Page 72 of Plotting Summer

“Look at you!” I say to Serenity, taking her darling big bow and red, white, and blue sundress. “You look amazing!” My gaze slides to Jack. “And you. Nice shirt.”

Serenity points to my cute little armful. “Lucas has the same one as Jack.”

I turn Lucas around to face me, and he gives a gummy smile. “Oh, you do! Aren’t you a dapper man? Speaking of dapper men,” I say with a hint of sarcasm no one else will likely pick up on, “isn’t Walker supposed to be here?”

Tala gestures to the line of people waiting for pancakes, and I assume she means he’s getting food, but then my gaze settles on him behind the griddle. Serving eggs? Seriously? What’s up with my brother? But then I see Jane zipping around behind him. He must be trying to make a good impression on her. Which I’m not sure how I feel about because he looks genuinely happy—almost like the old Walker I miss so much. But he’s just going to leave, and he'll break her heart when he does. Kind of like my heart’s going to break when Tristan leaves next month. My heart sinks at the poignant reminder.

“You’d better get the kids to the start of the parade,” Tala says, looking at Heath. “They’re having the bikes first this year so when the kids finish, they can watch the rest of it.” She pauses. “Unless you’d prefer I take them? I’m happy to.”

“No, I can.” Heath stands up, clearly not the least bit sad about leaving his partially finished pancake uneaten. “Let’s get going, you two.” He clears the remaining plates and dumps them in the trash nearby, then holds out his hands for Serenity and Jack.

The moment their backs are to us, Joy Palmer steps up to our table, her bright, smiling eyes moving over Grandma and Tala before landing on me. “Are you saving these seats?”

“No,” Tala says, gesturing for her to take them. “But I can’t promise there won’t be lingering drops of syrup, so watch yourself.”

Joy signals to Mark who’s at the front of the line, having just finished filling two plates. He catches her eye and lifts the plates in acknowledgment. “Is Tristan not here yet?” Joy asks. “He said he was planning to eat breakfast with us, but I assumed he’d be with you.”

Her assumption causes my cheeks to burn. “He’s parking the golf cart. He dropped me off so I wouldn’t have to walk.” And to limit the time we’re seen together.

“Of course he did. He’s always been such a thoughtful boy.” She gives a small laugh as though embarrassed about her pride in Tristan. “Not that you wouldn’t all know that. We’ve basically been neighbors our whole lives.”

She’s staring at me, and I shift my gaze back to Lucas, laying him down in my lap and propping his chubby thighs against my torso. “I wholeheartedly agree,” I say, feeling like she’s expecting some kind of response.

Mark steps up to the table, setting one plate in front of his wife and the other next to it so he can sit. “You picked a great table, Joy.”

“Didn’t I?” she says, mirroring his smile with one of her own.

I don’t miss the knowing look that passes between them, and I get the distinct impression that Joy’s arrival at our table immediately after Heath and the kids left was a little more than coincidence. “That smells amazing,” I say, looking at their loaded plates—pancakes, eggs, and bacon. My stomach rumbles. “I think I’m going to go get in line.”

“Here,” Mark slides his plate toward me, standing up again. “They’re dishing up the same thing for everyone.”

I’m handing Lucas to Tala. “You don’t have to do that. I can⁠—”

“I insist,” he says, pointing to the plate and then walking away before I can protest his thoughtful act again. Like father, like son.

“Grab a plate for Tristan too,” Joy calls after him. Her gaze returns to me, her expression brightening. “That way, he won’t have to waste any time in line when he gets here.”

Tala glances down at Lucas to hide her smile, but Grandma doesn’t even attempt to conceal hers.

“So, I was finally able to start the book for book club,” Joy says, nearly causing my heart to fly out of my chest. “Secret Crush.”

Tala doesn't miss a beat and gives a causal smile. “It’s good, isn’t it?” It’s a wise move with the yes or no question. Less opportunity for expounding.

I shove a piece of pancake in my mouth, attempting to appear uninterested in the conversation.

“It really is … riveting.” And this time, with the way she’s looking at me, I’m décolletage-splotching-aware that she suspects something. I settle a hand over the skin beneath my neck, hoping to hide it as best as I can.

“If you think that one’s riveting,” Tala says, “you should read Summer Fling. I finished the whole book in one sitting.”

“You can’t go wrong with any Sunny Palmer books,” Grandma chimes in. “But Secret Crush is my absolute favorite. Trenton and Cali just have so much pent-up chemistry. It leapt right off the page.” And I’m suddenly really glad I haven’t had the opportunity to tell Grandma that I’m Sunny Palmer yet. I love her, but she’s so easily excitable, and her privacy filter isn’t always functioning. “You know what I think she should write next?” Grandma continues, returning her attention to Joy. “A cowboy romance. The only things that could level up her stories are some Wrangler jeans, boots, and a cowboy hat.”

With how intently I’m staring at my plate, I’m likely only strengthening any suspicions Joy has.

“Hey, there you are, Mom.” Tristan approaches the table and greets his mom with a kiss on the cheek before sending me a brief, apologetic smile. “How’d we get so lucky in our seat selection?”

Joy beams up at Tristan. “I saw Heath and the kids finish and thought: ‘Well, isn’t that perfect timing? Three newly vacant chairs for the three of us, and next to our old neighbors.’ It was meant to be.”

“Sounds like it.” Tristan glances toward the line.