Chapter 1 Vivien #2
Lacey shook her head. “I don’t know, Mom. We’re what? Two months or so into this romance? I’m taking it one day at a time and enjoying every minute.”
Vivien slid an arm around her, adding a squeeze. “I’m happy for you. And, by the way, I like rooming with you, too. Oh…”
Lacey’s eyes flashed as they heard men’s footsteps coming up the spiral stairs from the pool level. “That’ll be Peter and Uncle Eli. Don’t waste time, Mamacita. Show him your heart.”
Vivien smiled at the cheesy expression. “I’ll talk to him,” she promised.
“Good.” Lacey gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Now I’m going to play some football with the man I love.”
With that, she slipped away as Peter and Eli appeared at the top of the steps. Peter looked right at Vivien, his gaze serious, with interest and a question in his eyes. This time, he didn’t look away.
And that gave her the courage to promise herself she’d talk to him tonight.
By the time the last of the guests had said goodbye, the Summer House had settled into its familiar post-party hush.
The music was off. The deck lights had been dimmed.
The Gulf air blew in from the open sliders, carrying the distant sound of a few more fireworks and laughter from some people on the beach.
Vivien finished the kitchen clean-up with a slow and sure hand, wiping down the counters and putting away the last of the dishes. The Summer House had been home to her for more than four months, and she moved through this kitchen like it was hers and hers alone.
In a sense, it was—hers and Eli’s. All the others came and went.
Some stayed—including Lacey, who would surely be looking for her own place soon, and Jonah, who would probably live downstairs with baby Atlas until he finished culinary school.
Others left. Tessa had moved into a two-unit beach house she co-owned with Dusty Mathers. Eli’s daughter, Meredith, had stayed to recover from her ectopic pregnancy, but would no doubt head back to Atlanta soon.
Crista was here for at least a few weeks.
Mom and Jo Ellen had decided to spend the summer in the apartment over the garage.
That left Eli, her older brother, the home’s architect.
He’d planned to stay here all summer, but then last week, Kate—his main reason for sticking around—had zipped back to Ithaca in something of a hurry.
It remained to be seen if Destin lost its allure for Eli with his new love interest gone. He might return to life in Atlanta, running Acacia Architecture.
With all the comings and goings, the constant change and the multi-generational, two-family vibe, Vivien had somehow become the Summer House anchor. And she couldn’t be happier with that role.
She reached for a dishtowel when she heard footsteps on the deck and a familiar figure appeared in the wide-open sliders.
Finally. She hadn’t been alone with Peter all night…until now.
“Did you clean up that firepit?” she asked, playfully fluttering the dishtowel. “Uncle Artie’s watching from heaven.”
“He’d be proud,” he said, his low and silky voice sliding over her in the quiet of the kitchen. “We met every county regulation and hid all the evidence.”
She laughed, maybe sounding a little nervous, but she tried to remember that she had a thirty-year history with Peter and this sure wasn’t their first July 4th together. Plus, he’d said he loved her…right before she said she wanted to break up.
He stepped into the dimly lit kitchen, his gaze locked on her with that same intentional look she’d seen all night. Like he was respecting her space, but ready to invade it with a word.
It was time to give that word.
“Where’s Eli?” she asked, rooting around for small talk before…the big talk.
“He said he was going to take a walk.” Peter grinned. “Pretty sure that’s code for ‘call Kate.’”
She made a face at the mention of her close friend, still mulling over Kate’s impulsive return to her job at Cornell University’s chemistry lab. “I wish she had stayed for the holiday weekend. We were expecting her for the whole summer. Did Eli tell you what happened?”
He nodded. “Something about a Department of Energy grant renewal?”
“Yeah. They moved up an inspection of the whole EV battery thing she works on in her lab, and she insisted that all the equipment had to be recalibrated and the results demonstrated live,” Vivien explained, parroting Kate’s litany of excuses. “She wanted to do it herself and headed back.”
Peter looked skeptical. “Eli thinks it could have been handled remotely.”
Her heart squeezed. “She did leave in a hurry. But that lab is as much a child to her as her teenagers. Still…”
“Things are progressing with Eli and Kate,” Peter finished. “He thinks she’s scared.”
Vivien considered the many things that the fairly new couple had working against them—and not just the thousand-mile separation between Ithaca and Atlanta.
Her brother, a widower, lived and breathed a vibrant faith in God that few people—even Vivien—could understand. Kate held a PhD in chemistry and based her entire life on science and provable facts. Despite tangible attraction, Eli and Kate’s personal philosophies couldn’t be further apart.
Vivien didn’t want to think that was why her friend took off, but it could have had something to do with it.
“If Cornell doesn’t get this grant, it could jeopardize millions in funding,” she said, wanting that to be the real reason.
Peter nodded, watching her for a beat before speaking.
“Need help?”
“I’m almost done but you can start the dishwasher.” She handed him the bottle of detergent, and he took it and pulled open the dishwasher door.
“Where’s Connor?” she asked, remembering his son.
“He slipped out right before we started cleaning up the firepit,” he explained. “We drove separately in case I wanted to stay late.” He said it casually, but his gaze was serious. “I was hoping we’d get a minute,” he added.
Her pulse ticked up as she watched him tap the buttons on the dishwasher to start it.
Finished with the task, he leaned on the counter and crossed his arms.
She mirrored the pose, looking up at him. “You good?” she asked. “You’ve been quiet tonight.”
He considered that. “I’ve been trying to follow your lead.”
She didn’t reply, but she didn’t look away, either.
“You asked for space,” he said gently. “So I’ve been giving it.”
“Yeah, I know.” Her throat tightened as she considered the best way to handle this. Did she just come out and say, “I was wrong, stupid, and please kiss me?”
It was her move, and they both knew it.
“Peter,” she began.
He straightened slightly, attentive. “Yeah?”
She took a breath. “I’ve been thinking about…”
She needed to say “us” but the word stuck in her throat. There was no going back if she did this. If she revived their romance, she couldn’t—
The sharp buzz of Peter’s phone cut through the quiet.
He frowned and grunted, glancing at the screen. “Sorry. It’s work.”
Her heart sank—not because of the interruption, but because of the seriousness that instantly settled over him. He answered without hesitation. “McCarthy.”
Vivien watched his posture change—shoulders squaring, attention snapping into focus.
“Yes,” he said. “That’s my son.”
His son? The room seemed to tilt.
He listened, his jaw tightening. “Where?” A beat. “Okay. Was he conscious?”
Conscious? Vivien stepped closer and reached for his arm. “Connor?” she mouthed.
“Any idea who was at fault?” he asked the caller.
Vivien’s breath grew shallow as she watched him absorb the information.
“Yes,” he said. “He was with me all day. He didn’t drink.” His voice sharpened. “The other driver failed the field test?” He swore softly under his breath. “I’m on my way.”
He ended the call and looked at her, his expression controlled but shaken beneath the surface.
“Connor’s been in an accident,” he said. “On 98. A truck crossed the center line—driver was intoxicated.”
She gasped. “Is he—”
“He’s banged up but fine,” Peter said quickly. “Concussion, maybe some fractures. They’re taking him to the hospital now.”
She turned without hesitation to find her purse and keys. “I’ll come with you.”
He shook his head, already moving toward the door. “No. No. It’s late, Viv. Let me go assess. I’ll call you as soon as I know more.”
“Please,” she said, touching his arm. “Let me help.”
He covered her hand briefly with his, squeezing once. “I will. But I have to go. Now.”
She nodded, forcing herself to step back. “Okay.”
He kissed her forehead quickly, firmly. Then he was gone, out the front door in what felt like a blur.
Vivien stayed frozen in the quiet kitchen, her thoughts no longer on what she might have lost, but on the man she cared for racing into the night to get to his son.
She stood there for a long moment, hands pressed together, whispering a silent prayer for Connor—and for Peter—before turning off the lights and letting the house go dark around her.