Page 104 of Summer Love

Summer stops and bends down to pet him. Flip goes wild, jumps up on her, then presses against her leg, tail going a mile a minute. She takes the handlebars again and wheels it into the yard of the Hayes house.

The gate swings shut.

CHAPTER 34

Summer

The shutter won’t give. I work my fingers between the bottom edge and the wall and push. Hard, upward. The hinges are gummed up with paint and moisture. They’ve rusted and won’t budge.

I swear under my breath.

The ladder I found in the garage is old, aluminum, with one leg shorter than the other. It stays propped against the wall by some miracle.

I’ve got sawdust in my hair, paint on my forearms, and a gray T-shirt sticking to the small of my back. My denim shorts are smeared with blue paint.

I’m dirty, sweaty, and I’ve spent the last five hours sanding, painting, and cleaning without stopping. A simple, physical task that asks nothing of me but my arms and my patience.

I push again. The shutter creaks but doesn’t move.

Lying in the grass in the shade of the big cypress tree, Flip watches me work. It’s not the first time he’s crossed the surf school yard to come over here. He shows up mid-afternoon, settles in, and waits for someone to come get him. Nobody comes to get him.

I tighten my grip. My palms slip on the wood.

“Flip!”

The voice comes from the other side of the fence. Jace.

The dog lifts his head, ears pricked, then sets it back down on his paws.

“Flip?”

The tone is tenser now, almost worried.

I don’t look his way. I talk to the shutter, eyes fixed on the top hinge.

“Your dog switched sides.”

I hear footsteps in the grass—Jace, barefoot in the yard. He never wears shoes after his lessons. He stops.

“Fuck, Summer… You’re going to get yourself killed.”

Yesterday, the ocean. Today, a wobbly ladder.

I don’t turn around.

“I’ve got it.”

I don’t have it at all. The shutter’s heavier than I imagined. Solid wood from the sixties, probably oak. My arms start to shake.

I pull harder. I brace my foot on the next rung for more leverage. The ladder shifts.

All at once, the shutter lifts a fraction of an inch on its hinges, a sharp jolt that throws me off balance. My foot slips. I pitch backward.

For a second, there’s nothing holding me up.

My back hits a solid chest, warm through the thin fabric of my T-shirt.

Jace is behind me, on the third rung, his hand flat against my waist. I freeze.