Chapter Seventeen Ezra
Chapter Seventeen
Ezra
The skating might have been a bad idea.
I admit that I pushed myself out there to impress Summer, and I’m paying for it now.
I pull a bottle of Advil from my pocket and pop two more for the third time today.
It’s more than I’m supposed to be taking, but I need it.
I’ve been more active in the last three weeks than I’ve been in a long time.
Between the skating last week, my regular lessons with the kids, and all the incredible sex, I’m pushing my limits.
Not that I’m complaining about the sex. How could I?
It’s never felt like this before. And even when I am in pain, Summer realizes it, and she takes over.
I’ve never had someone understand what I’ve needed so well before.
It’s kind of scary, but not so frightening that I want to stop what we’re doing.
I should, though. We should. My feelings about relationships haven’t changed, and even if they did, it wouldn’t matter. Summer is going back to Chicago at some point. This could never work long term. I guess it doesn’t matter if I stop it, then. I should just enjoy the fun while it lasts, right?
And fun is exactly what it’s been. In more ways than one too. Even when my first official cooking lesson went so badly off the rails that we had to air out the kitchen from all the smoke, it was still a good time.
Can I really be at fault, though? If Summer hadn’t worn that apron that had no business being so fucking hot, I wouldn’t have burned dinner. I don’t even know where she got it from, but it gave me all sorts of ideas and images that I couldn’t help but kiss her.
Though she distracted me, it was nice to see her in her element.
It makes me feel even more confident in her ability to run the Stick Taps kitchen.
She’s so savvy and innovative that there’s no way she’s not going to make something amazing that our customers will love.
Just sitting here today, I’ve already had three people stop by and tell me they can’t wait to try whatever we’re cooking up.
Luckily for us, the remodel is still on schedule, so they may get their wish before too long.
“Hey, boss.” I look up from my laptop, which is sitting on one of the many pub-style tables in the taproom, to find Warner staring at me.
“Yes?” I’ve been slightly less cold to him since Summer reassured me there’s nothing going on between them, but it still annoys me that he flirted with her so openly.
“Uh, wanted to let you know that Summer’s going home early.”
My blood rushes to my head, and I’m flying out of my chair in record time. “What? Why?”
“She threw up. She thinks it’s something she ate.”
Summer is sick? I start shoving papers into folders, not knowing if that’s even where they go or not, and close my laptop.
“She’s grabbing her stuff now and getting out of here,” Warner continues. “Just wanted to let you know, since it’s trivia night. We might need extra hands.”
“Call Sophie. Get her in here. Promise her Saturday off in exchange for the hours.”
“You got it.” He nods, but he doesn’t move.
“What?” I bark at him. “Something about that confusing?”
“Uh, no. No. I just . . . Where are you going?”
“I’m going to check on Summer.”
“Ah.” He pushes his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
“Realize what?” I ask, tossing my laptop into my bag.
“That you two were a thing.”
I pause, casting a glance up at him.
He puts his hands in the air. “Hey, it’s fine. My lips are sealed. I just wouldn’t have been hitting on her had I known she was off the market.”
“Well, she is.” Fuck. Why did I say that? “I mean, it’s not . . . we’re not . . .”
He chuckles. “It’s fine. Your secret’s safe with me, boss.”
He gives me a knowing smile, then raps his knuckles against the table before turning to leave. I stand there staring after him, wondering where the hell he got the idea that Summer and I are together.
I mean, we are. Sort of. But how the fuck would Warner know? We’ve been careful at work. We hardly even interact. Checking on my employee shouldn’t be a red flag either. I’d do that for anyone.
“Warner!” I call out to him.
He about-faces. “Yes?”
“How?”
“What?”
“How do you know?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Just a hunch. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy before. Couldn’t help but notice it started when she showed up.”
He dips his head toward me before carrying on.
If he’s noticed, does that mean others have? Does Noah know? Does Summer’s dad? She’s barely spending time at home. He has to be aware that something is going on. Not necessarily with me, but still.
Are we making this more obvious than we think?
I don’t know. All I know is that I need to find Summer and make sure she’s okay.
Five minutes later I’m walking out of the cidery just as she’s pulling open the door of the old cruiser that’s still somehow running.
It spent three days in the shop getting the starter replaced, and apparently that’s not the first time in the last year.
It was on the tip of my tongue to offer her one of my cars to drive, but I never did.
“Sunny!”
She looks up at me, and I can tell instantly that she doesn’t feel good. She’s pale, her eyes rimmed red like she’s been crying, and her lips are chapped, likely from lack of fluids.
She was fine this morning when I arrived at the cidery. I wonder what happened between now and then.
I jog the rest of the way over to her, my hip hating me for doing so, but I ignore it.
She holds her hand out when I get close. “Stay away. I’ve been puking, and I’m sure I smell awful.”
I ignore that, too, pressing closer. I tug her close, and she melts against me instantly, her arms going around me limply.
“No offense, but you look like shit.”
She laughs lightly. “You keep being so sweet to me, and I might think you like me.”
I do like you.
The words rocket into me, and I’m stunned by how true they are. Not just for obvious reasons, like the sex, either. No, it’s just her, and that fucking terrifies me.
“What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. I was tired after my shift yesterday and didn’t feel like cooking just for myself, since my dad was busy at a function for the election.
So I grabbed a salad from the grocery store.
It looked fine, but apparently it wasn’t.
My stomach has been off all day, and I finally threw up a little bit ago.
” She huffs out a breath, like she’s tired just from talking.
“I thought it was just going to be a one-and-done deal, but once I started, it wouldn’t stop.
” Another deep breath, almost like she’s trying not to puke right now. “I am never eating salad again.”
I repress my urge to laugh, because even though this isn’t funny, there is something so cute about seeing her so sullen over lettuce.
“Come on,” I tell her, dragging her away from her car.
“What? Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you home.”
“What?” She tries to dig her heels in, but it’s pointless. “No, Ezra. You couldn’t. It’s broad daylight. People will see us.”
“I don’t care. You’re sick, Summer. You look like you’re about to pass out at any moment. You’re in no condition to drive. I’m taking you.”
“But . . .” Except that’s all she says, allowing me to continue steering her toward my car.
I unlock the BMW M6 Competition and help her into the passenger seat. She winces the whole way, and I hate that she’s feeling like this. I’d give anything to trade places.
For a split second, I worry about her getting sick on the ride, but then I realize I don’t care. It’s a car. I can clean it up.
I reach over her, pulling the seat belt across her chest. She must really not be feeling good, considering she doesn’t protest.
Once she’s strapped in, I hurry my way to the driver’s side and slide behind the wheel.
“Do we need to stop for anything on the way?” I ask her as she curls into herself, facing the door.
“Maybe some soup? Gatorade?”
“I can handle that.” I start the car, and she grimaces at the rumble from the engine. Even though it’s summer, I turned the heat up because she’s shivering. “I promise to drive the speed limit.”
“Thank you, Ezra,” she says softly.
“Anytime, Sunny.”
And I mean it more than she knows.
Traffic is surprisingly rough. With Port Harbor being such a small town, it’s not usually something we have to worry about, but some days I swear everybody is out on the road.
Today is one of those days.
When I finally manage to pull into Summer’s father’s driveway, she’s passed out in the passenger seat.
I shut off the car and round the front to her side. She barely wakes up as I lift her into my arms and carry her toward the house. My hip protests the whole time, but I don’t care. I’m not about to make her walk.
“Sunny,” I say softly into her ear. “I need to get you inside. Do you have a key?”
“Hmm?” She blinks once, twice. Then she looks around, realizing what’s going on. “Wait, what are you doing? Ezra, your hip.”
“Shh. I’m fine,” I tell her, readjusting her, and she’s already turning into me and snuggling closer. “I just need your key.”
“Code. No key.”
“What is it?”
“Zero-three-one-five. Mom’s birthday. Dad never wants to admit it out loud, but he misses her. I do too.”
I smile at her sleepy confession, then punch the numbers into the keypad. The door makes a whirring noise, and I try the handle. It opens.
I’m surprised that, despite the house’s exterior looking a bit older, the inside has been updated. It’s not as modern as my place, but it’s not as dated as I had pictured it would be either.
I save my exploring for later and carry an already-sleeping Summer through the house to where I assume the bedrooms are. I try two before I find what I think is hers.
A pale-pink floral wallpaper covers most of the room, and the rest is painted a soft color to match it. The furniture appears to have once belonged to a teenager, but it’s still nice and clearly well maintained.
I couldn’t imagine going back to my childhood home like this. I feel so far removed from that life. Summer’s braver than I am, that’s for sure.