Page 28 of Summer Love

She rises onto her toes and takes in the yard—the pulled weeds, the trash bags, the shears stuck in the dirt.

“You’re doing all this by yourself?”

“No one else to do it.”

“You’re brave. Or crazy.”

“Both, probably.”

She laughs. An open, easy laugh that asks for nothing in return.

Then she pulls a book from under her arm and holds it out to me.

“Here. A gift. Well… a loan.”

I look at the cover. A man’s torso, water droplets on skin, and a title in gold letters: Stroke of Desire, by Dani Heart. Maya smiles.

“It’s exactly as hot as it looks.”

I flip the book over. The back cover: a swimmer, a physical therapist, rules you absolutely do not break.

“Sierra found it.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Sierra… Brooks?”

Maya nods.

Sierra. The braids, the handmade rings… The most level-headed one of the group—the one we always kind of overlooked, and who never complained about it.

“She’s the one who runs the bookstore on Main Street?”

“Tide & Tales, yeah. She opened it two years ago.”

So she’s in Coral Bay, too…

“We’ve got a book club, Thursday nights, at the bookstore. Fifteen or so of us, depends on the week. Girls’ night—guys are banned.”

Maya winks.

“Want to come? We’ll talk about this gem.”

“Thursday’s in two days…”

“Just start it. You don’t have to finish. But trust me, three chapters in, you won’t be able to put it down… Nobody knows Dani Heart yet, but Sierra says she’s about to blow up.”

I look at the book, then at Maya—her easy smile, her coffee, the school behind her.

She’s part of Jace’s world now. I’m not.

“I’ve gotta go,” Maya says. “Got a beginner lesson at nine. Bueno. Summer, you’re coming Thursday, okay? It’ll do you good.”

Without waiting for my answer, she heads back toward the school, light on her feet, her curly ponytail swinging behind her. I’m left standing in my overgrown yard, a lodge cup in one hand, a novel with a shirtless swimmer on the cover in the other.

The sun’s burned off the mist. The surf school hums. Somewhere in the yard, Maya calls out instructions to the first students. Flip barks.

I glance at the house behind me, shutters open, windows wide, breathing at last after six years.

I came to empty it. Not to fill myself with what’s around me.