Chapter 5
SUMMER
“Avoid my sisters at all costs,” I slip in quietly.
“That’s the rule?” He chuckles just as a breeze blows through. And starts texting and mumbling like I need to know his plans, “RSVP no to the event.”
“What event?” I’m nosy and shrug.
“Nothing I’m interested in.”
“Fine.” Closing my eyes, I take in the gentle wind. The cotton fabric still sticks to my body in some places where it hasn’t dried, but the breeze sneaks through the openings to help the process along.
“Avoiding my sisters. That’s the first rule.” There’s rarely much traffic on this road between the houses, so our pace has been steady since we left the cottage with Roman running up ahead of us.
“Naturally.”
I’m afraid he already knows me too well. Am I that predictable? That boring? To someone like him, living life in the busy city, being able to afford to vacation the entire summer with his son, I probably am. “I do love rules,” I blurt out like some weird defense mechanism.
“You do, and I love breaking them.” A wry grin slides across his lips. “Both rules and records.” Rules I understand. They curb fun from turning into chaos. Records, though? What does he have against albums? “Guess we’d never make a good match.”
I’m not sure if I take offense to that or not. “Yeah, I suppose not. I like music too much.”
Under a creased brow, his gaze glides over to me. He opens his mouth and closes it again. After a quick shake of his head, he chuckles under his breath. “Okay.” We keep walking, but then he asks, “Why are we avoiding your sisters at all costs?”
“Because . . .” I can’t tell him that we don’t see many men, much less men who look like him, roaming around these parts.
If his picture gets out or gossip spreads that a gorgeous man is staying here for the summer, he’ll have an influx of visitors wanting to welcome him.
I wouldn’t put stalking past some of them either.
It’s my job to provide the privacy my guests want and deserve.
As for my sisters, though . . . “I won’t hear the end of it if they get wind of you. ”
“So they don’t know I’m here?”
“They know, but it’s more for me than you.”
“I’m not following.” His brow furrows as he stares at me. “How so?”
I take a deep breath, not really interested in laying bare my stale love life to this man who can probably get any woman to say yes to anything he asks of them.
It’s not much of an ego booster for me in comparison.
I exhale, and reply, “Don’t laugh.” When he doesn’t respond, I look at him, raising my brows. “Okay?”
He laughs. Not a good start. “Okay.”
Why do I feel like I’m going to regret this? Ugh. It’s the truth, though, so I’ll own it. “It’s been a bit of a dry spell.”
“How dry?”
“D4 levels.”
“I assume we’re talking about a drought scale?” He had been keeping watch on Roman, but his eyes are locked on me like I might escape if he doesn’t.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Yes.”
“And a D4 means?”
I need my hands too much to keep them restrained. I free my right one and wave it in the air. “Exceptionally drought-y.”
His mouth drops open, but it’s the eyes widening like saucers that really secures my embarrassment. “Exceptionally?”
“I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.” I pick up my pace to give myself some room to get through the humiliation.
Even if we’re the only ones on this road, it doesn’t feel big enough for the three of us.
I offered them a foldout couch in the living room, but he wants to think about it.
I don’t blame him. But now they’ll know the way and can come and go as they need.
He easily makes up ground to walk next to me again. “I didn’t laugh.”
“You didn’t have to.” I glance at him. “I could feel the—”
“I wasn’t judging. I’m genuinely surprised.” He looks me over from head to toe and doesn’t shy away from taking the scenic tour back up to meet my eyes. “Look at you.”
I look down at my water-spotted dress and my sneakers, sullied with dirt from walking around in them. The ends of my hair are straight and hanging over my shoulder, and my thighs have been rubbing since I was soaked in the shower. “What am I looking at?”
“Come on, Summer. You’re not serious.”
It’s the first time I’ve heard him call me by only my first name.
I’ve heard him call me Summer Season and Ms. Season, but the way my name sounds like a warm cuddle rolling off his tongue makes my heart clench.
“I am serious, Daniel,” I reply, trying his name on for size.
I like it better. I like him better, too.
Though liking someone who is not only temporarily in Mountain Laurel Cove but also someone I’m supposed to maintain a professional relationship with is one road I can’t travel down.
He’s grinning like he just won the county pie-eating contest. “So all it took was showering together to get us on a first-name basis? If I’d known that, I would have had you stay earlier.”
I laugh, but keep it light. Don’t want to feed that already satiated ego of his.
Again. “Stay and do what?” It shouldn’t be this fun to flirt with him.
I’ve been thrown from the ballooning presence of Daniel Sutton.
One day. Not even a full day and he’s not just invading my thoughts but now my house.
Granted, it’s for the bathroom, but he’s suddenly in every part of my life.
I wish I knew if that presence is full of hot air, like most guys, or I’m making something from nothing. Maybe a little of both.
His silence draws my attention back, but his eyes remain relegated ahead of us. Shoving his hands in his pockets, the cocky grin I’m thinking is his standard issue reappears. Looking at me, he says, “Shower together. What else would I mean?”
“What else indeed,” I reply more to myself than him.
Roman stops ahead and turns back with a stamp of his foot. “Why didn’t we take the car?”
“Because it’s only a two-seater,” Daniel replies.
“And Summer walked over because she lives close by.” Daniel is already feeling second nature.
That’s what happens after what we’ve been through so early in our relationship.
Not that we have a relationship, but ugh.
I stop the hamster wheel from spinning my thoughts and tangling them even more.
“It’s not that far,” I add with a good five feet between Daniel and me, who’s staying closer to the center of the road while I turn around and hug the side.
Roman scans the vicinity as he starts walking again. “I don’t see any houses.”
There are too many trees to see the house from here, but it won’t be long until it makes a grand appearance. It’s been the talk of the town for years. We refuse to change it. “It will be up on the left, same side as the cottage.”
“But—”
“Roman.” His dad cuts him off. “Patience, buddy. We’ll be there soon.”
Despite helping me out there, the only thing that really sticks in my head is he is a dad.
Before Roman was napping, I was given a peek inside their lives when I stopped by earlier.
But I wasn’t there long enough to get a sense of what kind of parent he is.
Heck, I don’t even know if he’s married.
Sure, I can assume he’s not by his ringless finger, but some guys don’t wear bands.
“Are you married?” I ask to confirm one way or the other.
If he’s married, I’m going to feel like the dirt on my shoes for flirting with him. If he’s not, does that make this an opportunity?
No. Summer. Stop. Why did I even open that door when I had already firmly closed it?
Superficially, he’s just so handsome. Otherwise, he’s entertaining.
Seems only natural to be attracted to him.
We’ve survived a water incident together, so it’s only normal to grow closer.
Whether that’s mutual or not remains to be seen.
“I was surprised it wasn’t asked on your form.” He veers a little closer.
There’s still enough distance safely between us to keep me from jumping his bones as if he’s onto me.
. . I cringe at myself. If I can’t keep control of my thoughts, the rest might be already too far lost. It’s tempting to giggle.
One thing he’s awoken, other than my libido, is my sense of humor.
Why is it so fun to flirt again? Or is it fun to flirt with him?
“It wasn’t information I needed to serve your needs.” I’m kind of proud of my innuendo-riddled reply. Two can play that game, and look at me go.
“You sure about that?” I catch the wink he sends me.
I grin. “Positive.”
“It’s pink!” Roman shouts with a jump as he looks back. “Your house is pink.”
“It sure is,” I say, cupping my hand to the side of my mouth for him to hear. “We love the color pink.”
He says, “I like orange like my dad’s colors.”
I look at his dad, who’s not wearing any orange whatsoever, but I’m not going to argue with the kid. Daniel says, “It’s the jersey.”
“Oh.” I roll my neck, loosening a knot and remembering all the times I’ve been stuck on weekends watching football game after football game instead of out having fun. “Guys love sports.”
“You don’t?”
With a shrug, I reply, “Some.”
“Which ones?”
Why does it suddenly feel like an interrogation? This is the most interest he’s shown, and as usual, it’s centered around sports. Men . . . “I don’t—”
“A swing!” Roman starts running toward the tire hanging from the large oak at the front of the house.
“Are the ropes reinforced?”
My heart skips a beat at the concern in his voice.
He starts jogging after Roman, and I run after him.
“There’s never been an issue.” I slow on approach.
Daniel is running his fingers along the rope even though his son has already climbed on.
“It’s the same ropes they use at the marina.
Should last almost as long as this oak tree. ”
The tension eases from his tightened jaw, and he releases a heavy breath. “You ready?” he asks, pulling the tire back, ready to send him flying.
Roman giggles. “Ready, Daddy.”