Page 152 of Summer Love

She heads back behind the bar. I sit down.

Summer gives me a questioning look. Her smile is small, a little held back—and it’s for me.

“You’re early,” she murmurs.

“By a few hours, yeah…”

The conversation picks back up around us. Kai’s talking about a swell coming in Thursday—northwest, six feet, fourteen seconds. Good, clean, should fill in early.

“I ran into the hot Norwegian at the Market this morning,” Miles says, picking up a piece of pork with his chopsticks. “He touched my hair.”

“Søren? ¡Ay!” Maya says.

“He told me the color’s holding up well. And that I should stop by the salon, that he’d love to do something with it. What do you think?”

“I think it’s a sales pitch,” Kai answers.

Maya rolls her eyes.

“Te juro, Kai, you’ve got the instincts of a rock. Obviously he was flirting.”

“We don’t know that,” I say.

“You’re not exactly an expert on signals either… Cariño,” she says to Miles, “you make the appointment, you go to the salon, and you tell us everything.”

Miles smiles, not quite daring to believe it.

The broth is scalding, rich, delicious. Under the table, I reach for Summer’s hand. It’s there, resting on her thigh. When my fingers slide between hers, she closes them around mine, without changing her expression.

What are we, the two of us? She’s not my ex, not my girlfriend.

But she’s here, her warm hand in mine.

“I missed you,” I murmur, low enough that no one else hears.

Summer doesn’t turn her head, but her fingers tighten.

“I missed you too,” she breathes.

Noah bursts onto the deck in coveralls, an unlit cigarette behind his ear, a stepladder under one arm and two light bulbs in his free hand. Captain trails after him, tail high, like he’s running an inspection.

Noah still looks like hell, but his eyes are less dead than before.

Yumi lifts the ladle from behind the bar.

“Noah? Ramen?”

“No… but thanks.”

He raises an eyebrow when he sees me next to Summer, then heads off toward the front desk.

Five minutes later, Summer rests her chopsticks on the edge of her empty bowl.

“I’m going to get some air,” she says to no one in particular.

She stands; I do the same right away. Maya watches me go with a smile that says too much.

The voices fade behind us. We take the path to the trailer without talking about it. Our shoulders brush; the sand crunches under our feet.