Chapter 4 Summer
SUMMER
I checked my messages as my coffee brewed. Yesterday I had texted the girls group chat (currently named The Lopsided Booby Club) to tell them about running into Jae.
SUMMER
I just need you all to be prepared for how hot he is when you see him around town
IVY
I remember him! He was a shy one compared to his brothers
Have you met them?
SUMMER
Not yet. Why?
IVY
Maybe you will think they are as hot as he is
SUMMER
Whatever you are implying…no
IVY
No?
SUMMER
A couple of hours later, Olive chimed in.
OLIVE
He sounds like the guy in one of my books
His best friend’s sister accidentally handcuffed herself in his closet
So don’t do that
Unless you want to
SUMMER
How do you…accidentally handcuff yourself in someone’s closet?
OLIVE
I swear it made sense when I was reading it
Lucy’s message came through after I was asleep.
LUCY
Why are there no pictures?
Not even a blurry one from far away?
SUMMER HOW COULD YOU
I didn’t want to text the girls back when it was so early. Our schedules were completely out of whack. I guess we were all busy these days.
Seeing my bakery made the early morning wake-up worth it. I whistled as I carried in my produce delivery, leaving a small handful of berries as an offering on the altar and lighting a stick of incense. The familiar spiced wood smoke curled around me.
This was my favorite part of the day. Just me and my big headphones, Blissa Nova’s new album on rotation, prepping my little heart out. I sang along as I shaped all my proofed dough from yesterday into baguettes.
A dull, repetitive thud filtered through between tracks. What was that? Frowning, I removed my headphones and it got louder. I had the urge to brandish my cleaver.
An irate-looking man was knocking on my window. Dirty blond hair, stubbled jaw, and flames behind his eyes. I wish I had one of those doors with a little hatch so I could just see what he wanted through that.
“Can I help you?” I asked in my most bored tone.
“My staff and I are trying to work,” he said through gritted teeth.
Now that I could get a better look at him in his chef whites, I knew exactly who he was. Mercer. Jae’s brother. The guy who did not know what market research was.
“Go ahead,” I waved my hand with a flourish. “I’m not stopping you.”
The line between his brow deepened. “Your singing is distracting.”
He had the audacity to open a patisserie next to my bakery and then complain about how I behaved in my own shop?
“Wear earplugs,” I said sharply. “And do a better job of picking the location of your next store. Just because this is your third—”
“Fourth.”
My god, he was insufferable.
“— fourth store doesn’t make you better than any of the small businesses in this town just trying to get by.”
I went to shut the door on his face and he stopped me, bracing his arm above my head. “Wait.”
I stood my ground even though he was close enough to scent me. The initial irritation in his eyes faded, and self-consciousness loosened his fierce posture. “I didn’t know your bakery was going to be here when I bought this space.”
A trace of his faint beta scent hung between us. Salt and lime, sharpened by his nerves. Bluster hiding vulnerability.
I frowned, unsure of what to make of him. “Okay, fine. Let’s pretend I believe you.”
Mercer swallowed. “Look, I’m not…I don’t think I’m better. I chose to open the store because I used to live here. I’ve lived in a lot of places, but nowhere else has felt like Starlight Grove.”
Well, of course not. We were one of a kind.
“I saw it as a chance to spend some time in the town again. Build something I could always come back to no matter where else I ended up. The perfect space became available and I took it without thinking. I’m sorry.”
Was he really going to make me be the bigger person here? Why did he have to tell me all that? I was so comfortable with hating his guts based on only knowing one thing about him.
I sighed. “Stanley wants us to form the cornerstone of the Artisan Quarter.”
“What?”
“I dunno, either. But if he thinks we can work side by side then…maybe we can try.”
The corner of Mercer’s mouth simmered with a hidden smile. Tilted. Like Jae’s. “I’m Mercer.”
I know . “Summer,” I said instead.
“Summer,” he repeated. A low murmur like he was trying it out. “Truce?”
“Fine.”
He gripped my hand firmly and we shook on it. His palm was warm but the storm-like gray of his eyes should’ve been a warning.
“Thank you.” Mercer leaned close. “Any chance you can stop singing?”
I released him immediately and shoved him so hard he stumbled back onto the pavement. “No! I was here first!”
“Come on, Summer! We have a truce!”
“Not anymore!”
I stalked back to the kitchen and channeled all my annoyance into the best karaoke session of my life.
Some people unwound from their workweek with Friday-night drinks.
For me, it was a late family dinner at my parents’ house on Sunday nights, eating my way through whatever incredible spread they dished up for us.
It was usually a mix of whatever Ba had left over from Red Lantern and homestyle Vietnamese dishes from Má.
Despite the muggy heat, I dove into my canh b?u th?t viên with gusto.
Ba pointed at the opo squash floating in the rich broth alongside pork meatballs. “Is it okay?” he asked anxiously. “My first one this season.”
He had been nurturing the gourds for the last few months. My dad was in his sixties, ran a successful restaurant, and his idea of unwinding was gardening in every spare second he had. The concept of bed rot would blow his mind.
“It’s great, Ba.”
“Ah, good.”
I hid my smile with my spoon. He was so proud of his veggie garden. Ba grew what we needed for our meals that were harder to find in stores—like betel leaves or bitter melons.
Má was negotiating with a pouting Winnie to try just one bite. Lina’s youngest, Mabel, was starting to droop on her shoulder. My brother-in-law, Bryan, took her immediately so Lina could eat. As a bonded female alpha and male omega couple, it was hard to tell who doted on the other more.
Lina commuted to Boston during the week, working at a large marketing agency, and Bryan worked from home as an animation illustrator. They relied on my parents to help with the girls. My old room was now Winnie and Mabel’s domain, and my parents took great joy in spoiling them rotten.
“Summer. The patisserie. I heard people say it is famous. Is that true?” Má asked, her mouth pursed with worry.
“Not famous,” I quickly reassured her. “They have several locations, that’s all.”
“Is your bakery in danger?”
“Should I talk to Stanley?” Ba suggested.
I knew they were just looking out for me, but having parents who always imagined the worst-case scenario was very nerve-racking.
“Stanley is the one who approved the permits, Ba. But please, it’s not a big deal.”
“Because Summer is going to crush them,” Lina said fiercely.
Oh my god, that wasn’t going to help at all. I shot my sister an exasperated look and she just shrugged.
“I have a truce with Mercer.” I recalled pushing him out onto the street. “Maybe.”
“You sell completely different things,” Alvin mumbled, not looking up from his bowl. “I looked up the menu from his other stores.”
“Whose side are you on?” Lina demanded, outraged.
Winnie wriggled out of Má’s clutches and climbed onto my lap. The toddler pickiness had kicked in hard the last couple of months. A grandchild who didn’t want to eat was probably Má’s worst nightmare.
“Dì, look,” Winnie said proudly, pulling a plush key chain of an orange cat dressed as a salmon sashimi from her daisy-printed overalls pocket. So that’s what that enormous lump had been.
“Winnie, did I leave this in your playroom after I moved out?” My parents were probably relieved that my various collections were all finally out of the house—my sneakers, my earrings, and all my collectibles.
I was going through a blind box kick at the moment, chasing down these disgruntled, squashy-faced cats dressed as food.
Some people thought they were hideous but they were wrong.
I liked lining them up on one side of my nest. This one must’ve rolled away when I was packing.
“This is mine,” she said quite seriously.
“Did you buy it?” I distinctly remembered camping out on the website at six a.m., waiting for a restock.
“I did.” Winnie nodded, her uneven pigtails bouncing. “I have money.”
She was lying out of her little three-almost-four-year-old teeth, but I was a weak auntie with no willpower.
At least it wasn’t one of the ultra-rare ones.
“All right,” I conceded, tucking it back into her overalls.
“You can sit with me, but you can’t have any of my yummy soup,” I said sternly, poking her in the tummy.
Winnie giggled and proceeded to eat the rest of my bowl. Lina mouthed a grateful “ Thank you ” to me from across the table.
I left dinner laden down with take-out boxes of leftovers and new crayon artwork for my fridge. Sunshine warmth lingered in the late evening air as I walked home, accompanied by the hum of crickets.
Marisol was closing up Mariposa Market tonight. At least, she was supposed to be. The other half of Starlight Grove’s busybody committee was talking animatedly with a customer, blockaded between the door and one of the display carts she had conveniently stopped dragging inside.
The customer was an out-of-towner, for sure. Who wore business casual on a Sunday night? His mahogany brown hair was manicured into a perfect swoop across his forehead, and I could see the flash of panic in his blue eyes from here. Poor guy was just trying to get home with his six-pack of beer.
He didn’t fit Marisol’s usual taste for paramours—salt and pepper with a thick, rumbly accent was more her style—but maybe she was branching out.
I sauntered over in case he needed rescuing. “Marisol, are you luring unsuspecting men into your web again?”