Chapter Twenty-Four Summer
Chapter Twenty-Four
Summer
Ezra has been with me every day for a week, and I’m not sure whether I’m touched or irritated by it.
He is the one who said he didn’t do relationships. He is the one who said he didn’t do love.
This certainly feels like both.
Dad is home, and the only reason Ezra isn’t here right now is that I finally forced him out last night.
I couldn’t take another moment of his longing looks or his sad eyes, mainly because they were working.
I love him—of course I love him—and deep down I’m glad he’s been right by my side through all of this. I’m not sure I could have survived it otherwise.
But he’s also a reminder of just how badly I fucked this whole thing up.
I should have called my father’s doctor the second he mentioned heartburn. Maybe it wouldn’t have gotten so bad that he had a heart attack at his desk.
He was alone.
That part gutted me when I found out. I cried for two hours straight until I couldn’t cry anymore.
It was Deputy Jenkins—thank you, Jenkins—who found him just a minute or two later. They performed CPR on him until the ambulance arrived, where they stabilized him and rushed him to the hospital.
I was eating cereal. I was giggling. I was fucking making out with my situationship.
What kind of person does that make me? What kind of daughter? I moved back here for him, and I’ve been so wrapped up in someone else that I let his health get to the point of major surgery and a multiday hospital stay.
I’ve let everyone down, including my biggest cheerleader and the man who has been the only family I have had since I was eight.
I’m not going to let anything distract me again. Not Ezra, not Stick Taps, and certainly not some romanticized idea of opening my own restaurant.
Odette was beyond understanding when I told her I wouldn’t be able to make it to her wedding. She didn’t even mention how it would ruin the symmetry of the table if Ezra didn’t have a date.
And we’re swimming in flowers to the point that I had to tell the ladies down at the flower shop to start donating every order that comes through.
Our fridge is exploding with casseroles, and our counters are overflowing with baked goods.
I eventually had to put a sign on the door and had the powers that be blast it out to the citywide newsletter that we cannot accept any more visitors.
It’s safe to say that if my father chooses to continue his campaign for reelection as sheriff, he won’t have any trouble getting Port Harbor to rally behind him.
Selfishly, I hope he doesn’t. I hope he retires and settles down. We still don’t know what caused the blockage, but I doubt the stresses of his job helped.
“How are you doing? Do you need anything?”
My father sighs from his favorite recliner, then points the remote at the TV, muting it. “I love you, kiddo, but if you ask me those questions—or any variation, for that matter—again, I might have to kick you out on the curb.”
I grimace. Shit. I guess I have been asking him those same questions over and over.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I’m just worried about you. You did just have a heart attack, after all.”
“I am well aware of what happened and how serious it was, Summer. But I’m okay. I am going to continue to be okay. I have a great team taking care of me at the hospital, so you can stop fretting over me every second of the day.”
I sigh, then nod.
“Besides, don’t you have a wedding to be at?”
“I’m not going.”
“Why the hell not?”
I point to his heart. “Uh, hello?”
“Well, I’m not having a heart attack right now. And I don’t plan to have one tonight either, so go. Have fun for both of us. Maybe bring me home a slice of cake.”
I roll my eyes. “Just hush and turn the TV back on. I’m happy where I’m at.”
Truthfully, I am bummed to be missing the wedding.
I was looking forward to it. I wanted to see Odette in her gown.
I wanted to see Noah cry as he watched her walk down the aisle.
Ezra and I even had a bet placed on it. I want to see Izzy, too, since it’s been so many years, and meet her French boyfriend.
But most of all . . . most of all, I wanted to dance with Ezra.
I know he said he didn’t dance, but I have no doubt I could have convinced him to do it.
My heart tugs at the thought of him being there alone. Is he sitting there with that perpetual frown lining his face? Is he slinging back too many ciders? Or is he having a great time, a break from all my moping?
I don’t know, and I guess I won’t.
I wiggle down on the couch, pulling my blanket higher and getting comfy for a night in.
My eyes grow heavy, my breaths begin to slow, and I’m just about asleep when a loud noise wakes me up.
I look over at my father, who is wide awake.
He shrugs. “Don’t look at me. I wasn’t the one who rang the doorbell.”
With a groan, I throw the cover off and push my feet into my slippers before heading for the front door.
“This had better not be another well-wisher,” I mutter. “Can’t they read the sign?”
I yank open the door, ready to tell whoever it is to get lost, but all the words get stuck in my throat.
Because standing on my front porch is Ezra—and he’s wearing a tux.
He looks like a vision. An absolute dream come true, and maybe he is.
I love you.
The three words echo in my head, and I want to say them so badly, but I can’t. Not when my ailing father is right in the other room, proving to me that I don’t deserve this. Not when I failed him like I did.
“What are you . . .” I clear my throat. “What are you doing here?”
“Not doing a promposal, whatever the fuck those are,” he says. His lips twitch just ever so slightly, and then he tucks his hands into his pockets. “I’m, uh, here to pick you up for the wedding.”
I narrow my eyes. “I’m not going to the wedding. I already talked to Odette about it.”
“Right.” He nods. “But see, I also talked to Odette about it, and she wants you there.”
“Ezra, I—”
“And Noah and Izzy and the entire town. We all want you there.”
“You talked to the entire town?”
He scrapes his shoe against the top step. “Well, it wasn’t the entire town, but the point is the same—the people want to see you.”
I sigh. “As sweet as that is, I can’t leave. I—”
“Can. You can leave.”
I turn to find my father walking slowly toward us, leaning on his cane for support.
“Dad.” I rush to this side. “What are you doing up?”
He waves me away. “I’m fine. Been walking on my own for longer than you’ve been alive.”
“But that was before the heart attack, remember?”
“Did you say fart attack?”
I scowl at him. “Dad.”
“Summer.”
We stare at each other in a heated standoff.
He’s the one to cave first.
“Just like Ezra talked to Odette, I also talked to Ezra. That’s why he’s here.
He’s taking you to the wedding because I want you to go.
I need you to go. I love you to death, but I need a few minutes alone.
You’ve been up my ass—which I appreciate, by the way—since the surgery, and sometimes a man just needs a minute to breathe, you know?
So go. Go to the wedding. Have fun. Take the night off.
Get wasted.” He gives Ezra a look. “But no drinking and driving.”
Ezra holds his hands up innocently. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”
“Good.” Dad looks at me again. “Please, Summer. Do this for me, will you? We need someone there to represent the family. Might as well be you. I don’t know if you remember this, but I did just have a heart attack. I’m not much in the mood for dancing.”
He winks at me, and I want to scream and cry and throw my arms around his neck and tell him how much I love him.
Instead, I settle for a peck on the cheek. “All right. I’ll go. I just . . . shit,” I mutter. “I was going to curl my hair and wear a dress and . . . and . . . I don’t have time. The wedding starts soon.”
“You have time,” Ezra says. “And I’ll help.”
“What? How are you going to help?”
“I don’t know?” He shrugs. “I’ll . . . I’ll . . . I’ll curl your hair while you do your makeup.”
I lift my brows. “You know how to curl hair?”
“No, but it can’t be that hard to figure out, right?”
My dad whistles lowly. “Oh boy. Don’t know what you got yourself into with that one.” He points to the recliner with his cane. “I’ll just be over here.”
Ezra curling my hair sounds so ridiculous that I have to see it.
“Fine,” I relent. “Follow me.”
He closes the front door behind him, and I notice he leaves a wide berth behind me as we make our way farther into the house.
I tell myself it’s for the best, even though it doesn’t feel like it is.
I grab my makeup kit and curling iron from under the sink and take them both to the vanity in my bedroom.
I usually just wear lipstick and maybe a few swipes of mascara if I’m feeling it, but a wedding definitely calls for a full face.
I plug the curling iron in and let it heat up. Then I settle onto the stool in front of the mirror.
Ezra sits on my bed, looking comically big, and I begin my routine, pretending he isn’t there as I spritz my hair with heat protector.
It’s pointless, though. I can feel his eyes on me with every move I make. It’s distracting, and I put way too much primer on, but I push through.
After a few minutes he stands and settles behind me.
I try to keep my head as still as possible as he grabs a chunk of my hair.
It’s ridiculous. He’s just touching my hair. But I swear he’s touching every part of me. It’s been too long since I’ve been in his bed, since I’ve felt his arms around me, since I’ve had his lips on mine.
I miss it. I miss him.
His brows furrow as he tries to figure out how it works. It’s cute. He’s cute, especially in that tux that fits him like a dream.
When he sorts it out, he wraps the hair around the barrel and squeezes tightly.
I laugh. “You don’t have to hold it so hard. You’ll give me creases.”
“Shit. Sorry.” He drops the level, quickly pulling away. “Ow! Fuck!”
“Are you okay?” I ask as he sucks his finger into his mouth. “Let me see.”
“I’m fine,” he says, pulling his hand away when I try to reach for it.
The gesture stings, but it’s only fair. I’ve done the same to him all week.