For The Summer Read online

  I look around the surprisingly empty kitchen one more time before erasing the space between myself and the coffee. The closer I get, the better it smells. My mouth is watering and it occurs to me that maybe I have a slight caffeine dependency. Do most people practically drool over their morning coffee? I shake off the thought as I pull open the cabinet above the machine. Perfect white porcelain mugs in neat rows stare back at me. I reach out and snatch one, closing the cabinet quietly before filling the mug halfway. Taking a sip, I scrunch up my nose. I’ve never been a fan of black coffee, in fact, I prefer my coffee with quite a lot of cream and sugar. I find the sugar on the counter nearby and the cream in the fridge. I mix them into the mug using a small spoon I found on the counter. It looks clean, and I’m desperate.

  The first sip is like heaven. Warm and sweet and full of possibilities. Just what I needed to kick start my day. I close my eyes and breathe in the comforting smell as I take a second and third sip, clearing my mind of everything. My intense feelings for Fin, the inner struggle I’ve been having over keeping our relationship a secret or just throwing in the towel and realizing I might be in over my head. Then there’s the weird behavior from my mother in the car this morning. About a week into my fresh start and it’s already feeling complicated. But, there’s nothing complicated about coffee. That’s actually really weird to think about. It’s just water and…

  “Beans!” I finish the thought out loud, in the form of a scream when I feel a large hand on the small of my back. I whirl around, spilling coffee down the front of my favorite jean jacket and finding myself face to face with Fin. I’m still clutching my now empty coffee mug in one hand, the other is pressed firmly against my racing heart. I let out a heavy breath.

  “Sorry. I had no idea you’d react like that. Didn’t you hear me come in?” he asks, his brow is creased and his head is tilted slightly.

  I set the mug on the counter behind me and look down at my jacket, frowning.

  “No. I was totally zoned into my coffee. I didn’t have time to make a cup at home and my mom was worried we’d be late so she wouldn’t stop on the way,” I say sadly, giving my empty mug a sidelong look.

  “You shouted beans,” Fin says. It’s a statement, but he’s clearly curious.

  “Yeah. I was thinking about how amazing coffee is. It’s just hot water and beans,” I nod, pressing my lips into a hardline. Most girls probably would have made something up or given a vague answer about being distracted. I probably didn’t need to tell him I was thinking about coffee beans. Maybe Fin was right when he said I’m kind of weird.

  He smirks and looks down at my coffee-stained jean jacket.

  “I’m sorry about that,” he says, gesturing toward it.

  I shake my head. Sure, I put a lot of thought into what I should wear this morning. I weighed out how conservative I should dress while also taking into account my love of not looking like an Amish bag lady. Settling on black skinny jeans, red flats, a black cap sleeve blouse and my favorite jean jacket. But, it’s just a jacket and the stain will probably wash out.

  “It’s fine,” I say, unbuttoning my coat and slipping out of it. I roll it so the coffee is on the inside and drape it over my arm. “What are you doing here at this ungodly hour anyway?”

  He looks down at his watch. My eyes follow, slowly scanning his muscular build. The sleeves of his button-down shirt are rolled up to his elbows and something about that totally turns me on.

  “It’s quarter after eleven,” he says, cocking his head to the side.

  “Yeah, I kind of have a thing with mornings. We aren’t on good terms. I much prefer noon and afternoon.”

  “I see. Well, I’m here for brunch. Your grandfather invited me, we have a business meeting right after.”

  That’s not at all weird or awkward, at all.

  “So, should we tell everyone we’ve made out three nights this week?” I ask, combing my fingers through my hair.

  “What? Absolutely not,” Fin says. His eyes are wide with shock and he licks his lips nervously.

  I giggle and my lips turn up into a full grin.

  “You’re messing with me aren’t you?” he asks, nodding his head and rolling his eyes.

  “You deserve it. You made me spill my coffee.”

  He looks around once, then leans down and presses a slow soft kiss to my lips. The second his mouth is on mine my stomach begins to flutter. It flips and turns with excitement and heat pools in my core until he pulls away and everything slowly fades.

  “Do you want to hang out tonight?” Fin asks, taking a step back.

  “I can’t. I bailed on my mom again last night. I owe her a rom-com with popcorn,” I explain, offering him a somewhat stretched truth. I take a deep breath and look away. I know Mom wouldn’t care if I left her alone to stream a movie by herself. But I’m a little bit afraid. Everything about Fin is exciting and new. Hell, everything in my life right now is new. Half of me wants to just dive right into the deep end and see what happens, what it would feel like to be completely immersed in something unfamiliar. Like a secret relationship with a hot guy I barely know. The other half just wants to dip my toes into the water’s edge and take things slow, to tell Fin I’m not sure this is really what I want and to take a step back. It’s impossible to know which side I should listen to, but when my eyes are locked with Fin’s, when he’s so close I can smell his cologne- a mix of woodsy notes and fresh sea salt. Is that even a thing? The point is, I can’t think straight when it comes to him. He’s charming and handsome as hell, and then there’s that spark. I feel it every time our lips meet, but even before that, his presence alone captures my attention and drives me wild. How am I supposed to trust myself around him?

  “Maybe tomorrow night then,” he says, reaching out to run his thumb over my jaw.

  I shiver and a sigh escapes my lungs. “I should go find everyone,” I say, pulling myself together. “They’re probably wondering where I disappeared to.” I walk around him, pausing at the door but deciding not to turn around.

  Sure, I’m really attracted to Fin. He elicits a response from my body I don’t ever remember being there before. But I’m almost sure if I hand him my heart he’ll eventually return it, and the damage it comes back with might be more than I can bear.

  ***

  I hear the commotion before I step out onto the patio. Raised voices and harsh tones, not unlike the arguments my parents used to have behind closed doors when they were sure I was asleep or didn’t realize I had returned from a friend’s house. As I approach the sliding glass door that leads to the backyard I can see the long glass dining table positioned beneath an imposing wooden gazebo. Lush green grass surrounds a paved walkway that merges into the large patio covered in shade by the wooden structure. I slide open the door, shocked by the scene in front of me.

  I know my mother made her concerns clear before we walked through the doors this morning. She told me about their rocky relationship that led to their eventual estrangement over the last decade, but after our last peaceful dinner, I certainly wasn’t expecting this. My eyes are wide as I walk toward the table, my coffee-stained coat draped over my arm, and my red flats quietly slapping against the pavers. I stop when I reach the edge of the gazebo.

  “Don’t you think you’re being a little bit dramatic, dear?” my grandmother asks, directing the question at Mom.

  “No, Mother. I don’t. If you would like us to come around for meals and spend quality time together as a family that is just fine, but you will not parade us around like cattle,” Mom snaps. She picks up her water glass and takes a long sip before turning her attention back toward her parents. “And another thing,” she adds, pointing her index finger at them. “I don’t think I’ll ever remarry, so you can just let that hope die right here at this very table.” She pokes her finger into the glass top dramatically.

  I know they’ve all seen me, but the tension is thick and I feel incredibly uncomfortable so I clear my throat.

  “What di
d I miss?” I ask, genuinely curious as to what is going on.

  “Your grandparents would like us to attend a fundraising event,” Mom says curtly.

  I shift my wide eyes from side to side and slide into a seat on the empty side of the table. I’m more confused now than I was before. Since when does my mother have a problem with fundraising? She organized several very lucrative events back in New York every year to benefit local foundations. Jim stopped attending her events years ago, but I went to most of them, even the ones that required formal attire and wouldn’t serve me alcohol.

  “I don’t understand, Mom. I thought we liked fundraising?” I ask quietly, turning toward her end of the table.

  “Of course we like fundraising for a good cause, Amelia,” she snaps. “This isn’t about the fundraiser. Your grandparents are using this event as a way to announce to their friends that their daughter and granddaughter have come home and are eligible ladies,” Mom says, accenting the final words with air quotes.

  I lean back in my chair, using my angle to get a good look at the tablespace in front of my mother. Judging by her weird behavior I would guess that she’s had too much wine or a few strong mimosas, but only a single glass of water sits before her. My confusion is growing by the minute.

  “I’m really sorry, I’m just not following this conversation at all. I haven’t had enough coffee and I’m hungry and tired,” I ramble on, looking from one end of the table to the other.

  A low sound from behind startles me, I jump slightly as someone reaches past me, placing a white mug full of light creamy coffee on the table in front of me. I tilt my head, meeting Fin’s gorgeous hazel eyes. I can’t hide the smile pulling at my lips as he walks around to the opposite side and sits across from me. I might be worried about falling for him too hard and too fast, but at least there’s another sane person at the table now.

  My grandfather nods at Fin before turning his attention to me. “There is nothing to follow my dear. Every year a few local business owners host an end of summer event to raise money for the animal shelter your grandmother loves so much. We have taken part for several years now and we extended an invitation to your mother,” he explains, casually lifting one shoulder.

  I turn my attention to the other end of the table where my mother is seated.

  “So this is nothing like the hospital fundraisers or the town improvement fundraisers or the charity auctions you hosted before I left?” she asks. Her brows are raised dramatically as she stares between them.

  “No,” my grandfather says plainly. “We haven’t hosted a formal event like that for a long time, and for god sake Lydia we didn’t put those charity events together solely for you.”

  “Hah!” Mom shouts, pushing out of her chair. “So you admit it! Those horrible gatherings were partially for me! I knew you wanted me to stay here, to marry the son of one of your business partners or friends.”

  My grandfather pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales heavily.

  “Yes, Lydia. I wanted my daughter to marry a respectable man from a good family and to settle down close to home. I admit it. It was a terrible thing that I did and thank heavens it didn’t work and you went your own way. Look how well that worked out for you,” he says sarcastically.

  I feel my eyes growing wider by the second and I don’t dare look at my mother as I stare down at my empty plate and press my lips into a hard line. I look up and swivel in my chair when I hear her shoes clicking against the stone pathway.

  “Are we- are we going?” I call after her before gulping down half the mug of coffee Fin brought me.

  “Yes!” she shouts, tugging open the sliding door. She doesn’t even bother to close it behind her as she storms into the house.

  I stand up and straighten my blouse, walking to the end of the table I press a kiss on each of my grandparent’s cheeks.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  “It’s not your fault hon. We have some things to work out with your mother. It’ll take time, but I know we’ll get there,” my grandmother says with a smile. “I hope you won’t be a stranger.”

  “I won’t. I promise,” I say, squeezing her shoulder gently before walking down the path toward the house.

  ***

  I find my mother sitting in the car with the engine running and her sunglasses on. She doesn’t say anything when I climb into the passenger seat and buckle my seatbelt.

  “You ok?” I ask a moment later.

  “They were different.”

  “I’m sure they were, Mom, but people can change,” I say, shifting to face her. “I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but honesty has always been our thing and I don’t want that to change now. What you accused grandpop of doing, trying to keep you close and make sure you married well. That doesn’t sound so bad. Sneaky? Yes. But to me, it sounds like his heart was in the right place.”

  The sounds of my mother’s sobs fill the car and I feel my chest tighten. She wrings her hands tightly around the steering wheel and drops her forehead onto the black leather. I place my hand on her shaking back, unsure if I should try to comfort her or remain silent. I’m not completely sure why she’s crying and I really don’t want to make it worse.

  “I know they only wanted what was best for me,” she sniffles. “It’s so much easier to be angry at them for who they were back then, for trying to push my hand and force me into a life I didn’t want than to admit that if I had tried to see things their way my life could have been completely different. Maybe marrying Warren Prescott wouldn’t have been so bad after all.”

  “Maybe’s and what if’s will drive you crazy if you let them, Mom,” I whisper. “You’ll never know what your life would have been like if you had followed the path they laid out for you, but there are two things I can say with certainty.”

  She turns her head to face me, a red indent from the steering wheel pressed into her forehead.

  “What’s that?” she asks quietly, wiping her cheek with one hand.

  “You should give them a second chance. A real one. Let them show you who they are now without the shadow of the past looming over them,” I answer.

  “And the second?”

  “If you had married Warren Prescott you never would have had a daughter as intelligent and beautiful as me.” I flash her a wide grin, putting my perfectly white teeth on full display.

  “I wouldn’t trade you for anything in the world,” Mom says, sitting up and shifting the car into drive.

  “Not even your very own rom-com inspired happily ever after scene?”

  “No way. If it’s meant to be it’s meant to be.”

  Mom wipes her face once more before reaching into the center console for a tissue she slides under her glasses, dabbing her teary eyes. She sniffles, driving down the driveway and out onto the road.

  “What was that boy doing there?” she asks a moment later.

  To be honest I’m surprised Mom even noticed Fin at all. I’ve never seen her like that, my cool and laid back mother, somehow always perfectly balanced between comforting and professional has never had a dramatic display like that, not around me at least. I know the past two years have been stressful for her, but she has handled everything so calmly. Her reaction this morning was totally out of character and I’m still a little shocked by the entire scene I witnessed.

  “Fin? I bumped into him inside and asked him the same things, actually. He said Pop invited him. They had some kind of business meeting after breakfast,” I explain.

  “I guess that makes sense.” She nods her head quietly.

  I talk Mom into stopping at The Dirty Bean on the way home. I still haven’t gotten to finish a cup of coffee today and I’m pretty sure they have some kind of already made food which is great since we left before actually eating brunch. I step through the door of the busy coffee shop and get in line where I scan the clientele out of boredom. The place is packed with every sort of person you could imagine. Creative types with headphones and art pads occupy some of
the tables, a buttoned-up businesswoman in a pencil skirt appears to be conducting an interview with a terrified looking guy in an ill-fitting suit. A mom with two curly-haired toddlers is sitting in the corner drinking a coffee while her offspring nibble on colorful cake pops.

  I pull my debit card out of my crossbody, fidgeting with it as I shift with the line until I reach the front. Kris returns to the counter and pulls a monster size plastic cup off the rack.

  “Fin says you suck at board games,” she says, never looking up from the cup.

  I watch her curiously, wondering if she has any intention of taking my order.

  “That’s a severe understatement.” I laugh.

  She looks up for a second and starts scribbling on the cup with a permanent marker.

  “Wait at the bar,” she says, gesturing with her head as she hands the cup to the barista working with her today.

  “I didn’t order anything or pay,” I say.

  “The bar,” she repeats, enunciating the words dramatically.

  My brow is creased in confusion as I walk toward the coffee pick up area. I watch Kris as she takes orders, writes on cups, and passes them down. A moment later a tall redhead with black-framed glasses slides a huge iced coffee with whipped cream across the bar.

  “Is this me?” I ask her, pointing at the drink.

  “The name says Candyland, is that you?”

  I huff out a dramatic breath. “Yes,” I mumble.

  I dig into my bag in search of cash. If Kris is giving me a free giant coffee because I’m embarrassingly bad at children’s board games the least I can do is leave a decent tip. All I can find is a twenty wedged between my birth control pills and a tin of Altoids. I shove it into the jar on my way to the door.

  I climb back into the car, balancing my obscenely large coffee while I buckle my seatbelt.

  “What the hell is that?” my mother asks, staring at the drink in my hand. “And where’s the food?”