11. Summer
Summer
W ith my legs crossed in the canvas camping chair, I watched as Van slid under my car and began deftly changing my oil.
Admittedly, while I was raised by a blue-collar worker, most of my boyfriends had been business types. Cory had rows of crisp white button-downs and a special hanger for his ties. Casual to him was designer jeans instead of slacks. I doubted he owed a single pair of work pants, let alone steel-toed boots.
When I got with my first boyfriend, a perfectly nice guy who I ended up dumping for the asshole who left me at homecoming, my father told me I’d need one of two things in a man. Either one handy enough to fix things or someone who makes enough money to pay someone else to do it for me. While sexist and reductive to my gender, he wasn’t wrong.
I had long held the belief that, since I wasn’t about to climb beneath the undercarriage of my car, I’d need good money to have others do it for me. And there I was, watching this strong, handsome man fix it like it was his job.
Since the only people I had really watched work on cars were my father, uncle, and cousins, I hadn’t realized how sexy it was. Seeing the skillful way he worked was heating me up, and I had visions of those fingers moving just as deftly across my skin.
I couldn’t ogle him as he tinkered. That would be obscene and objectifying. I needed a distraction from the brawny man whose hands were on my underbody.
I pulled out my phone.
According to the notifications I was getting on Cory’s email, people were responding to the fake ads. Now onto the next part of my plan.
I pulled up an AI-generating photo app.
While I wasn’t a fan of using this sort of program typically, ethically, it felt better to have a made-up person for communication. Hair color, brown. Eye color, blue. Full lips and a smaller bust.
I popped all these into the generator and waited. Three down was the perfect fake girl. If Kodi and I could have been cousins, this girl would have been a half sister.
I downloaded several shots of her and created the account. It was an easy twenty bucks to buy fake bot followers. Between AI pictures, I included scenery photos, food, and generic quotes like the ones Autumn loved to send to us. Thirty minutes in, I had my catfish poised for Cory.
@Candy_is_Handy was born.
Van was finishing up with my car in my peripheral. He popped my hood, poured different fluids in various spots, commenting about how something or the other was low.
“Did you hear me?” He was standing over me, wiping his hands on a blue rag identical to the one he used on the day I busted in on him.
“Um . . .” I set my phone face down in the cupholder and gave him my most innocent smile. “Check my blinker fluid.”
I may not like working on greasy cars, but I knew enough from being around people growing up to know the joke.
He scowled. “Hilarious. You need new wipers. Those are cracked.”
“I can do that.”
“And you probably need to get your tires rotated soon, too. There’s more wear on the—”
“Hey, Hot Rod. I’ve got it. Chill.” My attention was back on my phone screen.
A few random dudes followed Candy but no one I knew yet.
Grumbling, he threw the rag on top of his toolbox. “I’m going to check the shed. I might have a set in there.”
Alone in the garage, I took advantage of the moment to scroll to Cory’s account, liking random posts and commenting emojis under others. Since he’d have to make the first move, I’d wait for him to contact me.
A yelp screeched from the backyard.
Dropping my phone into the mesh cupholder, I rushed through the back door.
Van was sagging against the side of his shed, clutching his right foot. Sticking an inch or so out of the sole of his shoe was an old rusted nail.
“Oh God, what happened?”
“Fucking shed,” he gritted out. He pinched the long nail head and pulled it out, then let out a string of curses as blood dripped from his shoes onto his hands.
I thought he would drop the nail, but he held it up to his eyes as if it were an errant child.
The sight of his blood was making me queasy, and I had to steady myself against the shed.
“We should get you to urgent care.” I swallowed the vomit rising in my throat and kept my eyes on the sky.
If I were to have looked at his injury or even the nail for a moment longer, I could’ve gotten sick.
“It’s fine. It’s just a little poke.”
His aloof words were downplayed as his balance wavered.
“Nope. Not fine. I’m taking you to the hospital.” Before he could argue, I laced my arm around his waist and pulled him toward the house.
His shirt held the remnants of oil and grease, but an undercurrent of soap and lemon also lingered on his skin.
We walked slowly together. As we shuffled to my car, I turned away to avoid the temptation of his scent.
I bundled him into my passenger seat, having to reach between his legs to pull it all the way back for him.
At the wheel, I pulled out without checking behind me and almost T-boned an electric car with a coexist sticker.
The other driver laid on their horn as they swerved around me.
“You need me to drive?” he asked with a grimace.
“No. I’m fine.” This time, I checked my blind spots before pulling out onto the road.
His knees were high behind the dashboard.
“You can drive faster, you know. The speed limit is thirty-five here.”
A glance at the speedometer showed me it was going twenty-eight.
“Look, I’m a nervous driver, okay? So, be quiet, put pressure on that foot, and shush until we get there.”
When we arrived at the urgent care, I helped him out of the car, much to his grumbling that he could do it himself. I led him to sit on a purple vinyl couch and then checked him in with his wallet, then brought back a clipboard the receptionist had given me.
After I asked him about the cursory information, he scowled at me, grabbing the clipboard. “My hands work just fine. I can write my own answers.”
“Fine.” I threw up my hands. “Works for me.”
Minutes passed with the pen scratching paper and the click-clack of the receptionist typing on her keyboard.
I wished I had my knitting bag. My hands were itching to do something.
The image of that nail in his foot, the grayish pallor of his skin when he pulled it out. It was too much. Normally, a little blood didn’t worry me. I was a woman, after all. But seeing Van hurt shook me.
He finished the paperwork, set the clipboard aside, leaned back against the fake leather couch, and closed his eyes.
His complexion looked wrong, too pale. Had he lost too much blood? The nail was big, but I thought the wound had stopped bleeding.
Van placed a hand over mine. “It’s okay. You don’t need to be nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.”
He squeezed my hand. “You’re doing that thing with your thumb and nails.”
I blinked at him.
I hadn’t ever realized I was doing it, but he saw it. Never in my twenty-five years had someone pointed it out to me, but this man spends a few days with me and picks up on it?
“I’ll be okay, Sunshine. Nothing to worry over.”
Smoothing my hands in my lap, I gave him a placid smile. “Like I said, I’m not nervous.”
Closing his eyes again, he said nothing, but the weight of his hand on mine was comforting.
As I savored the sensation, he slid his fingers over mine, flipping my hand over until we were palm to palm. He opened one eye and gave me a half smile. “I was pretty sure I was going to die of old age before I’d succumb to sepsis, but thanks for driving.”
I huffed, trying to pull my hand away, but he held it tight. “When I’m calm, I am a perfectly adequate driver. I’ve never been in an accident or had a ticket in my life.”
“Not even for impeding traffic?”
Scowling, I shook my head. “I got us here, didn’t I?”
“Barely.”
I opened my mouth to say something else, but a young woman in scrubs approached us.
“Donovan Logan?” she asked, checking her file.
“That’s me.” He stood, bearing all his weight on his left foot.
I grabbed the clipboard, rising to them and handing the medical assistant the paperwork.
Van took a shaky step forward, then stopped and glanced at me. “You coming?”
It wasn’t quite an invitation, but somewhat knowing Van, I know he wouldn’t want to ask me outright.
“Of course.” After gathering my things, I walked behind him down the hall to the exam room.
Once there, he collapsed onto the table with a groan, and I sat in a small chair in the corner.
The medical assistant took his vitals, asked about the injury, and inspected the area. After taking notes, she assured him the nurse practitioner would be in shortly.
The door was barely shut before his gaze darted to mine.
“Do you think”—he furrowed his brow—“they’re going to make me get a shot?”
“A shot?” I leaned back and crossed my arms. “Maybe? But after getting a nail through your foot, a shot seems like the least of your worries.”
“I’ve never liked getting shots,” he retorted, a pink flush climbing up his cheeks.
With narrowed eyes, I studied him. “Are you—no.”
“I’m not.” He asserted.
“I thought we agreed we wouldn’t lie to each other.” I bit back a laugh, swallowing hard as he lowered his head. “A lot of people don’t like needles. It’s very common.”
“For children.” The pink had turned into scarlet, tingeing his ears. “I’m thirty-two, Summer.”
“Phobia knows no age. I’m terribly afraid of enclosed places—caves, small rooms. I had a guy take me on a date to a panic room once, and I was hyperventilating at the end.”
My admission seemed to calm him.
“I’ve always felt this way. When I was little, my dad would hold me down to get my vaccines.”
“Well, that might be why. Being restrained while getting poked would be traumatic for anyone. It’s okay to be scared.”
“I’m not scared. I just don’t like them.”
Instead of arguing, I stood and walked over. Stopping before him, I grabbed his hand and squeezed. “I’ll be right here with you. You might need a shot because you could get tetanus, and you might even need stitches. But I won’t go anywhere. If you want to blame it on me, you can. Tell them I’m the needy girl who needs support during your treatment.”
“Thank you.” A soft smile played on his lips. “I haven’t had someone take care of me like this since my mom when I was sixteen.”
“Are you comparing me to your mother right now?” I scoffed.
“Definitely not. Gah, how could you even suggest—” I gave him a withering stare, and he laughed. “No, I mean, I don’t need anyone to look after me.”
“Do you want me to go?”
“No. No. Stay.”
His response was quick.
A knock came from the door, and a very pretty nurse with red hair walked in. Her scrubs were a turquoise, complementing her fair complexion.
“Hi, I’m Ana. I’ll be working with Tomas today for your treatment and—oh. Hi, Van.” A smile bloomed over her face. “I had a feeling that might be you.”
“Ana!” His face relaxed. “I didn’t know you worked here now.”
The way he was smiling at this beautiful redhead put me on edge. Sure, she was gorgeous and had a kind smile and somehow looked cute in scrubs, but who was she?
With a zip of panic, I was jealous.
She set the file down and grabbed gloves from a drawer. “Didn’t Xander mention it? Of course not. He thinks sharing stuff about us is boring. Yeah, I’ve been here for about a year now. Better hours than the hospital. After Maxine was born, it was hard finding care during the odd working hours. Xander is out the door at four in the morning, and if I had a night shift, it was impossible to find babysitters.”
She turned to face me. “Sorry. Catching up. Ana Eberhardt. Van and I went to school together a lifetime ago.”
“Summer Townsend.”
She beamed at me, and I glanced at Van, but nothing in his look projected an ounce of attraction to this woman.
She mentioned a child and another man, but that could’ve been a brother or an ex or something.
After what I went through with Cory, I wasn’t going to assume a man was unattached ever again.
Ana directed him to scoot back on the table to inspect his foot.
I thought he would want me to step back, but he grabbed my hand, keeping me level to his head.
After examining the area, she grabbed tools from a drawer and cleaned the wound, flushing water into the puncture.
Van didn’t betray a look of pain but tightened his grip when Ana announced he would need a tetanus shot.
An older man walked in and consulted with Ana about their patient. He asked Van a few questions, approved Ana’s job of cleaning the wound, and said he would give him two stitches.
I could feel the hitch in Van’s breath.
By the time the nurse practitioner had brought out the tools, I faced him and as low as I could and directed him to look at me.
“Oh, I can’t watch. Look at me and don’t let me turn around, okay?” I declared loud enough for them to hear me. Placing another hand on top of his, I squeezed his palm, rubbing my thumb over the line of scars on his knuckles.
His gray eyes were hard, steel, and basalt, his jaw flexing as they stitched him up.
His gaze didn’t leave mine, and his grip vibrated almost to the point of pain.
I wasn’t going to let go. He had admitted his vulnerability, and I would not be taking it for granted.
By the time he got his tetanus booster, my hand was screaming, but I had gone this far with him. I couldn’t back out.
“Alright, all done. That was a nasty one,” the nurse practitioner announced. “I’m sending you home with a prescription of antibiotics and strict rest on that foot. Try to limit pressure on it for the next twenty-four hours, but after that, you should be okay.” He looked at me. “Don’t let him be a hero and rip his stitches out, or we’ll be back here.”
Once in the car, he was able to put the seat back enough for his knees to stop touching his chin.
I turned to him. “She’s pretty.”
“Who? Ana?” He furrowed his brow as he adjusted his legs.
“Yeah. Seems like you two have history.”
He scoffed, running a hand over his face. “Because we went to school together? I’ve known her since we were little punks. She’s married to one of my best friends. They have a kid together. I can assure you there is nothing between us. She is not my type.”
“What, pretty? Sweet? Helpful?”
“Simple. Ana is as sweet as they come, loyal to fault. Would give the shirt off her back to strangers, see only the best in even the most terrible of people. And that is fine for a lot of men. It’s great for Xander. They both deserve to be happy after the shit they went through. But I need something more in my women.”
“So, you need someone mean, ugly, and traitorous.”
“No. I like to be challenged. I like the chase. I want someone who calls me on my bullshit and doesn’t get upset when I call them on theirs.” He adjusted himself again, trying not to put pressure on his foot. “If I told Ana I didn’t like a shirt she wore, she would offer to change it.”
I snorted. “I’d tell you to fuck off.”
“Exactly.” He fixed his gaze on mine.
In the midday sun, his eyes were lighter, full-moon silver against mountain peaks. The space of the car was too small, the air thick and hot as I stared him down. I refused to look away first.
“Put the murder gaze away,” I murmured.
“Killer eyes, disengage.” He smirked as he looked away. “Why don’t you get me home so I can put up my foot and watch some West Wing ?”
I startled at the show name but said nothing. If I were to have admitted I watched that, he might invite me in to watch with him, and I’d accept—and then what? I’d start to like him? Want to kiss him? No. There couldn’t be an attraction, not yet.
I had a vengeance plan for the summer, and he wasn’t going to disrupt it with his sexy silver eyes and charming fear of needles.
When I dropped him off, I could barely park before he climbed out. Already in reverse, I waited for him to walk inside without me.
When he knocked on my window, I rolled it down, keeping my foot on the brake for a quick getaway.
“I’ll text you about our next date.”
Frowning, I pumped the brake harder to let out my excess energy.
I had agreed to this facade of dating. A few boring work events were the least I could do. He said he was an engineer, so most people he worked with would be, too. A bunch of nerdy folks who would drone on about specifications or geometry or something.
Engineering was a mystery to me. The upside was that the lame talk had to make him less attractive, or I was in big trouble.
“Okay. Yeah, of course. You name the time and place. As long as I don’t have work.”
He knocked on my doorframe twice before stepping back, a big grin stretching his face and that damn dimple on his left cheek peeking out.
Dimples were supposed to be for babies and plush dolls. Not for sexy men who knew how to fix my car and smelled like soapy lemon.
“See you soon, Sunshine.”
I left him standing alone in the driveway, my hands shaky on the steering wheel. A few blocks down, I pulled over to the side of the road to catch my breath.
I couldn’t be distracted by Van. Yes, he was hot, and I was more than a little obsessed with the way those muscular arms felt around me. His lips were ultra soft against mine, and he certainly knew what he was doing with his fingers when . . .
Nope. Focus. This summer was not about getting all heartsick over some guy.
It was about making Cory pay.
Grabbing my phone, I pulled up the fake account.
No new notifications yet for Candy. This had to work. I needed more concrete proof that he was a cheater if I was going to go to Cory’s fiancée.
Swiping away Instagram, I navigated to my messages to shoot Van a text.
Summer: Keep that foot up. I need you in top boyfriend shape
Tilting my chin up, I stared at the dirty ceiling of my car and wondered if I was making a mistake. Whatever Van wanted out of me might have been fake, but I couldn’t help but admit this attraction was very real.