct within me. The authorities have taken him from his mother and father and temporarily placed him in a foster home. It’s my job to investigate the situation and determine whether Aiden should be allowed to return to his parents.

“Focus, Lottie,” I instruct myself, tapping the side of the file against my desk. I’ve been known to crack a joke to lift spirits, but there’s a time and place, and this isn’t it.

“All right, first things first,” I continue, rallying my thoughts. “We need a plan,” I tell myself, glancing around the empty room. “I guess it’s just you and me, Aiden.”

“Step one: gather evidence,” I say, pulling out a notepad. “Can’t let Alicia and Mike wiggle out of this.”

I jot down a list, each point a stepping stone toward getting Aiden somewhere safe. I have to follow the plan set up by our state to get Aiden out of this situation. Every step I take needs to be precise, and it’s essential that I follow protocol. I have to follow the rules because my evidence will end up in front of a judge and be scrutinized by my superiors. One misstep could send Aiden back into a situation he doesn’t deserve, and that would crush me.

“Step two: set up a meeting with the principal at Aiden’s pre-K. Teachers see more than they let on,” I reason, tapping the pen against my chin.

“Step three: talk to the neighbors. There’s always someone who’s seen something they wish they hadn’t.” I shiver at the thought of what the walls of Aiden’s home have witnessed. My stomach knots when I think about what that poor little boy must have endured.

“Step four: ensure the judge keeps Aiden in the temporary custody of a foster family while this is resolved. Preferably one without crazy schnauzers trying to herd the waves back into the ocean.” My small attempt at lightening the mood is lame, even to my ears, but humor is my coping mechanism, especially when it feels like I’m gearing up for battle.

“Step five: protect Aiden. And I mean mama-bear style, claws out, teeth bared and everything.” I stand, my resolve hardening. I won’t let him fall through the cracks.

“Okay, Lottie,” I pep-talk myself in the reflection of the computer screen, “you’ve got this. You’re charming and funny. And you’ve watched enough courtroom dramas to know how to put on your serious face. Time to save the day... again,” I declare, grabbing my keys and heading to my boss’s office.

The sunshine seems more subdued as I leave my office, knowing a little boy is suffering, but I’ll be damned if I don’t bring a little light back into Aiden’s life.

“Here comes Lottie Granger, child protector extraordinaire,” I whisper to no one in particular. But somewhere deep down, I hope Aiden feels a spark of hope because help is on the way.

I give Jan a quick rundown on my plan of action before letting her know I’ll be out of the office for several hours.

“Thanks, Lottie. I know you’ll fight for Aiden the way he needs you to. Probably worth asking the sheriff if he can lend any assistance while I’m gone, as he removed Aiden from his parents last night. That poor kid deserves all the help we can give him,” she says, her eyes blazing with passion.

I frown. I haven’t met the sheriff yet. Somehow, our paths haven’t crossed since I moved here, although that could be because Jan has always dealt with his office. But with my boss taking off for a much-needed vacation, I guess that responsibility now falls on me.

“Will do. I won’t let Aiden down,” I promise as I turn to leave, keys in hand.

I have a heavy caseload most days, but Aiden is my priority as he’s currently the most at risk. That means I need to focus and ensure I get to the bottom of exactly how Aiden ended up with untreated broken bones.

My heart clenches in my chest. That poor kid. So much misery and he’s barely even begun his life. I’ll do my damnedest to protect him now. I speedwalk back to my house. I wasn’t expecting to need my car today, but the elementary school where Aiden attends pre-kindergarten and where I intend to start my investigation isn’t within walking distance.

I want to drive straight to the foster home where Aiden has been temporarily placed, but it’s better if I don’t. Too many new faces might give the boy an anxiety attack. Right now, he needs time to heal and settle into his new, temporary home. Tomorrow, I’ll go and visit him. Or later this evening if I can’t contain my need to reassure myself that he’s safe.

As I drive toward the school, I put on my happy playlist, one I put together for days like this when my smile falters a little. Okay, my smile barely wants to emerge today, but I have to put that smile on, even if it’s fake. The world needs more sunshine to make it a better place.

I’m not sure when I made it my job to bring a little happiness to the people I meet, but it’s a part of who I am now. I know I won’t change the world, but I can help one person at a time until I can’t do it anymore. Even if everything in me wants to simply hold Aiden in my arms and cry with him, I’ll smile. I will.

I sing along to one of my favorite songs about wanting to dance with someone, and by the time I arrive at the school, I’m truly smiling again. That playlist always works its magic on me, even on days like today.

“Good morning, Stacy,” I say as I arrive at the main office of the elementary school. My county Department of Social Services badge is in place on the right corner of my shirt collar. “I need to speak with this student’s pre-K teacher, please.”

“Of course, Lottie. Let me send Allison down to take over her class while she’s gone,” Stacy says, always helpful.

It’s not my first trip to the elementary school, unfortunately, and I’ve come to know most of the staff.

I sit in the inner office, waiting for the teacher to arrive. What will I learn from Aiden’s her? Will it be helpful to me, or will it lead nowhere at all? I want to help Aiden, need to help that poor child.

I take a deep breath. This is step one, I remind myself. You’ll get there. One step at a time.