Page 10 of XOXO, Summer
Releasing a long-held breath, I say, “I want a shot.”
The corners of her mouth soften upward. “I know you have a strong interest. You’ve treated them like your own, which I’m grateful for, but I’m not sure you’re going to have the money?—”
“I have some money.” I stop myself from saying more. My inheritance is limited after I paid for college and helped with the house. There’s a reason the list of issues is growing daily. They take money or time to figure out how to DIY it. I’ve been short on both the past couple of months. She knows my backstory, but not so much about my budget.
With a tilt of her head, a curl that’s gone gray among the remaining blond falls over one eye. With a puff of breath, it floats to its rightful place on her temple. Her eyes steady on mine with the type of soft smile I’ve seen too much for one lifetime.Sympathetic. “Summer . . .” There’s that damn pause I used to hear before every condolence. Though said in kindness, I hate the tone thataccompanies it. “I’m not sure if you’re aware of the value?—”
“I’ve done my research. I won’t be able to outbid a big company’s banking power, but I’d like to have the opportunity to present my own offer.”
“The letter I received already mentioned possibilities.” She reaches over, and her hand covers my forearm with a gentleness that matches the shape of her eyes. “It’s not going to be in a range you can afford. I’m sorry?—”
“Give me a chance, Mrs. Dover. Please.” She sits back and starts rocking again as if the words landed with impact. “If you decide to go with someone else after that, I’ll understand.”
Her gaze shifts to the large acreage before us and then to Bessie, who stands at the fence as if she’s part of the conversation. When Mrs. Dover looks at me, she says, “You’ll get your fair shot, but please remember business is business.”
“Business in Mountain Laurel Cove is personal, and I’ll fight the best I can to keep it that way. The last thing any of us wants is for the Cove to become a rich person’s playground like they did over in Ocean’s Bay.”
“They have a good funnel cake, though.”
Excitement bubbles up, causing me to giggle. “They sure do.” Leaning back, I watch the black cow chew the tall grass in the pasture, content like I am in our pocket of heaven. “You won’t regret this. I promise.”
“I look forward to the pitch.” The conversation veers into maintenance at the mountain cottage while we finish our glasses of sweet tea. When I stand to leave, we hug, and I dash to the car. Tucked inside, I exhale a huge sigh of relief. It’s only step one in what I assume will be a long process, but I’ll take it and run with it to make her not only proud but happy she’s selling to me.
I leave the farm with renewed energy. It’s good to have something to focus on, to have a goal that benefits all of us who live here. I look around as I drive past pastures and continue to the only stop sign we have in town.
How lucky am I to live in this beautiful town where the ocean meets the forests and the fields meet the trees? I have my grandmother and my sisters, a job that pays some basic bills, and friends around every corner and in each shop. What more could I ask for?
The property.
A comfortable life.
Love?
I take a long, shaky breath.
Is love even real?
I’m not sure anymore. Unless it smacks me upside the head or gives me what my parents had, I don’t want it. Thinking love exists after the last time I got burned is a fool’s errand. It’s been a long time since I had someone tell me I’m beautiful. It’s been longer since I’ve been kissed. I can’t even remember the last time I—get out of your head, Summer. This train of thought leads to a dead end.
Sex aside, would it be greedy to ask for just a little more in life? I don’t need hearts and flowers. I’d settle for companionship or someone who makes me smile at this point.
My chest burns with a loneliness that’s been creeping up on me lately. It grows a little deeper each day. I’ve taken care of my sisters and grandmother since my parents passed. They don’t need me anymore, not in any significant way. So maybe having this new project—an amazing opportunity—will help. Directing my energies toward saving our town from ending up like Ocean’s Bay is really a godsend.
I’m startled out of my thoughts by the vibration of my phone against the console. I glance down, ready to let theunfamiliar number go to voicemail. But I pick it up just in case it’s not spam. “Hello?”
“Summer Season?”
The warmth of the voice wraps around me like a cozy blanket on a chilly day. But I still don’t recognize it. “Yes? Who is this?”
The sound of air sucked in pervades the call. “Daniel.”
“Daniel who?” I ask, smiling at myself in the rearview mirror. I knew we’d get here—him calling me for help—but it came even faster than I anticipated.
“Daniel Sutton. Your summer tenant.” His tone holds equal parts annoyance and surliness, which is both entertaining and satisfying. He’s already becoming so predictable.
“Ohhh,thatDaniel.”
“Do you know a lot of Daniels, Ms. Season?” Impatience gets the best of him. It’s glorious. I want to tell him that this is why we let people do their jobs and follow the rules, but I bite my tongue. Knowing he’s squirming on the other end is satisfying enough.
