12. Summer
CHAPTER 12
Summer
I wake up at 7:30 on Saturday morning to the sun shining through my curtains and a text from Ryan asking if nine works for him to stop by. I shoot him a quick reply confirming the time before hopping out of bed and into the shower. I try not to think too closely about why I’m making sure every inch of me is smooth, going over my legs a few times with the razor to catch stray hairs.
I apply some product to my damp hair and leave it to air dry, preferring the natural waves to the curling iron I subject my hair to most work days. I stare at my closet, daunted by the task of picking out an outfit.
On Saturdays, I typically stick to sweats and an oversized t-shirt if I have nowhere to be. But since a cute contractor will be seeing me today, I want to look a little more put together. I just really feel the need to upgrade from “drowned rat.”
I settle on a pair of light-wash mom jeans and a cropped, loose-fitting t-shirt that ends just at the high waist. The jeans are just tight enough around the waist and butt to accentuate my figure without making me feel like a sausage stuffed into a too-small casing. After a minor debate with myself, I opt for some light makeup and leave my room before I can second-guess everything. Jeez, Summer. He’s helping you with repairs, not taking you on a date .
I head into the kitchen and make a half pot of coffee, wanting to have extra in case Ryan wants a cup. I pick up my current read, Ghosted, and sit down in the breakfast nook while I wait for the coffee to brew. Just as the spirit-seeing Rae and her newly deceased Tinder date run into each other for the first time since he died, the coffee machine beeps letting me know it’s ready. As I pour myself a cup, I wonder if having a ghost for a boyfriend wouldn’t be so bad. Kinda hot if you ask me. They have that brooding smolder automatically built-in with the whole being dead thing.
I sit down, ready to pick up where I left off in my book when there’s a knock at the door. I look outside through the tangle of flowers planted in the window boxes and see Ryan’s silver truck parked by the curb. Ryan is my kind of guy: Not only on time, but a hair early. “Come on in!” I call.
I close the book, inserting my favorite bookmark that Emma made me out of construction paper and glitter glue before meeting Ryan’s striking green eyes as he walks into my kitchen. The sight of him in his dark jeans and light-blue shirt nearly knocks the breath out of me. He smiles, seemingly unaware of the effect he has on me, and leans against the island. “Hey, Summer. Good morning so far?”
“No complaints, but it’s only nine AM. The day is young,” I reply as I stand. “Want some coffee?” I’m trying to hide how flustered I feel after our last interaction. Luckily, Ryan doesn’t seem to pick up on my awkwardness.
“Oh, sure.” He sets his tool bag on the floor by the wall and comes to take the mug I poured. He adds some sugar and takes a sip. “So, what are you reading?”
I blush, crossing my arms. “Just a book. I read a lot to pass the time. ”
“Well obviously it’s a book,” he chuckles, “What’s it about?” He leans against the counter again, mug in hand.
“You can’t laugh, okay?” He nods sagely, so I hesitantly continue, “It’s a romance about a girl who sees ghosts. Everyone she tells thinks she’s a freak, so she eventually just stops telling people. Then, she meets a guy on Tinder that she really likes. They go on a date, but he dies the next day in a freak accident, and then they meet again when he’s a ghost. It’s called Ghosted because she thought he ghosted her after their date. She realizes weeks later what happened to him. That’s as far as I’ve gotten,” I shrug, “I know it’s not, like, Dostoyevsky, but I like to read fun books with happily ever afters. I want an escape when I read.” I realize how nice it is to talk to someone about my books who genuinely seems interested. I can always talk to Steph, but I usually keep it to myself since she’s not a huge romance reader.
To my surprise, he says, “I don’t even know who that person is, but I get what you mean. It’s the same reason people watch TV or sports. They just want to step outside themselves and their lives for a bit. Sounds like an interesting book. I’m not much of a reader myself, but maybe you can tell me the highlights after you read it.” I blink.
Is he implying he wants to see me again? Or is he teasing me and I’m just not getting it?
“You don’t think it’s dumb?” I ask, baldly.
“Why would I? Love is a huge part of the human experience. It’s arguably the best part. What’s so dumb about wanting to read about that?” His brows draw together in genuine puzzlement.
“I don’t know, it can be unrealistic. No guy, no relationship looks like they do in romances,” I repeat what I’ve heard from Jared too many times to count with a shrug. Even though I left him because I couldn’t accept that, a small part of me still fears he’s right. I can’t help poking that old bruise to see if it still hurts.
“A dead guy and a medium might be pushing it for the sake of realism.” Ryan smiles at me and I laugh. “But I don’t think it’s so unrealistic to be in a relationship that makes both people feel loved. My parents are like that. They met in their early twenties, fell in love hard and fast, and have lived happily ever after, I guess you could say. After my dad retired last year, they took off on an RV road trip around the U.S. I get picture updates every few days and they seem as happy as can be.” He shows me his phone and scrolls through some pictures of his parents. One of them is outside their RV in the desert somewhere, another is of them posing in front of a “Welcome to Georgia” sign. They look happy, beaming at the camera from their awkward selfie angles.
“I love how happy they look, even after, what… thirty years?” I ask.
“Thirty-two if you include the year they dated before marriage,” he replies, a soft smile tugging at his lips.
“That’s actually one of the sweetest things I’ve ever seen,” I state, gesturing to his phone.
“I know, isn’t it sick?” he asks with a laugh. He shrugs, “I want that someday. They gave me one hell of a blueprint for happiness.” He looks down at his phone, making the screen go dark before he shoves it in his pocket.
“Happily ever afters are kind of foreign to me in the real world,” I say, looking down into my half-drunk mug of coffee. “My dad was a deadbeat and my parents split before I was even born. They fought like cats and dogs until the day my mom died. She passed from an aneurysm when Emma was one. She was at work and just… dropped dead. This was her house, actually.” I take a second to look around the kitchen, my eyes catching on the permanent marker lines along the pantry that marked my growth and the ticks in dark blue pen that mark Emma’s. “And well, you’ve heard about Jared and I. So, yeah, happily ever afters seem… I don’t know. Unreachable for me, I guess.” I clear my throat and turn my back on him, rinsing my mug in the sink.
A large, warm hand rests on my shoulder and his low voice rumbles in my ear, “I’m sorry about your mom, Summer. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been trying to be there for your daughter while you were grieving.” I feel my tense shoulders drop at the way he gets to the crux of the issue so easily.
I blow out a breath and turn, his hand falling away, “It was. I was only twenty when she passed, so I felt robbed. Even though the timing of Emma was rough because I’d just graduated high school, I’m kind of glad I had her so young. My mom got to meet her and be a grandma before she passed.” I move away from him and shake my head at myself, “God, I’m sorry. I’m just trauma dumping all over you and we don’t even know each other.” I hide my face in my hands, wishing there was a way to suck all the words back into my lungs.
“Hey, don’t do that,” he says, gently removing my hands from my face. He keeps his hold on my wrists, and waits until I look him in the eye, “I know we just met, but I like you, Summer. I want to know you.”
“Like, as friends?” I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. I can’t believe I just friend-zoned the hottest, possibly sweetest guy who has ever looked my way.
He steps back, dropping my wrists. “Yeah, friends.” He scratches the back of his neck.
“So, friend. Are you gonna take a look at the leak, or what? I’m not paying you to stand around my kitchen drinking my coffee,” I say jokingly, trying to divert attention away from the awkwardness that permeates the air like cheap perfume.
“You’re not paying me at all,” he replies drily, bending down to pick up his bag. I start to protest, but he talks over me, “Friends don’t charge friends for small jobs, Summer. I’m going to go take a look in the attic again and then the roof. Be back in a bit.” He heads out and I try valiantly not to stare at the way his jeans perfectly frame his ass as he walks away. I sigh.
Friends don’t stare at each other’s asses either, Summer.
A short while later, Ryan joins me in the living room where I’m continuing to read, Ghosted. “Anything good happen yet?” He asks, sitting down on the couch at the other end. His eyes snag on the solo picture of Emma that hangs in the place of the family photo that used to be on the wall. To my relief, he doesn’t remark on it and slides his eyes to me instead.
“Not really. Rae is trying to figure out how Dean died. Turns out it wasn’t a freak accident, but a murder,” I set the book on the coffee table and turn to him.
“An unsolved murder is pretty juicy.”
“ Oh. I thought you were asking if they’ve figured out how to have sex yet. The answer is no by the way.” I tuck my feet to the side and lean against the back of the couch.
“I think an unsolved murder is more important than ghost sex, Summer.” He raises his eyebrows at me.
“Mmm, I beg to differ. Maybe in a thriller, but this is a romance. The murder is just an extra plot line on top of their undying love.”
“ Ba-dum-tss.” He mimes hitting drums at my pun and we both laugh. “So you think they’ll be able to figure it out?”
“The murder? Yeah, romance books tend to tie everything up neatly, even murder plots.” I shrug a shoulder and try not to ogle the way the planes of his stomach flex under his t-shirt as he sits up straighter.
“No, the sex. How would that even work?” He seems to think over his own question, brows narrowing in a deliciously broody way.
I get hot all over at the thought. “I’ll let you know when I find out,” I say against my better judgment. I change the subject for my own sanity, “So. My leak. Is it bad?”
“Luckily, no. It looks like your roof wasn’t draining the water properly before I fixed it. It was clogged up in one spot, which led to your leak. I cleaned out under the tiles and added some flashing to the spot. It’ll improve the flow a lot, so you shouldn’t have any more problems.”
“I don’t know what any of that means, but I’ll take it as a good sign that it didn’t take you too long to fix.” He snorts and nudges my knee with the toe of his boot. “Is there any water damage?”
“Surprisingly no, other than your stain,” he points to the ceiling. “I did leave a fan running up in your attic to help dry it out. Do you want me to paint your ceiling?”
I wave away his offer. While I wouldn’t mind another excuse to see him, I have a sneaking suspicion he wouldn’t let me pay him. Again. “Oh, no. I can do that. I have leftover paint from a couple of years ago when I repainted all of the ceilings.”
“I can help if you want,” he offers with a shrug.
“I can’t in good conscience let you help since you won’t let me pay you.” I shake my head.
“How about you take me to your favorite dinner place after?” he asks. At my raised eyebrow he says, “As friends! A nice, friendly dinner outing. I need more options. I’ve been eating at the same Chinese takeout place once a week since I moved in.”
“China House?” I ask. He nods, so I continue. “It’s good, but yeah you need to branch out.” I give myself a moment to think and say, “Okay. We’ll go to Little Ravenna’s afterward. Best lasagna ever according to my six-year-old. How about two weeks from now? Emma will be at her dad's again, so we won’t be tripping over her Barbies and Legos while we paint.”
“That sounds good to me. I love Italian food. My Grandma on my dad’s side was Italian, so this place better be good or my Nonna will roll over in her grave.”
“High stakes,” I say with a laugh.
“Definitely,” he replies solemnly. “Okay, well I have to get going. I have another job in thirty minutes. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.” He stands from the couch and groans, pressing his fists into his lower back until something cracks. My mouth runs dry at the sliver of tanned skin peeking out above the waistband of his jeans during his stretch.
“Sounds good,” I manage to squeak out.
“Lock up behind me,” he says bossily, heading out the door. I hate how much I like him bossing me around.
I roll my eyes, getting up to do as he asks. “Do you have a safety kink?” I fight the urge to clap my hand over my mouth and feel a raging blush bloom over my chest, neck, and face. I can’t believe I just asked him that.
His eyes flare as he looks over his shoulder at me from the porch. “I seem to when it comes to you,” he says simply. I close the door and lean my head against it, feeling oddly like I need to catch my breath.