Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Henry
Summer has a lot of moods. Sometimes she’s nervous, smart-ass other times, occasionally really serious, and every so often painfully direct. Tonight I’m seeing yet another facet to her personality, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.
It’s cute, whatever it is. Like, instead of college, today was her first day of kindergarten or something like that.
The innocence of it all is endearing.
I chop some veggies for a dip, then add crackers and cheese and some grapes, too. We don’t need to eat this at the island. After a full day of people interaction, I’m guessing she’d rather zone out in front of the TV.
Sure enough, I bring the tray over, and she gives me a grateful smile when I ask her if she wants me to put on a show.
“You can choose,” she says. “I’m kind of tired.”
After she eats, I’m not surprised when she stretches out and puts her head on a pillow at the far end of the couch. I move to get up and give her the whole space.
“You can stay,” she mumbles, her eyes already closed.
I wrap my hand around her top foot. “Do you want to put these things up on me?”
One eyelid cracks open. “These things? What, my goblin feet?”
I laugh out loud and pull them into my lap. “Your feet are beautiful.”
She smiles and closes her eyes again. The smile stays, the corners of her mouth turned up for quite some time. I know because I don’t stop watching her until she’s well and truly asleep.
After the show ends, I get out from under her feet and take a shower, drying off and changing in the bathroom before coming back to the main room. Summer’s still out cold, so I tidy up and go downstairs to make sure the shop is locked.
When I return, I realize I’m puttering aimlessly. I don’t want to disturb her, I guess. But she’s sleeping where I usually spend my evenings, so if I’m going to do anything else before going to bed myself, I need to move her.
And I definitely need to move her before I sleep.
I gently nudge her shoulder, then give her a shake. Nothing.
Sighing, I scoop her into my arms and carry her to the bedroom.
I don’t come in here. It’s her space now. As I set her down in the unmade mess of blankets, I realize my sheets now smell like her.
“This bed was never left unmade before you stormed into my life.” I mutter this to myself as if pretending to be grumpy will ward off other feelings I don’t want to acknowledge. Like how much I enjoy her scent marking up my bedding.
She doesn’t stir at my reprimand.
She doesn’t let go of my neck, either.
I wrap my hand around her wrist and gently pry her arm off my body.
But as soon as I go for the other one, she latches on again, whining in her sleep.
“Do you miss your mom, sweet pea?” I stroke her hair. “Yeah, I bet you do.” I ease myself more fully onto my back, letting her cling to my side like a limpet.
I remember what she said about sharing a bed with Jennifer. In her sleepy state, she’s probably confused me with her mother.
That’s all right. She can hold me if she needs a warm body.
At some point, I fall asleep. I wake up with a start around midnight and extract myself from the sweet, warm cuddle monster that Summer turns into when she’s unconscious.
I go to the couch, which is extra uncomfortable after a few hours in my own bed, and force myself out of twenty years of habit to go the fuck to sleep.
Do not think about anything, do not pass GO.
The next thing I hear is the coffee maker hissing. It’s still dark out when I sit up and blearily look out the back window.
Summer’s in the kitchen. She’s changed out of the dress I put her to bed in, and her hair is damp.
“Someone woke up early,” I mutter as I join her.
She hands me a cup of coffee. “Did I wake you?”
“It’s all right. My alarm will go off in five minutes.”
“I slept so well last night.”
“I can tell.”
She’s that well-rested, she’s practically glowing.
Me, on the other hand. . . I’m growling every word.
She wraps one arm around my waist and gives me a half-hug. “You’re so grumpy in the morning. I had no idea.”
“You’ve never been up this early before.” I extract myself from the soft press of her flesh against mine.
It’s too early for thoughts of how sweet her thighs would taste, fresh out of the shower. How good the damp tendrils of her hair would feel wrapped around my hand as I guide her mouth up and down my cock.
“Does food help?”
I lift my cup. “Coffee helps.”
She frowns, and before I can apologize for being curt, she disappears into her room.
Fuck.
Summer avoids me for the rest of the day. It’s painful—for both of us—but there’s no time to talk between customers. When I close up the store, she announces she’s going to Wake Up Call for a poetry reading she saw on a poster on campus.
“I could come with you.” But the offer sounds gruff and forced, and she shakes her head.
“No, you don’t have to.”
I want to. I think I want to, anyway. I’ve never been into the artsy stuff happening around town, preferring to go to a bar for a break from the four walls of my apartment above the shop. But I don’t want to intrude on her plans.
So I go to The Roadhouse while she goes to the coffee shop.
I’m miserable the whole time. My chest feels tight in a weird way that doesn’t ease until I’m home again, and I see her strolling towards me on the street.
“Did you have fun?” I ask when she reaches the shop door. I hold it open for her.
She shrugs.
I frown.
She walks through the door and straight through the shop, heading for the stairs.
I call her name, and she stops. Counting to ten, I slowly lock the door, then cross my arms over my chest. “I think we need to talk.”