Chapter 14
DANIEL
“Why can’t I sleep in here?” Roman’s legs dangle off the side of the bed as he watches me drop my duffel bag by the dresser.
“We don’t know how long it will take to get the pipes fixed, buddy.
I’ll camp out on this couch, and you can have a bed all to yourself.
” I’m thinking I should feel guilty for lying to him, but am I?
Is it really a lie? He will be more comfortable in the guest room, and I’ll be more comfortable in Summer—
“I like sharing with you.”
I sit next to him on Summer’s bed. “I like sharing with you too, but I took more hits last night from your tossing and turning than I did on the ice the entire last season.”
The little smirk on his face makes me think he’s not all that upset about taking out his old dad. I tickle his ribs, sending him backward on the mattress into a fit of giggles. “I should,” he says, laughing through his words, “have played hockey.”
We don’t talk about him playing hockey anymore.
He never made it to squirt level in the youth league when he was younger.
He was a smaller guy on the team at the time, and the hits were brutal to witness.
Mia put her foot down, but I didn’t disagree.
He didn’t care about hockey, and it showed when he was out there.
Although it’s not too late to try again, I’d prefer him to chart his own course instead of trying to mold into mine.
“I’m thinking soccer or football might be better for a kid with your skill set. You got a hell of a kick.”
“Really?”
I pull him up and then stand, bringing him with me. “You can do whatever you want, Roman. Just finish what you start and don’t—”
“Compromise your values. Yeah, yeah.” You’d think this kid has been working a hard day and doesn’t want the lecture at the end of it with that ho-hum tone. I’ll take being the boring dad anytime over what I had growing up.
A knock on the door draws our attention to Summer.
She’s dressed in the same top and cutoff shorts; her hair is still up, but more strands have escaped the confines of the elastic at the back of her head.
There’s a shine to her lips that draws my attention to them, making me remember how good it felt to kiss her.
With her shoulder against the doorframe, a smile on her face, and looking so damn sexy, she makes it hard to look away.
“Am I interrupting?” she asks, her fingers tucked into her front pockets like she’s been there a while.
Roman is already shaking his head. “I want to sleep in here with you guys.”
Summer saunters in like she’s got a few things on her mind that don’t include anyone else sleeping in this room with us.
Kneeling before him, she takes his hands, and says, “You’re going to have a great time in that room.
You get the whole place to yourself and all those pillows.
Also . . .” she leans in and whispers, “It’s been rumored that cookies appear right before bed for good little kids. ”
“I’m always good. My mom says I make her life easy,” he says with pride.
He’s old enough not to fall for these shenanigans, but like how Santa doesn’t visit if he doesn’t believe, sounds like these cookies won’t show up either. When he glances up at me, I say, “It’s true. You’re the best, buddy.”
He looks back at Summer, and says, “Do you get cookies in here?”
With a grimace shaping her face, she sighs so sadly that I’m tempted to fall for her tricks. “Unfortunately, no.”
“You could if you’re good,” he says matter-of-factly. This kid is too much, causing me to chuckle under my breath.
“Very true, Roman.” She stands still, holding his hand like they’re old friends, and taps his nose.
“What do you think about you and your dad coming to watch the sunset with me and the others?” To a kid, I’m sure that’s not an inviting offer, but I’m not going to push into it.
She adds, “Have I shown you the swing out back?”
That seals it. He’s already headed to the door. “I want to see.”
Summer looks at him over her shoulder. “I need to speak to your dad for a few minutes. Why don’t you head down and hang out in the family room with Dolly?”
His eyes dart to mine. I nod, giving him the go-ahead. He runs out the door, and the pounding of each of his steps on the floor echoes into the bedroom.
Summer turns around with a question digging a line between her brows and hanging on her tongue. “I can’t stop thinking about that call with Mrs. Dover and your offer.”
She’s not asking me anything, but I can sense her need for answers. “I haven’t changed my mind, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Moving in, she runs her nails lightly over my stomach. Her touch is intimate, but I wish I wasn’t wearing a shirt so I could feel its full impact. “I appreciate it, but I don’t know that it feels right. It’s too much money.”
“I’m not going to force you to take the money.
” I sit on the bed again, not wanting to tower over her for this conversation.
“I hope you do in keeping with your intentions. They’re good, Summer.
If you can save a place that you love and keep it going for other people to enjoy as well, it makes sense. ”
“I’ll never be able to pay you back. As a rental, it won’t generate the kind of income that would let me make a living, care for my family, and pay to fix up this house.
Some profits will always have to be reinvested in the cottage for upkeep.
In this case, thousands to fix the plumbing is just the start. ”
I could blow that money in a weekend in Vegas and already donate four times that amount in a year.
It’s not about the money, but I know what it’s like not to have that access, to never dream making that kind of money is even possible.
If I say the wrong thing, I come off as showy. If I don’t, she won’t accept the offer.
And now the lines between us are so blurred that I risk her pulling away as if she’d have to choose only one. Me or the money.
Taking her hand, I bring her to stand between my legs. While she doodles on my thigh, I say, “I don’t know what to do here, Summer. It’s not that I don’t care about the money. It’s that to me, the cause is worthy.”
“I’m the cause?” The affront has her jerking away, losing contact.
There’s no anger in her words or distorting her pretty face.
Something else takes hold, and her eyes glass over.
“Instead of daydreaming about boys and going on a first date, I was making funeral arrangements for my parents. Dolly was broken, and the girls were too young.” Turning away from me, she walks to the window that faces the oranges, pinks, and blues of the setting sun.
She sucks in a staggering breath, as if the tears are ready to fall. “I can’t be a charity case again.”
“You’re not a charity case.” I stand, my words getting mixed up in my head as her turmoil reaches me across the room and sinks in. She’s wounded by a past that will always haunt her, and I’m making things worse. “I didn’t mean to imply—”
“I don’t want to be saved, Daniel. I wanted to do this on my own.
” She turns back, steeling her temperament until it reaches her posture.
Amazed by her resolve as she works through scenarios, I remain silent, a sounding board for her.
“I paid for my college and part of this house. I don’t have enough of my inheritance left to cover the purchase of the cottage.
Even if I hadn’t had the other expenses, I can’t compete with the offer on the table. ”
Unable to stop the sympathy she hates from storming inside me, I go to her and caress her cheek. “Tell me the truth, Summer. When you talk of your inheritance, is that from your parents’ death?”
“It was the life insurance payout. That’s what we got in exchange for their deaths.
” A tear slides from the inner corner of her eye, trailing down her cheek.
She had me convinced by her determination, her steady voice when she spoke of the issue.
It was all a facade, and I have no doubt she’s managed to convince everyone in this town that her brave face is more than surface deep.
It’s not. She’s just become a good actress.
She’s surviving the waves of grief when they roll through.
But she’s also scarred so badly on the inside from holding it in that it’s going to drown her one day.
I kiss the trail, then wipe it away with the pad of my thumb, careful not to scratch her with my calloused hands.
The tears dry, and she punches out her chin like she’s got something to prove.
Not to me. I’ve seen her strength and what she does for others.
Saying anything will make it worse. I won’t make her feel ashamed for sharing how her heart feels.
“I’m sorry you lost them. Your sisters and Dolly are lucky to have you. ”
I hear the harsh swallow and see the softening over her eyes. “Thank you for saying that. It means a lot to me.” She’s not heard it enough. She hasn’t been given a thank-you because everyone was trying to survive the best they knew how. She’s a caretaker, so that’s what she did.
I’m starting to wonder if she can accept care herself.
There doesn’t need to be a loan involved.
I’d give her the money, but I know she’ll never agree to it on her own.
Playing to her strengths and to what gives her comfort, like control over the situation, is the only way to break through to her.
When she moves toward the bed, I walk to the chair in the corner, resting one ankle on the opposite knee, and ask, “What if we put rules in place?”
“The devil is in the details.” Hugging one of the four posters of the bed, she drags a small gold butterfly pendant back and forth along a thin chain. “What do you suggest?”
“You set the terms.”
“That simple?” Her laughter holds no humor, but she appears to be willing to entertain me by the gentle slope of her smile. “I set the terms, and you agree? That’s a lot of money to take that kind of risk.”
Dropping my foot to the floor, I lean forward. “What if there’s something in it for me?”
“An exchange.” Her expression lifts as if she already has an idea. “A thought crossed my mind earlier.”
“Okay, throw it out and let’s brainstorm from there.”
“I need to get comfortable for this.” She climbs to the middle of the bed and crosses her legs. Presenting her hand out like a platter, she says, “You’re helping me with my problem, which I never pay you back for in its entirety, and I help you out with your problem?”
“What’s my problem?”
“Your image.”
I sit up when the idea hits like lightning.
“Oh damn, you’re right.” Her smile spreads across her face, her demeanor already shifting for the better.
I cross the room in three steps and sit in front of her.
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Her shrug is so blasé like this is no big deal when it changes everything. “You’re the one.”
“The one woman you mentioned, right?”
We don’t need to get into the weeds of my developing feelings. “Semantics, but yeah.”
She scoots closer. “I can be there when you need me, need to be seen, and what? On your arm?”
“On my arm, at events. Are you okay being the target of long lens cameras and being asked ridiculous questions that will sound insultingly personal?”
Pushing up on her hands, she kisses me. It’s too fast for my liking, but she instigated it, so I’ll take it. “Can I say no comment?”
“It’s best if you do.”
She grins. “Then I accept the job.”
“And the offer?”
Laughing, she playfully shoves my shoulder. “I’m not doing this for fun, you know.”
And therein lies the problem. Like she said, with good comes the reverse. I just traded a chance for a real relationship for one that’s made for public consumption.
I was never the prize. It was always the cottage. I shouldn’t be so surprised, then. I don’t think it’s a shock, though. I think it’s disappointment. Is this what heartache feels like? The connection I have . . . had with her opened my eyes to the possibility of dating.
Just like the sun setting before we could watch it, the potential for love slipped through my fingers before I got to hold on to it. Now, it’s gone.