Finding Summer (Nightwind Book 3) Page 19

  “Well, he certainly had lady friends.” Her tone was dry but full of love for the man who raised her. “It’s complicated.” She sighed. “My bitch of a mother crushed his spirit. He never said it in so many words, but it was always there. Especially when he did dual duty as dad and mom. Like for school events. I remember the mom squad descending on him. Our neighborhood had a long memory, so mostly everyone knew the sad tale of how Howie’s wife ran off and left him with two little children. It was awful for me, so it had to be dreadful for him to be constantly reminded of his runaway wife.”

  “You worried more about him—his feelings and how he was doing—than your own.”

  “Totally. My rebellious, hormonal teenage years were in full swing before it dawned that my mother didn’t give a shit about me. I always focused on Dad. My brother was older when she left, so he had real memories to support his anger. I was a girl with nowhere to go and no one to talk to.”

  Their long silence was punctuated by the sounds of eating. Arnie seemed deep in thought.

  There was no smile in sight when she muttered, “Not everyone should have kids.”

  The plink of his fork hitting the plate was followed by vehement words.

  “I agree.” The way he hesitated struck her as curious. Obviously, he had strong feelings. “My stepmother is the perfect case in point,” he continued in a sober tone. “She procreated for all the wrong reasons.”

  Without consciously thinking about it, she reached her hand across the corner of the table and gently stroked her fingers over his knuckles. The tenor of his voice concerned Summer. She heard guilt and regret and wondered what the hell it meant.

  “It’s complicated,” he murmured. “My, uh, little brother was the means to an end for my dad’s second wife.”

  There was pain in his expression. Pain that lanced her heart. He looked at her and held Summer’s gaze.

  “I’m older by three hundred and fifty-three days.”

  “Oh, shit.” The muttered oath was her unvarnished reaction.

  “I know, right?” He turned his hand over, palm up, and she slid her hand across his.

  After a slight shrug, he pressed on.

  “It sucks all the way around. For my father, whose overwhelming grief led to some disastrous decisions. For my brother, who lives his whole life under a cloud. For me, in different ways.”

  “What ways?” she asked.

  Their hands joined atop the table. Pulses of energy shot up her arms as he held on tight.

  “A part of me despises what he represents. Not him, per se, but the whole tawdry situation. At the same time, he’s my bro. See? Complicated.”

  “Tell me something about him. When you were boys.”

  “Okay. Um, let’s see.” Arnie’s expressive blue eyes softened. Was he looking into the past?

  “We were Little Leaguers. Baseball,” he playfully snortled. “The American boy’s rite of passage.”

  “I know it well.” She giggled. “Spent many a Saturday in the bleachers cheering on my brother and the Westgate Orioles. And my dad coached.”

  “We lived in the city but every year as soon as school let out, we went to suburban Connecticut where Little League is mandatory. Our eleventh summer can be best described as hell on wheels. Trouble found us like a magnet. Our parents were still together, but by then, the bloom was off the rose.”

  She smiled. “Is this your way of saying you and your brother acted out?”

  “Oh, totally. Without a doubt. After a particularly nasty screaming match—my stepmother was and remains to this day, a world class screecher—we snuck into the snack bar at the Little League complex and ate an epic shit ton of candy and ice cream. I threw up in one of the dugouts. It was pretty funny,” he admitted somewhat sheepishly.

  She imagined the scene and thought the boyhood trouble he described was amusing. It wasn’t like she didn’t have a similar tale involving her gymnast squad and a secret nighttime raid of the mini fridge in their coach’s office.

  “Are you close? You and your little brother?”

  He answered tersely but with no hesitation. “We lead very different lives.”

  Okay then, she thought when he said no more and tensed up. They both sure did have tangled and sometimes thorny childhoods.

  Summer rose from her seat and moved onto Arnie’s lap with a minimum of fuss. He made room, and she quickly found her spot.

  “Broken marriages are tough. They leave invisible wounds and scars. But as sucky as it is, I like to think the experience helps us see things differently. I’m never getting married unless my whole heart and soul are involved. I have to be certain going in. And you have to do it for the right reasons,” she murmured when Arnie’s situation came into clear view. It was easy to understand why he’d be conflicted about his father’s second wife and her agenda. Summer was certain there was much more to the story, but she wasn’t going to pry. What he shared was enough.

  A tingle ran up her arm when he twined their fingers together. “I didn’t have fully formed opinions about marriage.” He squeezed her fingers. “Until very recently. My parents' interrupted love story and the debacle of Dad’s second union are two very different takes on the institution. But I’m beginning to see things much clearer.”

  Was he talking about her? About them as a couple? Did he see this interlude as something more than a random hookup?

  Her heart answered. She hoped so.

  Curling against him, Summer snuggled into his neck and shoulder. He stroked her back, and even through the plush thickness of the robe, she felt the power of his touch.

  “This feels right.” She made the statement quietly, reverently.

  “I agree.”

  At the present, it was enough for her.

  8

  Being with Summer was the easiest thing he’d ever done. She had a way about her that spoke directly to his heart.

  It had to mean something that they fit together perfectly. When she slid onto his lap, he couldn’t help but think how great it would be if it felt just as good twenty or thirty years from now.

  He loved their closeness and how it felt to hold sunshine in his arms. The sensation was extraordinary.

  When he closed his eyes, emotions swirled in his soul. A symphony of her childlike giggles triggered goose bumps as he imagined their spirits dancing in an unseen realm.

  It was a lot to take on, yet it wasn’t. Destiny was in play.

  However, it was capricious and unpredictable. One moment of stupid and anything might happen. And since bonehead moves seemed to be in his family’s DNA, it would be smart to keep his wits sharp.

  “My toes are cold.”

  He glanced down and saw her bare legs sticking out of the robe. She was rubbing her feet together. Damn. It wasn’t like he had a pair of complimentary foot warmers to offer. But he did have some socks that came along with the god-awful Gucci sneakers.

  “I have just the thing,” he announced a second before rising with Summer still in his arms. Carrying her was kind of cool.

  He walked her out to the private patio and settled on the cushioned chair closest to the fireplace. When she put her bare feet down, she purred.

  “Ooh, this is nice. The tiles are warm from the fire.”

  “I’ve got socks. For your cold feet,” he muttered like an idiot. “I’ll just go get them. Do you need anything else?”

  “Just you,” she replied with a happy smile followed by a laugh. “I forgot about the playlist. It’s still going. My phone battery has got to be running out.”

  He stopped to listen. “I don’t know this one.”

  “It’s Emmylou Harris, Dolly Parton, and Linda Ronstadt singing Neil Young’s ‘After the Gold Rush.’ My dad had a lifetime crush on Linda.”

  “It’s pretty.”

  She hummed the tune and nodded. “Harmonies can be beautiful when done right.”

  Swooping down for a kiss, he claimed her lips, and as he drew away, he murmured, “I love the way you thin
k and the words coming out of your mouth.”

  Her half-smile was everything.

  “Be right back,” he told her as he dashed into the bungalow.

  The socks were easy to locate since he never even took them out of the shopping bag. He laughed at the awful design done in the same green, yellow, pink, orange, and black colors as the sneakers. Gucci definitely missed the mark.

  Tearing off the price tag, he shook them out and stuffed them into the pocket of his robe along with his phone. Passing through the dining room, he picked up two clean glasses and the last of the wine from their dinner.

  Locating her phone, he noted that the battery was at four percent and added it to his pockets.

  “There’s a charging station in the living room,” he told her when he handed it over. “I can plug it in for you if you’d like.”

  “I’m not expecting any calls, so it can wait. That’s it for the music, though.” She disconnected from the Bluetooth and shut the phone off. “Are those supposed to be socks?”

  Holding up the god-awful foot coverings, Arnie chuckled. “The store was giving them away.”

  Summer lifted a foot and wiggled it. “This has a Cinderella vibe. I like it.”

  Doing his best to fill the fairy-tale boots of Prince Charming, Arnie stuck out his thigh for her to use as a footrest. While sliding on the tacky sock, he noticed her light pink toe polish and tilted her foot to look at the sunflower tattoo.

  Flashing him when she raised her other foot, he was sorely tempted to slide his hand between her legs but squashed the urge.

  After pouring the end of the wine, she joined him on the loveseat and curled into his side. He basked in her presence. Summer was pure enjoyment.

  “Did your grand seduction plan include a sleepover, or are you sending me home in a cab?”

  “I thought you might enjoy the dawn slut patrol and the walk of shame.”

  Her laughter was rich with amusement. It rang out without censor. He liked how she didn’t try to play a part. He’d had enough of women following a script.

  “Can you imagine?” She sniggered. “I caught Mrs. Ferguson from the second floor sneaking in one morning around five thirty. It was really funny too because she was barefoot and wearing a sequin dress, just like in the movies. I think she’s what they call a cougar. Her oldest boy is in college, and while I don’t know how old she is, the shoe fits.”

  While they were on the subject, he took the opportunity to admit the flaw in his plan.

  “I’d like you to stay,” he drawled. “It’s entirely up to you, but there’s a problem.”

  “What? Your other girlfriend is on her way?”

  He laughed. “As if.” His voice then lowered to make a point. “I don’t play games. No, what I mean by problem is this. You’re wearing my socks because I didn’t think this through. You don’t have a change of clothes.”

  “Hmm, true. But tonight’s wardrobe choice wasn’t a sequined dress. I’m fine, and as for my undies, this wouldn’t be the first time I washed my panties in the bathroom sink and hung them on the towel rack to dry.”

  Undies on a towel rack. Could this evening get any better?

  “So it’s settled then,” he announced as if he was the decider. “You’re staying.”

  Her sly smile was satisfied as she peered at him over the rim of her wine glass. “Have I told you this is yummy?”

  “Several times.”

  “Oh,” she said with a goofy shrug. “Well, did I also tell you red makes me act silly?”

  “I thought it was your normal setting.”

  “Nah, my normal setting is less about mining for drama and more about being nice than anything else. If you ask me, there’s not enough nice in the world.”

  Boy, talk about a truth bomb. His line of work didn’t intersect on the Venn diagram with nice.

  His phone made a distinct sound. He glanced at the coffee table where it lay. The screen lit up, and he made out a numbered sequence NIGHTWIND used.

  Shit. He could ignore it for now. The sequence was an alert, not a directive, but he’d have to check in soon.

  “Do you have to take that?”

  He shook his head. “It can wait.”

  “What exactly do you do? Recruitment is code for something, isn’t it?”

  “Not a simple answer, I’m afraid.”

  “I get it,” she replied with a conspiratorial wink. “Every organization has someone who doesn’t fit neatly into an HR category.”

  “I’m a human resource nightmare. Not that we have an HR department. I mean, I don’t think we do. Unless you count Dottie, but she’s not someone who gives a shit about titles.”

  “Ah, the intriguing Dottie. She sounds like a character. I enjoy a good character.” Her brows wagged. “Characters are life’s sprinkles.”

  “Sprinkles? You mean the stuff you spoon over ice cream?”

  “Yes,” she hooted happily. “Exactly! Think about it. A cookie or a donut is just meh until you add sprinkles.”

  “Imma start calling Dottie sprinkles. She’ll probably smack me, but it’s too perfect to pass on.”

  “So what does Dottie think you do?”

  “You’re not gonna let it go, are you?”

  “Arnie, come on. It’s a simple question.”

  If only, he thought wryly.

  “Okay, well, let’s see. Uh, did you ever watch Star Trek?”

  “My dad was a 70s nut, remember?”

  He chuckled. “Got it. Well, the follow-up series was called The Next Generation, and there was a ship’s counselor whose function was to, um, sense things. Simplified, some would use the term social scientist or communications expert.”

  “Isn’t that sort of what a jury consultant does? Study the human portion of the process?”

  His head jerked back, and he stared at her with dumbfounded surprise. My god, she was quick.

  She hurriedly explained. “I sat on a criminal jury last year and found the whole process fascinating. Since the trial was a big deal, they researched each potential juror and did a psychological evaluation to predict how they might react to certain things. Is that sort of what you’re talking about?”

  “Close enough,” he quickly allowed. There was no need to go further—not at the present.

  “Is it dangerous? You said your company did security. Isn’t that, by nature, dangerous?”

  “Life is dangerous,” he answered.

  “Don’t be flip, Arnie. Answer the real question.”

  His reflex grin earned him a playful jab in the ribs.

  “I’m serious,” she snarled.

  Her adorable frown only made his grin grow bigger.

  “Sorry, sorry,” he pleaded with his hands up in surrender after she jabbed him a second time.

  “I know what I’m doing, but sometimes, my special, um, skills,” he couldn’t help but snidely drawl, “require time.”

  “Isn’t time yet another code word for undercover?”

  “Definitions are tricky in my line of work. Undercover implies avoiding detection. My talents are”—he hesitated and reached deep for the right word—“more subtle. Gradual. I insinuate myself into situations.”

  Amazingly, she didn’t keep digging. Somehow, someway, his explanation made sense to her, and she moved on.

  “Is there a lot of call for what you do?”

  Now there was a question he could answer honestly.

  “Not at all. As a result, I have plenty of time to make shit, stir shit, cause shit, and do shit.” His grin was genuinely cocky, and he knew it. “I do the headhunting and vet all our recruits, but it’s not like an everyday thing. They let me drive the work van, and because I clean up nice, I’m the one pushed into public for the dog and pony shows and the occasional political schmooze fest.”

  She giggled.

  He shrugged and made a joke. “The pay is great, and I have a cool office. Oh, and we have a baseball team, so there’s always that.”

  “Do you like New
York?”

  “Love-hate.”

  “Ah.” She chuckled. “Understood. I’ve only been there once for a gymnastics event in my senior year. Dad volunteered to be a chaperone. I was horrified. What teenage girl wouldn’t be?” She rolled a shoulder, and her voice softened. “Looking back now, though, I’m so grateful we had the time together. He passed about eighteen months later.”

  “Did you see the sights? Do the tourist thing?” He hoped so. God, for her sake, he really, really hoped so.

  She snorted and wiggled on his lap. “Are you kidding? We did it all. Took the ferry to Ellis Island and did the historical tour. Then the Statue of Liberty. We ate Sabbatt’s hot dogs till we were ready to puke, explored Times Square, cried at the 9/11 Memorial. All the usual stuff. Lots of churches and the Empire State Building. It was exhausting. I medaled in floor exercise but fell during my uneven bar routine!”

  “What was your favorite part?”

  It said something about her character when she sighed and gave him a smiling wince. “Being with my dad. He was fun to hang out with and curious about everything. He’s the one who started the people-watching guessing game. It may seem dumb, but we managed to talk about a lot of stuff in the process.”

  “You’ve given hanging out new meaning, Summer. I like talking to you.”

  “It feels completely natural,” she agreed with wide eyes. “Illuminating.”

  She handed him her empty wine glass, and said, “When I think about it, I can’t recall a time when getting to know someone took on this kind of depth. It’s easy to tell you stuff.”

  “Two-way street,” he replied.

  Reaching around her to put their glasses on the coffee table, he almost dumped her off his lap in the process. She squealed and threw both arms around his neck. When he sat back, it was easy to turn her neck-clutching response into a passionate kiss.

  He wanted to do nothing more than be with this girl. She didn’t just excite—Summer lit up the world with her joy for life. Seeing things through her eyes was changing him.