Page 64 of Summer Love

A coffee table is buried under food: quiches, cookies, banana bread, lemonade in a glass bowl. Books fill the shelves or sit stacked near the cushions.

It’s all women.

Teenage girls—fifteen, sixteen—mix with women in their thirties and forties. In a corner by the window, two old ladies share a throw.

“Summer!”

Sierra gets up from her cushion and comes over. She hasn’t changed much. Curvier than I remember, gorgeous as ever, with her caramel skin, her little braids, and handmade rings on almost every finger. Her eyes are the same: direct, with a hint of amusement.

She pulls me into a hug and squeezes the air out of me. Then she looks me over, taking her time. Her smile widens.

“You’ve changed... for the better. I had a crush on you, you know.”

What?

“I... I didn’t know.”

Sierra bursts out laughing.

“I know. It was Jace you were looking at.”

I force a smile.

“That was a long time ago.”

Sierra doesn’t push it. She loops her arm through mine and pulls me toward the circle.

“Come on. Ages fifteen to ninety-nine. Everyone’s welcome.”

“Except men,” Miles puts in, setting his cooler on the corner of a table.

I bite my lip to keep from laughing.

I add what I brought to the spread and sit down between Maya and a woman in her forties I don’t know. The mood is cheerful, a little loud, full of overlapping conversations. Miles hands out his cocktails—colorful glasses, non-alcoholic, with lemon slices.

“What is it?” one of the teens asks.

“Trade secret,” Miles answers with a wink.

Maya hands me a glass. I take a sip. It’s really good. Cool, tart, with a hint of ginger underneath.

A young woman comes in, a tray in her hands. She has brown hair, gold hoop earrings, and a huge smile. It takes me a few seconds to recognize Chiara DeLuca, Luke’s little sister.

The last time I saw her, she was twelve, with scraped knees and a ponytail that never stayed put. Now she’s eighteen. The resemblance to Luke is striking—same brown eyes, same golden skin, same way of talking with her hands.

“Tonight it’s cannoli,” she announces, setting the tray in the center of the table.

A murmur of approval ripples through the room.

“Did Luke make them?” Sierra asks.

Chiara shrugs.

“Like always. I just carried them.”

“Your brother cooks like a chef,” Maya says. “Such a shame he’s a grocer and not a cook.”

“What he really wants is to fix bikes and skateboards,” Chiara answers. “He’s always tinkering.”