Summer Kind of Love

Chapter 1

The rain’s soothing dribble against the window is the only thing keeping me calm as my finger hovers over the mouse. Just click it, I repeat to myself, over and over again, trying to ignore the frantic thumping of my heart against my ribcage. You know you’ve got to do this.

Blinking back at me on my laptop’s screen is the final step of the booking process for Glendale Beach Resort’s oceanfront single cottage. It shouldn’t be such a big deal, but the slight trembling of my fingertips and single bead of sweat on my forehead tells another story.

“Goddammit, why does everything have to be so hard?” I sigh as I push the laptop away from my thighs. Ever since Dad left, it seems like I’ve been asking myself this question more and more often.

I quickly look around my living room/kitchen/dining room. From the window to my left, several office windows light up the evening at the next-door Concordia University building, where people I assume to be professors are nervously typing and staring back at their own monitors.

If they were to glance at the run-down twelve-storey apartment building to their right, there’s a chance they’d see me echo their own anxious existence.

I don’t know why I bother, but I move my finger away from the keyboard and pick up my phone instead. Who knows—maybe Dad will pick up this time and give me the encouraging push I need.

The ringtone echoes against my ear, and my breath halts in anticipation. Maybe this time…

It’s been an entire month since Dad stopped responding to my calls, which so happens to be the same amount of time since Jasper dumped me. In fact, Dad hasn’t responded to anything I’ve sent him since that day. Worse still, he hasn’t seen my DMs on social media, which means he hasn’t even logged on in months.

The first time he didn’t answer—when I called him in tears about Jasper dumping me—I didn’t get too worried. I cried out my broken heart alone, and I was pissed, of course, but nothing more. Plus, I’d called Sophie, my best friend, right afterward, and she’d rushed to my place with her newborn baby and a pint of Ben Jerry’s ice cream in tow. After all, Dad works a lot, so he could have been in an important meeting or something.

At 9 p.m. Sure. That’s what I told myself back then, at least.

But when he still didn’t respond to any of my calls, texts, or DMs throughout the following week, that’s when my anxiety rightfully took over. I can’t just pop by his place for a quick wellness check. Ever since he divorced Mom about two years ago, he’s been living in Colombia—the same place he works. Mom never wanted us to move outside of Canada for his work, and he finally got to do it after cutting us loose.

The phone continues ringing. At least I know he’s alive. Andrea, his new girlfriend, responded to my DMs when I frantically messaged her about Dad. But she doesn’t know a word of English or French, and I don’t speak any Spanish, so our Google Translate-powered communication has been a bit muddy.

My heart stops in my chest when I hit Dad’s voicemail again. Should have seen that coming, a voice grumbles in my head. I don’t bother leaving a message, deciding to hang up instead.

“Okay, Avery,” I say to myself while falling back onto my couch. “Enough self-pity for tonight.” I whoosh out a breath, grab the laptop again, and in a single move, I press Confirm Booking.

There. It’s official. I’ll be spending the next month on the ocean shores of Cape Breton.

Alone.

Obviously.

I try to ease into the couch, but my shoulders feel too tight. I can’t seem to get comfortable. The truth is, I want more than anything to get out of this apartment where every inch of space reminds me of Jasper, but the idea of spending an entire month alone has my heart in a vice grip.

Well, alone or not, it’s what I need. And it’s booked now. Can’t take it back.

A sudden knock at the door jars me from the reverie of my spectacular accomplishment. I put a hand to my racing heart, which has never liked being startled. Oh, right. I told Sophie she could come over whenever she was ready.

“It’s open,” I say, my voice shaking slightly.

Sophie barges in, carrying a bag I now know as the ‘Comfort Tote’ in her slender arms. If the past month is any indication, she’ll have filled this thing to the brim with chocolates, nail polish and accessories, face masks, and anything else she thinks I’ll need for an evening of support with her. A zealous look of overexcitement twinkles in her big blue eyes.

She enters my tiny apartment, shuts the door behind her, and opens her mouth as if she’s about to exclaim something, then stops as her eyes lock onto mine.

“You okay, hun?” she asks in a worried hush.

I take a deep breath to steady the shakes that have overcome my entire body. “Oh, no big deal,” I say nonchalantly. “Just spent $4,000 on a seaside cabin in Cape Breton.”

Sophie’s already wide eyes go even wider. “Excuse me?” She takes two gigantic strides towards me with her effortlessly long legs.

I stand up to meet her face-to-face and help with her bags. She towers over me. “Do you think it was a mistake?” I ask without meeting her gaze. I don’t know why I even ask, considering she doesn’t know my reasons for going in the first place.

Once Sophie’s arms are free from the onslaught of shopping bags, she crashes onto my couch, frowning. “When did you book it for? What are you gonna do? Who are you going with?” She knows I don’t intend to invite her. Not that I wouldn’t want to, but Sophie’s youngest daughter, Heather, is barely four months old. It’s definitely not the time for her to escape to Nova Scotia for a month with me.

I cringe in anticipation and shift my eyes to my interlocked fingers. “Monday. And … I’m going alone.”

Sophie tightens her lips. “Monday … as in, this Monday?”

“Yep.”

“Dude.” She grabs my face and forcefully turns it so I have to look straight at her. “For that price, I better hope the place you rented is on a boat or something. Since when do you splurge $4,000 for a week away?”

I knew Sophie wouldn’t approve. My stomach roils. “I wouldn’t pay that much for a week.”

She squints at me, suddenly suspicious. “Avery, how long are you going there for?”

I take a deep breath, preparing for Sophie’s fury. “A month?”

Her face goes still. We stare at each other for what seems like an eternity until she explodes into a fit of laughter.

“What?” I ask, my brows furrowing. “I thought you were going to kill me.”

“Come on,” she gets out once her laughing subsides. She then lunges into a hug. I close my misty eyes, taking in the closeness. It feels nice. I hadn’t realized how much I missed just being close to another person.

“I’m surprised, but hell, I’m proud of you,” she squeals in my ear.

A warm fuzzy feeling spreads over my entire body. It’s okay. I’m going to be okay. In the nearly sixteen years I’ve known Sophie, she has never once steered me wrong. Not even that time she convinced me to shave the side of my head to ‘make a statement.’ If she’s okay with my month-long escapade nine hours from here, then I can’t be too far off from making the right move.

Yet, I can’t help the twinge of uncertainty that remains in the pit of my stomach. How can she approve when I haven’t even told her why I’m doing this? I know she doesn’t quite get my job or the emotional—and physical—toll a copywriting project can take on me. So I’m not sure she’ll truly understand why I see no other way out of this.

I pull back from her hug and lean on my knees. Might as well embrace it since the booking is non-refundable. “You sure you don’t want to know more before you claim you’re proud of me?”

She shrugs and stands, heading to my kitchen. She grabs two hard seltzers from the fridge and heads back my way, handing me one. “A vacation’s a vacation, Ave,” she says as she pops open her can. I do the same and take a big gulp for courage. The cool, carbonated drink calms me down.

“Yeah, that’s the thing,” I say between two sips. “It’s not technically a vacation.”

“Avery, no,” she drones, disappointment flashing across her face.

I can’t help but smile. I knew the other shoe was about to drop. Sophie has been bugging me to take a true vacation for years now, and we both know she’s right about how much it could help me unwind. Especially after the month of heartbreak I’ve endured.

“It’s okay,” I tell her, feeling a bit more confident about my choice. Hearing Sophie’s disapproval is enough for me to reconsider my approach. A bit of the weight has lifted from the pit in my stomach. “I’ll take weekends off. Fall asleep to the sound of the waves crashing against the coast. It won’t be all work and no play.”

She rolls her eyes so hard I fear they’re going to fall out of her head. “So what’s the point of spending $4,000 to get away if you’re just gonna be working all the time?”

I open my mouth to answer, but the words stay stuck in my throat. How do I explain this to Sophie? Yes, we’ve known each other for ages. In fact, there’s probably no one in the world except my dad—and, to a certain extent, my mom—who knows me better than she does.

Well … there is—or was—one other person. But I can’t let myself think about him right now.

The point is, even though Sophie knows me inside and out, there are certain things I know she won’t understand. It’s not that Sophie isn’t creative—quite the opposite. Her booming party planning business is proof of what she’s capable of. But planning parties and writing copy are very different from each other.

They don’t pull at the depths of your soul in quite the same way.

“Who’s the client?” she asks before taking a sip of her drink.

“Oh, you’d love them,” I start. Instinctively, I shift into my happy mask. Be excited. Show her you like this project. Love it, even. “Prakriti Mountain Wellness. It’s this Ayurvedic retreat center down in the States, in the Blue Ridge Mountains. They do a Panchakarma-style cleanse. Super spiritual. They need their entire website rewritten.”

She squeezes her lips together. “Ooh, you’re right. I’d totally go if I hadn’t already planned our trip with Matthew and the girls this year.” Unlike my painfully single self, Sophie’s a mom to two beautiful girls. But apart from her swollen breasts that barely stay put in her pink tank top, you can hardly tell she gave birth four months ago.

In reality, Sophie defies every mom stereotype I know. When she announced her first pregnancy to me nearly four years ago, I feared I would lose her. She’d be too busy pouring herself into this new version of herself to make room for her best friend. And what if, when we did see each other, the baby would be all she’d talk about?

But that turned out to be the furthest thing from the truth. Sophie is exactly the same person she’s always been. I absolutely love her eldest, Gwen. And Heather’s just a baby, but I think I’d die for her regardless.

I won’t lie and say I’m not a bit envious of Sophie. Motherhood has always been something I’ve dreamed of, more so than anything else, but Jasper wasn’t ready back when we were together.

Now, he’ll never be. At least, not with me.

A bolt of pain stabs through my chest. I managed not to think about Jasper for an entire ten minutes—an accomplishment, really. But now my streak is broken.

Sophie probably notices my change in demeanour because she scoots closer to me and rubs my arm. “Oh, honey, I know.” The entire reason she’s here tonight is to not leave me alone as I navigate this shitty breakup. She’s been coming over or inviting me to her place as often as she humanly can. Like I said: supermom.

I burst into tears without meaning to. Sophie hugs me close. “Things were going so well, Soph,” I cry into her shoulder. “They really were.” At least from my point of view. Jasper leaving me really did come out of nowhere, although the pain of it was no surprise. You don’t get over a five-year relationship that easily.

If he had at least given me warnings or signs or told me something was up … maybe I could have fixed things. But when I’d begged him to give me an explanation or to reconsider leaving, he’d been absolutely clear:

No, Avery. I’m done. I’m moving on. So should you.

It’s been a month since those poison-like words came out of his mouth, and the retreat website project popped up just in time to distract me and give me a much-needed boost of revenue now that Jasper would no longer help me pay the bills.

But I’d been staring at a blank page for an entire week now.

I was pulling from nothing. A void.

At that point, I had two choices: either I could give up and refund the payment for the project, which would leave me pretty much strapped for cash, or I could pull myself together and do the damn project, no matter how broken my heart and mind felt. Which is why I need this change of environment.

“I’m here,” Sophie whispered as she stroked my hair. “You know I won’t ever leave you, right? Unlike that asshole.”

“I know,” I sob. “And now I just booked a month-long workation, and I’ll basically be broke.” I would have been broke anyway if I’d said no to the project. Unfortunately, that change of scenery I need isn’t free. But I’d rather be broke next to the sea with a project to do than broke in my sad one-bedroom with nothing but time to contemplate my failed relationship.

Plus, this dingy apartment reminds me of Dad almost as much as it reminds me of Jasper. Dad’s the one who rented the truck and helped me move out of the university dorms, along with Mom and Jasper. I can’t help but remember him crashing against the couch, exhausted after we’d finally gotten everything inside. Or how he’d taken us to his favourite Asian-fusion eatery after we’d all showered and changed from our sweaty clothes.

That, and I’m reminded of him every time I look through my window at the workaholic strapped to his office chair across the street.

“Well, I didn’t want to comment on how expensive this place is,” Sophie responded. “You know you’ve got a place to crash if you ever need it, right?”

The first thing Sophie had said to me when I’d told her about the Jasper thing—other than some obscenities about the quality of his character—was that she had a spare guest room if I had to move out and needed some time to find an affordable place.

But the idea of living nestled in my best friend’s family, even for just a short while, fills me with dread. I love spending as much time as I can with Gwen, but I can’t imagine going to bed and waking up in the same house as those two little girls.

Seeing Sophie tuck Gwen into bed while Matt rocked baby Heather would only serve as a glum reminder of how utterly single and alone I truly am. Of how much I stand out like a sore thumb in their perfect little family unit.

Of how much I hunger to have the same within my grasp.

But there is no way I can say that to Sophie. Best friend or no, some things are just out of bounds. And telling a woman who’s four months post-partum that you’re envious of her baby is just one of them.

I’ll just have to make sure I have a new project lined up after this one so I can make rent.

So I force a weak smile and respond with a simple: “Of course.”

God, I hope I’m doing the right thing.