6. Van
Van
S on of a bitch. Why didn’t I factor in that Summer might have known Mr. Haruki before I asked her to be my date? Standing in the walkway of my boss’s sumptuous yard, I knew there was no going back now.
Mr. Haruki wrapped an arm around Summer’s shoulders and pulled her close. “Summer, my dear girl. You’ve made it. I was so excited when he mentioned your name.”
Was he? At the office, his reaction was a little strange when I told him her name, but I had filed it under the oddness of the entire exchange.
Summer beamed at him with a wide pink smile. “I’m always happy to come over. You know that. I can’t pass up Baba’s brownies. Please say she made a batch for the party?”
“Of course. When I told Tonya that you were coming with Donovan, she made double.” His arm still around Summer’s shoulders, he grinned. “Now, have you introduced Donovan to Peter yet? I know your father will have a thing or two to say about him.”
Summer laughed and swatted at his chest. “Jiji, of course not.”
Jiji. She even had a nickname for him.
“What about my granddaughter? Has Devin met him yet? She’ll be here in a bit.”
“Not yet.”
Summer was still smiling, as if this was the most natural thing in the world to be chatting about.
Doom settled deep into me. Despite the early Summer sun, the air was chilly. What had I gotten myself into?
Mr. Haruki glanced at me with a smirk, his eyes bright. “You know, I tried to introduce Donovan to Devin, but it looks like you go there first. Swooped in. If it can’t be with my granddaughter, I’m glad it’s with you. Or Autumn or Wren.”
“Oh, Wren had a fella. Adrian something. They just moved in together. He’s a teacher, I think. I’m supposed to meet them tomorrow for a drink.”
“No one tells me anything!” Mr. Haruki said in jest.
Still standing on the outside of this conversation, I felt dread creep in. The whole point of this was to avoid pissing off my boss, and I had landed myself in deep with one of her dearest friends.
Summer caught me watching them and shot me a quick wink.
I hoped that meant Don’t worry, I won’t get you fired. But who knew?
“You’re such a gossip,” Summer teased.
“Guilty, guilty. It keeps me young. Now, you two go enjoy yourself. Drinks are in the cooler on the patio, and, Summer, you can show Donovan where the bathroom is.”
“Absolutely. Remember when we accidentally dyed your sink pink with hair dye?”
“Took you girls weeks of scrubbing after school before it came out.”
They laughed.
“You two have fun, and, um”—he leaned in conspiratorially—“I’d stay clear of my neighbor Tom’s pasta salad. He keeps putting raisins in it.”
As he passed, Mr. Haruki set a hand on my shoulder, leaned in, and whispered, “You be careful with this one.”
I gulped down the imminent threat between the words. “Of course, Mr. Haruk—Dennis.”
After slapping my shoulder twice, he sauntered away.
Summer had been standing at the drink cooler and fishing through the ice.
My head down, I stomped after her, trying to keep the rise of panic and annoyance out of my expression. “What was that?”
She straightened, two cans in her hand. “Do you want Rainer Cherry or Fuji Apple? Or they have beer, too. You had a lager last time, right? They have that or—”
Pulling her to the side, I leaned down, my voice low. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew Mr. Haruki?”
She took a languid sip of her hard seltzer, her light-blue eyes steady on me. “You never told me his name. Loads of people have parade parties. How was I to know?”
I slid a hand down my face, the bristles of my beard scratching my palm. “I can’t believe this. My career will go up in flames.”
She pulled my hand away. “Relax, have a drink. Nothing is happening to your career.”
“But you—him. You called him—” I let out a flustered sigh.
“I’m twenty-five years old, Van. Do you really think I’m going to run to him if I got my delicate feelings hurt? I’m not a child.”
Delicate and Summer were the unlikeliest of descriptions. In the short time knowing her, I’d describe her as tempestuous, sharp, and confident. But delicate?
She took my silence as agreement.
“Trust me, I know how to handle myself. And I’m not involving emotions with a guy like you. Now, cherry or apple?”
Grabbing the green can, I popped the top and took a big swig.
A smirk playing on her face, she mirrored me. “Better?”
“Why wouldn’t you get emotional over me?” I asked.
I wasn’t even sure why the statement bothered me, but it did.
Scoffing, she shook her head. “Because none of this is real. When someone tells you who they are, believe them. You don’t want commitment. I won’t be committed. Easy as that.”
“You don’t think I’d be worth committing to?”
What was I doing? Why was I arguing for the exact thing I told her I didn’t want? Between work and my family obligations, the last thing I needed was a distraction in the form of a pretty woman. One with soft hair that fell over her smooth shoulders. One with blue eyes so light they looked like the edge of the sky on a perfect day. One with full pink lips begging to be crushed in a kiss—or wrapped around something.
Summer tilted her head and surveyed me. “You know, they say skin is the largest organ in the body, but I’m pretty sure your ego is giving it a run for its money. No, Van, I don’t think I’ll have any issues not going moon eyed over you.”
The rejection stung. I couldn’t remember the last time I had tried to flirt with a woman and not have it work.
My words seemed to fuel her decision—she wasn’t attracted to me.
“Good. I’m glad you understand.”
The words sounded hollow, but my worries didn’t seem to concern her as she pulled out her phone, angling the camera until the lighting was right.
“Stand on the left side of me so we can get that cool sunbeam vibe for our couple photos.”
I leaned in without touching her. The scent of clean floral clung to her. Her head swiveled as she tried to frame the photo.
“Scoot closer.”
Still trying not to touch her, I moved in.
The scent intensified.
In the camera’s reflection, she frowned. “No, closer. If I were your girlfriend, how would you stand?”
“If you were my girlfriend, I’d be all over you.”
As her eyes flashed over to me, pink tinged her cheeks. Her gaze roamed over my body.
“Is that so? With those big muscular arms?”
“Holding you would be so easy.” I smirked at her.
She gulped. “Then, do it. Do it like you want me.”
Her words were a challenge and all the permission I needed.
From the moment I saw her at the bar in that little blue sundress, I wondered what she would feel like pressed against me.
Sliding an arm around her waist, I dragged her to my side. She fit perfectly under my arm.
Wrapping her fingers around my nape, she turned her face to mine.
She was warmth and sunshine soaking through my shirt and blooming in my chest. It was easy to pretend she belonged there.
Her pupils dilating, she stared up at me, poking her tongue out to wet her lips.
If I were a less composed man, I would want to kiss her. But that would be very, very foolish.
“How’s this?” I asked, my voice scratchy.
“G—” She cleared her throat. “Good. Let me just—” Glancing away, she focused on the camera, fumbling to get the angle with her short arms.
I took the phone. “Let me take it.”
Just as she said, my head blocked out the sun, creating a halo around us.
I started the timer for three seconds to take a burst, and she flashed a wide smile.
It was happiness and innocence and so damn sweet.
I figured I might as well go all in on this. If we wanted to look realistic, I’d do more, right?
Without thinking, I bent down and kissed the top of her head.
Her scent invaded me. It was a smell I would want splayed over my pillows.
She turned to me, and those blue eyes darkened. As I clutched her waist, she leaned in closer. In my hair, her nails dragged against my scalp, and my chest tightened.
Her smile widened, and I matched it.
“That’s probably enough pictures,” she murmured.
I had forgotten I was even holding the phone.
“Right, of course.” Internally groaning, I stepped back, my arm retreating from her waist.
She scrolled through the new pictures, frowning. “These should work.”
Her fingers flitted over her phone as she posted the pictures to her Instagram.
“What’s your at?” she asked, glancing at me.
My cheeks burned at the question. I was rarely on social media and hadn’t changed my username for almost a decade.
Scratching the side of my nose, I pursed my lips. “It’s—um . . . hotrod underscore van.”
“Hot rod Van?” She smirked. “Okay, Hot Rod. You’ve been tagged.”
“I like cars, okay?”
She put up her hands, the silver can in her left hand sloshing. “I didn’t say a word. I like a man who can work with his hands. Though it’s a well-known fact that car guys are just the horse girls of men.”
Damn if that wasn’t the rudest yet funniest thing a woman had ever said to me. Her innocent eyes barely betrayed how cutting the comment was.
Taking a swig of the hard seltzer, I stepped away from her.
I didn’t need this woman to like me. After this party, we would part ways, and I’d be fine never seeing her again. Plenty of women would find me charming and handsome and easy to commit to.
I hadn’t realized how easy it had been with women until this one came around, challenging me.
She was absolutely right when she said I could have found someone else to join me. In fact, a woman in my neighborhood would jog around and stop to ask me questions about the plants in my front yard. The gal at the gym would always pick the treadmill beside me. The woman from high school would always send me funny memes.
But it was Summer’s name rolling out of my mouth. Summer, I wanted beside me. Even if I wasn’t sure why.
Walking across the wide lawn, I stared at the deep gray-blue of Freedom Bay. On the other side of Mr. Haruki’s hedge, parade viewers lined the sidewalk. Young girls had tinsel threads braided in their hair, and boys had superhero face-paint. Historically incorrect horned helmets on every other spectator.
My mom would bring me down to the parade when I was a child, setting me up on a beach towel on the curb. I could still feel the rough grain of the asphalt under my thighs. She would get an elephant ear and finish it for me when I would take the three bites, then abandon it. My father never joined us, complaining that the crowd was too big, that the parking was a disaster, and that everything was overpriced.
My mom would wipe my face clean of the powdered sugar, erasing the sticky evidence of her buying me a treat, knowing that he would quiz her on what she bought me. She would show him the bag of snacks she had packed beforehand. The same old carrot sticks and popcorn we had in our pantry.
That was back when Mom could get around by herself, when the world was simple.
The strains of a marching band started farther down the road. The first car was the grand marshal, a local war hero, followed by the navy band.
Beside me, Summer craned her neck to see it. As the leading entries passed us, she waved at Miss Ridgewood in her Bunad and sparkling crown.
“Ah! She looks so cute, doesn’t she?” Summer blew her a kiss, which was returned in earnest from the curly-haired girl in the convertible. “I ran for that in high school with my girlfriends. Lost spectacularly. Turns out you need talent to sing in public.”
“Or an incredible amount of confidence.”
She laughed. “Yeah, well, bravado can only get you so far when you’re completely tone-deaf. My cousin Autumn won, though. So, I got to sit in the front seat during the parade, and I wasn’t forced to eat lutefisk at the gazebo like she did.”
I wrinkled my nose.
As a teenager, a friend and I entered the yearly lutefisk eating contest. I had choked down three pieces of the gelatinous lye-soaked cod before tapping out. Max had five. It took years before I could look at white fish without feeling nauseous.
A local troupe of gymnasts came through, performing flips and rhythmic routines to the radio edit of a hip-hop song. Moms followed them, picking up stray bows and throwing candy into the crowds. A rain of bright sweets flew over spectators and landed at our feet.
Summer bent down, gathering a handful.
“Hold out your hand.” She picked out the good candy from the bunch, then dropped them into my hand. “The kids don’t care about flavors.”
As she was about to toss the rejects back to the children, I stopped her. “Wait, let me grab this one.” I plucked the yellow wrappers from her hands.
“Banana? Really?” She raised a brow.
I unwrapped one and popped the small taffy in my mouth. “It’s the best flavor,” I said through sticky teeth.
She snickered, shaking her head. “You’re wrong, but whatever gets your motor running.”
Biting off another one, I grinned. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
After rolling her eyes, she focused on something over my shoulder. “Oh, there’s Dev. I’ll be right back.” She squeezed the inside of my wrist, a strangely intimate gesture.
Heat radiated from her touch, blooming over my skin.
As she walked away to the patio, I admired her backside. Her dress swished around her thighs and hugged her ass. With her so far away, I envisioned what that ass would feel like in my hands, a nice thought I could tuck away.
Behind me, Summer was hugging a woman with short black hair streaked with blue wearing a T-shirt that said Don’t be salty with a girl under an umbrella logo. With a new purple can in her hand, she rocked back and forth with her friend, their squeals ringing from across the lawn as they embraced. The woman whispered something, and Summer threw her head back in laughter, exposing the long column of her throat in mirth.
She caught me looking, and her smile faltered before she turned back to her friend and laced an arm with hers.
They walked across the yard, then stopped in front of me. “Devin, I want to introduce you to the man Jiji tried to trap in marriage. Van Logan, this is Devin.”
Devin was slightly shorter than Summer, with large green eyes behind black-framed glasses.
“Nice to meet you, husband,” Devin joked.
I cracked a smile, extending my hand to shake hers.
It was warm, soft, and completely platonic. While Devin was cute, I was not attracted to her.
Summer looped an arm over Devin’s shoulders and smiled at me. “I told Devin all about how we met.”
Raising a brow, I waited for her to continue. Waiting for her version.
We had concocted a story at The Cabin: she was dropped off at the wrong house and knocked on my door, asking if she could wait out the rain on my porch. My version was finding her soaking my mother’s rug. And then there was her own version, the one she refused to explain to me.
Her story never made sense to me. There had to be more.
“Is that so?” I asked.
“Quite the dark knight, weren’t you?” Devin asked. “Thanks for saving my friend.”
“Oh yeah, the world is flush with knights swooping in today, aren’t they? So many gentlemen out there.” Summer drained the can, then held it upside down to shake out the dregs.
Summer’s phone chimed, and I saw “Nico” flash on the screen.
Dropping her hand from Devin’s shoulder, she stepped back. “I’m . . . um—getting another drink.”
Devin furrowed her brow before she shot me an awkward smile. “She’ll be right back.”
Tilting my drink up, I swallowed the rest of the warm liquid.