Page 151 of Summer Love

“You’re tense today,” she says after two minutes of working on my thigh.

“I spent the whole day standing in the sand,” I mutter.

“I wasn’t only talking about your leg…”

Her fingers move up the scar tissue. There are dead patches, patches coming back, and one exact spot, mid-thigh, that makes me clench my jaw. Steph presses. I close my eyes. My fingers grip the edge of the table.

“Sorry, but that’s a good sign. It’s responding better than before.”

“I know.”

She keeps going. I breathe in. The pain recedes, comes back, recedes. That rhythm, I know it. It’s the rhythm of my Tuesdays.

Steph doesn’t talk much during sessions. She never tries to fill the silences. She knows I prefer it that way.

“Someone asked me to show it to them,” I say, without thinking.

“And?” Steph answers without stopping her work.

“I said no.”

“It’s a scar, Jace. It says you’re still here.”

I don’t answer. Her hands work in silence.

“You can get dressed,” she says, lowering my leg. “And… you know, you could let her look.”

I sit up on the edge of the table. My thigh throbs.

“I’ll think about it,” I grumble. “And I didn’t say it was a girl.”

“Don’t need to.” She smiles. “See you next week, Jace.”

Outside, the air’s cooler. The streetlights on Main Street are starting to come on. The eucalyptus cream still clings to my skin under my shorts.

I walk toward Crescent Beach. Headed for the trailer. Sleep, see no one. My Tuesday-night routine.

Shit.

I should’ve asked Summer to dinner. She offered to see me tonight. Why did I say no? I said I’d be wiped after PT, and it’s true, I’m wiped. But now, with that red heart in my pocket, the empty trailer doesn’t sound so great anymore.

I turn toward the lodge.

I climb the deck steps. The smell of ramen—broth, ginger, soy sauce—makes my mouth water. Four big bowls sit on the long wooden table; steam rises in the glow of the string lights.

Summer’s sitting with Maya, Kai, and Miles. They’re eating, talking, chopsticks clicking against the porcelain. Maya’s telling a story with her hands, and Kai shakes his head without looking up from his bowl. Miles spins a soft-boiled egg on his spoon like it’s a magic trick.

And Summer laughs.

I’d missed that sound.

“¿Jefe?” Maya calls out. “What are you doing here?”

“I… uh… was passing by.”

“Nice try,” she laughs.

Ladle in hand, Yumi stands behind the bar, next to a big cast-iron pot on the counter. Without asking, she takes a bowl from the shelf, fills it with broth and noodles, adds shredded pork and green onions. She crosses the deck and sets it down in front of an empty chair—the one next to Summer.