51. Summer
Summer
A pen in one hand, Noah is alone behind the front desk, bent over a folder. He’s wearing clear-framed glasses I’ve never seen on him. They soften his features without quite erasing the shadows under his eyes.
He looks up at the sound of my footsteps.
“Hey,” I say. “Could you print a document for me? Three copies, stapled?”
I hold the USB drive out to him. He plugs it into the computer, opens the file, and starts the print job.
“What were you working on?” I ask.
He gestures wearily toward the folder.
“Invoice for the pool supplies. Yumi wants me to double-check everything before we pay.”
“You?” I say.
He lifts one shoulder.
“I do a little of everything around here.”
The printer behind him hums to life and spits the pages out one by one. I lean my elbows on the counter and wait. Noah picks his pen back up, pushes his glasses up his nose, points to a line on the invoice.
When the last sheet comes out, he separates the three copies, taps the edges against the counter to line up the pages, staples them, and hands them to me.
“Thanks, Noah.”
“Tomorrow morning, six?”
“You’re going to cough up a lung.”
He flips me off. I smile, take the stack, and tuck it into my tote bag before heading for the deck.
Standing behind the bar, Miles shakes a cocktail shaker to some private rhythm, eyes half-closed. He pours the contents into a glass, tastes it, winces, adds something, shakes again.
“I’m onto something,” he mutters to no one in particular.
Kai and Maya come in together, hair still damp. Maya’s in a sarong and bikini top, Kai in boardshorts and a surf-school T-shirt. They leave their sand-caked flip-flops at the edge of the deck.
“Mira, you got everything ready?” Maya says, leaning over the contracts.
I hand her a copy and pass another to Kai. He sits down and starts skimming.
“Walk-through before we get the keys?” Maya asks, turning the pages carefully.
“No need. You can move in whenever you want.”
“And the keys?”
“Two sets for the house—you two can figure it out. You can make extra copies if you want. I’m keeping the third.”
She nods, keeps reading. Kai’s already done. He initials each page, signs the last one, hands the contract back.
“Who’s taking which room?” Maya asks.
“You’ll figure it out. Mine, upstairs, stays locked. The other five are yours.”
“Vale,” Maya says, signing in turn.
Miles turns toward us, shaker in hand.
“What are those contracts?”
“Rental agreements for Summer’s house,” Maya explains. “I’m taking the biggest room.”
“Oh yeah? I’m interested too.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Excuse me?”
“Living with roommates is driving me up the wall. You’ve got a yard—a real one. And I’d be three minutes from the lodge.”
“You’re moving out?” Maya says. “Ay, good. You’ll liven the place up.”
I blink. I hand Miles the copy meant for Maggie.
“Here. Want to read it?”
He sets the shaker down, grabs a pen off the bar, initials, signs, hands it back.
“No need. I trust you.”
He picks the shaker back up, pours his latest attempt into the glass, and tastes it. He narrows his eyes with absurd seriousness.
“I’m going to call it Cuddle on the Beach. It’s Sex on the Beach, but without the alcohol. Classy, right?”
And he heads back to the far end of the bar, humming.
I exchange a look with Maya.
“I think Miles just moved in,” I murmur.
Maya bursts out laughing.
That leaves only Maggie—and a contract to reprint.
One hour until book club. I can’t show up empty-handed, and I can’t roll in with a bag of supermarket chips.
The bell at the Coral Bay Market jingles as I push the door open. The fridge by the entrance hums. Luke is behind the counter, bent over a carton, a box cutter in one hand.
“Hey, Summer!” he says, smiling.
There’s grease under his nails.
“Thanks again for the van,” I say. “Without you, Jace would still be standing in front of the engine, hoping for a miracle.”
“It’s nothing. The hose was no big deal. Jace really needs that van. With the school, the driving around, the gear... if the VW bus gave out for good, I don’t know what he’d do.”
I nod. At noon, hands black with grease, he was already tallying what the breakdown would cost him.
“I’m looking for something to bring to book club,” I say, changing the subject. “Something better than a bag of chips, if I can manage it.”
Luke thinks for a second, then sets the box cutter down and disappears behind the curtain to the back room. He comes back with a dish wrapped in plastic, a thick layer of cocoa just visible underneath.
“I made a cheesecake and a tiramisu for Chiara. She picked the cheesecake. If you want, you can take the tiramisu.”
He holds it out to me.
“Perfect. How much do I owe you?”
“On the house.”
“You sure?” I ask.
“It’s not going to eat itself...”
I take the dish. It’s cool under my fingers, heavier than I expected.
“Thanks, Luke.”
He waves a hand—it’s nothing—and goes back to his box. For him, everything’s nothing, even when it’s a lot.
I should keep quiet, leave with the tiramisu, and walk to the bookstore. Except Luke was there that day.
“Luke, the morning of Jace’s accident... I heard you and Noah, at the diner.”
He frowns.
“What was Noah doing at the diner?”
“He worked there. Summer job. You don’t remember?”
He rubs the back of his neck. His fingers tap the counter.
“I... no,” he finally says. “You know, my memory’s like Swiss cheese. I’ve forgotten a ton from back then. If that conversation didn’t stick, it’s gone like everything else. I’m sorry, Summer.”
“It’s okay,” I say.
But it’s not. He was my last hope of understanding what happened. And it just slipped away.
“Have a good night, Summer,” Luke says, picking his box cutter back up.
“You too.”
I push the door open; the bell jingles behind me.
The walk to Tide no one’s looking at me. I grab my tote bag, slip past the back-room curtain, cross the bookstore, and step out into the street without looking back.
The evening air makes me shiver. The sidewalk’s empty. The streetlights cast yellow circles on the concrete.
I don’t cry.
I love Jace. But love isn’t enough when the trust is gone.