For The Summer Read online

  After we finish I wash my hair and body, Fin distracts me with slow sensual kisses before he finally does the same. I step out first. I dry off and wrap a towel around my body, quickly checking my phone. I have two messages.

  Mom: Home from the spa. Going to grab dinner with an old friend. Let me know if you'll be late.

  The second is a selfie of her and Ginger. Mom looks happy. No trace of the frazzled high-strung woman from yesterday. I wonder if that spa offers some kind of membership. If they do I know what I'm getting her for Christmas.

  I drop my phone on the bed and strut toward my bag, grabbing a pair of comfortable but cute white cotton and lace panties. When I don't find any pajamas or loungewear I snag a black t-shirt out of Fins bag. Then I finish towel drying my blonde bob.

  "Did you decide if you want to stay?" Fin asks, stepping out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. His eyes widen slightly and he smirks at me. "You look comfortable."

  I ignore the last part. "I think we should stay. It would be a shame to leave the room empty all night." I say, shifting my eyes.

  "I like the way you think. Why don't you get dressed, I’ll ask the front desk for a restaurant recommendation."

  "Uh-uh." I shake my head, no.

  "Aren't you hungry?" Fin asks.

  "Starving, but I was thinking room service or pizza. Honestly, anything that doesn't require me to put on pants."

  "That sounds perfect. Room service it is," he says, searching the end table drawers and finally holding up a printed menu.

  I ordered the food and Fin picked the movie. We ended up gorging ourselves on every appetizer the hotel kitchen offered and watching one of The Fast and The Furious movies. It turns out taking an impromptu trip with a guy you just started seeing isn’t necessarily a bad thing. And, when that guy is Fin, turning the trip into an overnighter is the best thing. Plus, now I know he loves onion rings and cheesy racing movies, so I can add that to the very short list of things I know about him.

  I texted my mom to let her know I wasn’t coming home tonight. She responded with a winking emoji, a wine emoji and a Carebears GIF. I assume reuniting with her friend went well and they had drinks with dinner because what sober adult responds without any words? Oh well, she could use a good friend in her life.

  I pull the comforter back and climb into bed. I’m so exhausted my heavy eyes fall closed immediately. The bed sinks a little bit and then I feel Fin’s warm body beside mine. He hooks his arm around my waist and pulls me toward him. I pry my eyes open for a second, just long enough to get a glimpse of his hazel eyes lit up by the moonlight shining through the window. Then I sigh and let them fall closed again. He presses his lips to my forehead and my lips curl into a sleepy smile. How is it that every little gesture, every movement he makes is perfect? Fin is so genuine, so thoughtful, and romantic. I’m convinced that he put more thought into the last twelve hours than Oliver put into anything we did in the two years we were together. Fin isn’t perfect, he’s guarded and private and stoic and I wish like hell that he would just open up to me the way I feel myself opening up to him. But if he’s not ready to do that I’m willing to wait. He told me it would take him some time to open up, and he acknowledged that he would make mistakes and there would be bumps along the way. But at least he was honest about those things, for me the truth is always worth it, even if it hurts or it’s uncomfortable. If the price of being with Fin is my being patient for him to tell me the nitty-gritty details about himself and his life and family, it’s worth it.

  “You make me happy, Amelia,” he says quietly. His voice is barely more than a whisper.

  I want to tell him to stop calling me that, to correct him again, and remind him that I go by Kat. The problem is, I kind of like the way my name sounds on his tongue. I like that he’s the only guy to call me by my first name and I like the way my stomach does flips every time he says it. I’m not sure I want to keep correcting him, because I’m not sure I want him to stop. Also, I’m completely exhausted. So, I settle for something short, something simple, something I am sure of.

  “You make me happy too.”

  I hear him exhale heavily and his grip around my body tightens, pulling my closer until I’m tucked against his chest. I breathe in his fresh scent, relaxing further into the mattress as I doze off. He’s still whispering and his fingers are gently stroking my back.

  “I hope that doesn’t change,” he whispers against my forehead before his lips graze my skin again. At least I think that’s what happened, I’m almost sure that was real.

  ***

  I can feel the sun on my face before I open my eyes, it’s muted by the linen curtains, but it’s still bright. I can also tell that the bed is empty. Fin’s arms are no longer wrapped around my body and the sheets are cold.

  I reach out, blindly feeling around the end table for my phone. When my fingers meet paper instead of plastic I open my eyes and turn my attention toward the nightstand. There is a yellow sticky note on top of my phone, it reads “went for” and then there is a doodle of a cup of coffee. I smile and peel the note off my phone screen. It’s just after nine o’clock and I’m awake and don’t feel completely exhausted. This is unusual.

  Climbing out of bed and heading into the bathroom, I brush my teeth and use a dab of the hotel conditioner mixed with water to scrunch my hair. Then I blow dry it on low for perfect beachy waves. Fin didn’t pack my makeup bag, but it’s fine. I scrub my face and use the tiny bottle of sensitive face lotion sitting on a little tray beside the sink, then I look in the mirror and admire my work. Adorable summer waves and a makeup-free natural face, I can get behind that. In fact, I should do it more often. I hear the door to the room open and a few seconds later Fin appears holding a coffee carrier and a small paper bag.

  “I left the note just in case, but I didn’t think you’d actually be up this early.”

  “I’m pretty surprised myself. What time did we go to sleep last night?” I ask, walking toward the scent of the coffee.

  “Around eleven,” Fin says, handing me a plastic cup with a dome lid that has whipped cream peeking through the hole.

  “So this is what a good night’s sleep feels like.” I nod my head thoughtfully and Fin pokes a straw into the top of my drink. “Mmmmm. This is perfect, what is it?”

  “I have no idea. I called Kris and she told me exactly what to tell the barista. It was some kind of code language. I ordered counts of syrup flavors and espresso shots. For a minute I thought they might ask me to leave, but it turns out coffee shops are used to crazy people with very specific orders.”

  “Well, your sister is a lifesaver in the form of a magical coffee queen.” I take another long sip from my cup before setting it down and rummaging in my bag for shorts and a top.

  “I’ll let her know you think so. Not many people consider blending coffee and making drinks a superpower so she’ll appreciate that.”

  “Uhm, it most definitely is a superpower. She takes dried roasted beans and turns them into sweet icy concoctions that wake me up and make my heart happy. If that isn’t magic I don’t know what is,” I argue, slipping a tank top over my head and fastening the three buttons at the neckline.

  Fin chuckles, taking a sip from his own hot to-go cup. Then he scoops up our bags, slinging them over his shoulder,

  “Ready to go?” he asks.

  I double-check the room, making sure we didn’t leave anything behind and when I’m confident we didn’t I grab my coffee and follow him to the door.

  As soon as we climb into the Jeep I pull out my phone to queue up a perfect Swift filled playlist.

  “Oh no,” I groan, pressing the power button several times. “My phone is dead.” I turn to look at Fin, pushing out my bottom lip in a completely immature pout.

  He smiles, a full, wide grin. “That’s terrible. A huge disappointment for sure. I guess we’ll just have to make do with the radio.”

  My brow creases. I don’t think he’s disappointed at all. My eyes
fall on the paper bag sitting in his lap.

  “What’s that?” I ask, still pouting.

  His face lights up. He unrolls the top of the bag and peeks in before reaching inside and pulling out a pink jumbo cake pop.

  My eyes go wide and my pout disappears. I’m starving and I love cake. This doesn’t erase my musical woes, but it will feed them.

  ***

  Halfway through the drive we stop for more coffee and a bathroom break. When we get back in the car I decide to use the rest of the drive to get to know more about each other. I buckle up and wait until we’re back on the highway.

  “Favorite color?” I ask abruptly, turning to face him and sipping the Starbucks drink I ordered at the rest stop. It’s nowhere near as good as the one’s Kris makes, but it’ll do for now.

  “Green.”

  “Favorite song?”

  “Don’t have one.”

  My jaw drops open in surprise, but I quickly recover, moving on to the next question.

  “Favorite food?”

  “Lasagna.”

  “Oh!” I exclaim. “I had the best lasagna at my grandparents. I didn’t even really like lasagna before.” I say, more to myself than to Fin.

  He clears his throat. “What about you? Same questions.”

  “Yellow, the puppy song and it’s a tie between tacos and sesame chicken.”

  “What- what is the puppy song?” Fin asks, shaking his head in confusion.

  “It’s the song from the opening credits of You’ve Got Mail. It’s the one song I’ve liked since the very first time I heard it, so it’s my favorite.”

  “I don’t think I’ve heard it.”

  “But you’ve seen the movie, right?” I ask, staring at him intently. Who hasn’t seen You’ve Got Mail?

  “Nope.”

  “How is that even possible? You have a sister and a mother, don’t they like rom-coms?” I ask, still completely shocked that Fin hasn’t seen one of the greatest movies of all time.

  “Kris is not the rom-com type. She could watch psychological thrillers or horror movies for days, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her watch a romance. Ever. My adoptive Mom doesn’t watch a lot of movies, she’s always busy with a project of some kind.”

  He did it again. Why does he keep doing that? Does Kris always specify that their parents are their adoptive parents? Is he doing it because he’s not sure I remember, or he’s worried I’ll forget? I’m so confused, is it wrong of me to just ask him? I decide it’s not. Or maybe it is, but I’m really curious.

  “Can I ask you something personal?” I say quietly. I know he’s not ready to be an open book with me, but I mean, we have to start somewhere.

  His hands tighten around the steering wheel and I can see that his jaw and shoulders are tense. He nods his head, yes.

  “Why do you always refer to them as your adoptive parents?”

  “I just think it’s an important distinction. They are my adoptive parents,” he says, relaxing slightly.

  “But when you’re with them you don’t call them adoptive mom and adoptive dad do you?” I ask, tilting my head to the side.

  “Of course not. That would be weird. At first, I called them mister and misses, and then over time Kris and I both started to slip up and call them Mom and Dad, and then they adopted us and made it official. Once we knew it was forever we never called them anything else.”

  I smile. It’s a really sweet story, and I’m so glad they found parents that love them. But, I’m still confused. Fin’s logic is confusing and I still don’t understand why the distinction would be important for me if it isn’t between them. I decide to let it go, for now, maybe it’s the sort of thing I’ll understand over time. We spend the rest of the drive talking about the upcoming football season, or more specifically, the fantasy football season. I guess I can’t really complain though. I wanted to know more about Fin, what he likes, what he’s passionate about, his hobbies, the things that keep him awake, tossing and turning late into the night. It turns out the answer to all of those questions is fantasy football. Did he spend too much on a quarterback in the first round? Is his best running back injured? Did he remember to set his lineup before the Thursday game? Does he draft with bye weeks in mind? After an hour and a half of talking about fantasy football, I feel like I know enough to join a league. And honestly, I just might, it sounds really fun.

  I drop Fin off at his car in front of Robin’s house. It’s strange to think that two days ago we were here at a party, keeping our relationship a secret and then almost ending it over a whole lot of nothing. Now, after giving in to our feelings and spending time just the two of us, I can’t imagine letting those things come between us. I climb out of the passenger seat, meeting Fin on the driver’s side.

  “I think it’s probably time we exchange numbers,” he says, smirking down at me.

  “My phone died, but I can give you mine,” I offer, holding out my hand for his phone. I plug in my number and hand it back, leaving it up to him to add the name.

  I press up on my toes, wrapping my hands around his neck and kissing him slowly. Then I climb into my car and watch in the side mirror as he walks to his. For the most part, I remember how I got here. Our town isn’t huge so even when I made a wrong turn I was able to backtrack and figure it out. I pull up to the curb and park. Mom’s car is in the driveway and I know she’s dying to hear all about my romantic getaway, or yell at me for letting my phone die. Probably both.

  Running up the front steps I try the door, it’s unlocked.

  “Mom! I’m home,” I call from the entryway.

  “In the kitchen,” she returns.

  Ginger waddles toward me and I scoop her up, walking in the direction she just came from. I scratch her ears and hug her to my chest.

  “You are never going to believe the little trip he planned,” I say, entering the kitchen. “It was the most romantic,” My words cut off when I see my mother standing at the kitchen island with bloodshot teary eyes.

  “Mom, what’s wrong?” I ask, hurrying to her side. I’ve seen my mother cry before, small tears, happy tears, rom-com tears, but never body shaking sobs. She takes a few steadying breaths and wipes her eyes on the sleeves of her cardigan. Once she’s calm she clears her throat.

  “Your grandfather had a heart attack this morning.” She presses her eyes closed and takes another deep breath before continuing. “The doctor says he will recover, they were able to inject something to dissolve the clot just a few hours after it happened. But he needs to have surgery later in the week to place a stent.”

  I replay her words in my mind, just to be sure I understand them. My grandfather had a heart attack, but he’s going to be ok. The grandfather I’ve been looking forward to reconnecting with is not going to die. This is what I focus on.

  “We should go see him,” I say, reaching out for her hand. “I know you said he’s going to be ok, but we should still go see him, for support and comfort. The last time we saw them things weren’t great. He shouldn’t have something like that on his mind right now.”

  She nods and wipes her nose again. “You’re right. I just don’t even know what to say, Amelia. I’ve always painted them as controlling villains whose only goal was to control me and force my hand, but I’ve done a lot of thinking and I really think you were right. When I was young they crossed some lines and they were definitely overbearing. But they only wanted what was best for me. What would make me happy. I’ve been holding my choices against them, blaming them for pushing me away and into the first set of arms I found, but that was a choice I made. They aren’t to blame for it and they’ve done nothing to deserve my anger and hostility.”

  “I think you start by saying that, Mom.”

  The woman behind the reception desk by the main entrance gives us each a pink paper wristband and a white card with the number three hundred and two written on it. She directs us to take the elevator to the third floor, press the button beside the double doors when we step out and th
en follow the hallway to the second room. We follow those directions to a tee and just a few minutes later, after the nurse’s desk for this wing has buzzed us into the unit, we are standing outside my grandfather’s room.

  “Maybe you should just go in alone,” Mom says, biting her thumbnail nervously.

  I swat her hand away. We’re in a hospital and she’s touched elevator buttons and stuff. Gross.

  “No. We go in together or we leave.” I stare at her with raised brows. “Grandmom called to tell you, she wanted you to know and I’m sure they hoped you’d visit. They know you’re going through stuff, Mom. They want you here.”

  She nods her head and takes a deep breath, striding forward and throwing the door open quickly. I’m sure she was trying to push through her own nerves, but it was quite the entrance, especially in the cardiac unit of a hospital.

  We step into the room and I clear my throat awkwardly, raising one hand in a nervous wave. My grandmother is seated beside the hospital bed holding my grandfather’s hand. They both smile warmly. I nudge my mother forward, forcing her further into the room. Then I sit down opposite my grandmother.

  “How are you feeling Pop?” I ask, settling into the sort of chair you often see in waiting rooms.

  “Fine, fine, a whole lot of fuss about nothing,” he says smiling at me from ear to ear.

  “I’d hardly call a heart attack nothing,” my grandmother scolds.

  “I’m glad you’re ok, Dad,” my mother says, finally speaking up from behind my chair.

  “I don’t want anyone to worry about me,” he says plainly. “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. This was a fluke thing. The doctors will do their procedure and I’ll be back to normal in no time.”

  “You’ll take it easy when the doctors discharge you,” my grandmother says. It’s not a question or a request. Her tone makes it clear that this is what will happen.