Page 5 of XOXO, Summer
“It is,” I say through a half-hearted laugh. It’s not the first time someone has said that. My sisters’ and my names are different, but so were our parents, who were more carefree than I am, less so than Dolly, and loved so big it was too much for the world to handle. We’re not just their legacy. We’re the reminders of what once was. So I’ll take theiruniqueness and carry my name with pride. “I’m grateful it wasn’t dill or oregano.” That joke always goes over well with the community center crowd when I’m volunteering, which is mostly made up of the elderly of our small town. It doesn’t with him so much, though.
His tongue dips out to massage his lower lip before an eyebrow anchors itself in curiosity. “Rosemary was my grandmother’s name.”
I don’t know why that makes me smile. Is it because he’s relating? Or that he’s stopped staring at me like I grew a third eye?Both.“I can’t say I’d be upset over that name. It’s quite pretty.”
“And you’re upset over Summer?” The curiosity in his tone reaches his gaze as if the world hinges on my answer.
“No.” I laugh. “I love the name Summer at least one-fourth of the year.”
“Clever.”
“I try.” I’d take a bow, but I’m still in the dirt before him. “I can’t say being on my knees in front of you is the way I imagined us meeting, Mr. Sutton, but?—”
“You won’t hear any complaints from me.”
My cheeks heat from the insinuation as my thoughts go where they shouldn’t—straight to hell in a handbasket with Mr. Sutton. I grab the large plastic-wrapped double chocolate honey cookie that fell out of the basket, and say, “You might if you find my cookie dirty.”Wait . . .My stomach drops faster than an anchor to the bottom of the ocean. I glance up at the tops of the tall trees, watching the leaves sway in the gentle breeze as I ponder what the hell I’m saying and why everything sounds like I’m offering myself up on a platter.
“I’m sure your cookie will be delicious either way.”
Oh my Lord. My eyes dart to his, and as our gazes latch,I’m left wondering if he thinks I’m coming onto him. An unsubtle clearing of my throat again causes me to cough as it dries out. I turn and hack a few more times before daring to return my eyes to his and whisper, “I think I’ve given you the wrong impression?—”
“That’s too bad. I was quite enjoying theimpressionyou were giving.” One swap of a word and that sentence has a whole new meaning.
He turns to check on his son, giving me the briefest of opportunities to study him. His confidence speaks of someone comfortable in their own skin. I’m not sure what the male equivalent of pretty privilege is, but he has it.
I feign a laugh, but I’m the worst actress, so I try to clean this mess up instead. “We’ve gotten off track, Mr. Sutton.”
“Daniel.”
“Mr. Daniel?”
He chuckles. “No, it’s Daniel Sutton. My friends call me Daniel.”
“Ah. Um.” The straps of my dress leave plenty of exposed skin to keep me cool on this warm day, but a drip of sweat slides down my back. I have a strong suspicion it’s not from the heat of summer but from the hot man before me.
As if it hadn’t already been confirmed, he is real despite my initial disbelief when I first saw him. And almost too handsome to stare at for any extended period of time. He should come with a warning like what we’re taught in school about the sun. Risking my retinas, I’m willing to let them burn to stare at his hotness a few seconds longer. I glance down and grab the Go Fish deck of cards that tried to bury itself in the leaves. Then I drop the box back into the basket as I riddle through what exactly is happening right now.
I’m the responsible one. The one everyone comes towhen they have a problem to solve—the listener, the advice giver, good ole reliable Summer that can be counted on. Just because I’m in the presence of the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on, I’m now suddenly rendered both horny and ridiculous in equal measure?
Snap out of it. Stop acting like you’ve never seen a man before. “Man” doesn’t seem appropriate to classify this specimen into such a generic category.
Adonis?
Check.
Apollo?
Check. Check.
Human rival to the statue ofDavid?
Check. Check. Check.
When I peek up, his eyes crinkle at the sides with an air of confidence residing inside that I assume comes with knowing who he is. I really shouldn’t find that as sexy as I do, but it’s just stacking the deck in his favor at this point.
No ring is wrapped around his finger. Not even a tan line or the remnant of an indentation from wearing something that would tell me he’s off-limits. Even the scent of him, the outdoors coating his skin like the water recently did, has my hormones going haywire.This is a business, Summer.As if I have a chance of turning this back around, I say, “You’re here early.”
“Traffic was lighter than expected.”
