Page 36 of Summer Love

Columbia. Economics major. And here I am with a bucket.

If anyone could see me right now, my career would be over—assuming I even have one.

I do what I have to do, empty the bucket out in the yard, and promise myself I’ll never do it again.

Standing in the garage, I wash my hands with the last of the water in my bottle. I can’t keep going like this. The house is huge, everything needs doing, and with no water or power, it’s hopeless.

The number for the Coral Bay water district is on the town’s website—a sleepy voice, an online form, and a wait of “two to three business days.” The power company is less friendly but faster: proof of ownership by email, a reconnection fee, and someone will come out by the end of the week.

I hang up. I can hold out two or three days.

I work another half hour. Dust collects in my hair, sweat glues my T-shirt to my back. Drained, I sit down in the middle of the living room. The boxes aren’t shrinking—they’re multiplying. Every object demands a decision. Sort, put away, toss, keep.

It’ll be better tomorrow.

And then I remember the drink with Ryan Caldwell tonight. Smile, listen, stay awake. In that order.

I get up, close the shutters, and climb back onto my beach cruiser.

At the lodge, Miles is still behind the bar. A black cat sleeps curled in a ball at the end of the counter.

“This is Nori,” Miles says. “Back already?”

“I’m beat.”

“You want a⁠—”

“No thanks,” I cut in. “It’ll be better tomorrow.”

Miles watches me go and doesn’t push it. He scratches the cat’s head with his fingertips, and it purrs without opening its eyes.

My shower—my second of the day, and hopefully the last—lasts three minutes. The hot water feels incredible.

I stretch out on the bed, hair wet, wrapped in a towel. On the nightstand, I notice the book Maya lent me this morning.

Stroke of Desire — Dani Heart

The torso on the cover is as ridiculous as ever—and just as effective. Water droplets on skin, the title in gold lettering, and below it: Breathless, Book 1.

I flip the book over.

Xander is the fastest man in the pool. A beloved champion, his body sculpted by years of training… and a reputation as an out-of-control bad boy.

Daisy is the physical therapist assigned to fix his injured shoulder. Professional. Methodical. Untouchable.

But when their rehab sessions grow more and more intense, one thing becomes clear: some lines are made to be crossed.

Swimmer, PT, injured guy. Okay. I see the setup.

I start reading.

The swimmer climbs out of the water after practice. He pulls off his goggles, runs a hand through his wet hair. The PT waits at the edge of the pool with his chart and her professional expression.

Three paragraphs later:

I know I shouldn’t look at him. Not like that. Not him.

I set the book down on my stomach and stare at the ceiling.