Page 10 of Tastes Like Summer

Balancing my phone between my cheek and my shoulder, I fold the towels by the lounge chairs, making sure we’re not making too much of a mess. Even though Barbara is away, I don’t want her to ever think I’m taking advantage of her hospitality.

“So things went well today?” Rosie asks.

“Well enough. The camp is so bougie—I think I saw a seven year-old with a designer backpack—and I got looped into some ridiculous orientation that lasted about three million hours. But the counselors and people running it were very nice.”

“They liked the camp then? Camila and Emi, I mean.”

Glancing at my daughters while neatly piling the towels on the table beside the lounge chairs, I watch as they squeal and splash in the pool water. They look happier than I’ve seen them in the past six months—since the whole divorce process started—which fills me with a deep sense of hope. It tells me that maybe this will work. Maybe coming here really will help us regroup, and we can head back to Denver in a better headspace before school starts.

“Yeah. They won’t stop raving about it.”

“That’s good, right? I mean, obviously,” she says.

“Absolutely,” I tell her, nodding even though she can’t see me. “It means I don’t feel as guilty as I should for dumping my kids in a camp while I study and work when I should probably be giving them love and attention given our whole situation.”

“Dee…” Rosie sighs over the phone. “You’re being way too hard on yourself. You need to be a bit more selfish here. And honestly? This is also good for them. You’re working and getting your certification to be a paralegal and that’s for them. Even though I don’t get why they’re making you get this thing. Didn’t you say it wasn’t a requirement in Colorado?”

“No, but the law firm requires me to be National Association of Legal Assistants certified,” I clarify. “And they’re already giving me a huge shot by offering me this job. I mean, do you know how difficult it is to find a job as a former stay-at-home mom? Especially in this economy. It doesn’t matter that I double-majored in Economics and Business Management from a top 50 university at the top of my class for most of my college career. Nope. The fact that I dropped out and had to finish my last semester at a junior college ten years later only gives me the bare minimum of qualifications, apparently.” I take a beat, sigh, and try to calm my heart rate. “The job market treated me like I have no job experience whatsoever. Which is ridiculous, because it’s not as if I haven’t been doing anything for the last decade. I’ve had to manage a budget, organize tasks, and raise two children⁠—”

“Three, if you count Rodrigo,” Rosie interrupts.

I laugh once but go on. “But, yeah, these are all translatable skills for a job. If that doesn’t say prime candidate for a manager role I don’t know what does. And yet, it was impossible to find something.”

“Well, not impossible.” And I know she’s just trying to be supportive, but I really can’t stand it now. “At least you found someone in Denver to take a chance on you,” Rosie says before taking a sip of her champagne.

“The only reason I found a job at Porter, Jameson, & Webb is because Edgar Porter was my divorce attorney, and I impressed him during proceedings. And because he’s dad’s old friend from grad school.” I roll my eyes. Normally, I’m not a fan of nepotism or calling in these kinds of favors—I like to think like I can take care of myself—but I had to do what I had to do for my kids. “I have a lot of catching up to do. Hence, the certification and the training program, all while I act as a virtual assistant to him.”

“You are such a good mom, Dee,” she says.

I heave a sigh, looking up at the clouds as the stinging in my eyes begins. I don’t want to cry. Not again. Not today. It feels like it’s all I do.

“Thanks.” My voice cracks. “I don’t know that I’m a good mom, but I’m trying. At least the girls are enjoying themselves, and that’s what matters. They couldn’t stop talking about how much fun they had. I was worried it might take them a minute to make new friends, but turns out they already knew another camper there.”

Rosie gasps, delighted. “Seriously? How?”

“We ran into one of the kids they were playing with at Barbara’s wedding just as we were walking into the camp. Turns out she’s going there, too.”

“Really? That’s great! Maybe you can befriend the girl’s parents? Make some friends for the summer?”

I frown. “Um, no. I think it’s just her dad. And I don’t need a friend for the summer. And certainly not a parent from my daughters’ day camp.”

Rosie snorts over the phone. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant as in an actual friend. Who you can talk to and hang out with. Pretty sure those still exist after you become a parent.”

“I don’t need friends, okay? I need to focus.” I sigh, thinking of how I’m already behind on my training schedule and it’s only been one day. “And the guy was the worst. I mean, he was completely clueless. And kind of an ass.”

She snorts. “About what?”

I hesitate. “I don’t know. He just… he rubbed me the wrong way. He teased me about my parenting style and… He showed up in a tight tee and jeans and boots, with his beard scruff and muscles and…” I trail off, shaking my head, remembering how at ease he looked, how obnoxiously okay he seemed with being late and the way his biceps just⁠—

“Scruff can be hot.” I can hear my sister’s stupid smile in her voice. “Is he? Hot, I mean?”

I take a breath, feeling my cheeks heat. Weird. Must be the late afternoon sun. “Objectively speaking, he’s… attractive.”

My sister laughs, and I consider hanging up. “How objectively attractive are we talking about? Are we talking conventional good looks like Hemsworth? Or dirty hot like Jason Momoa?”

I pause, momentarily distracted by the memory of this man who so easily got under my skin. The way his muscles seemed to move in slow motion when they tightened in the frustration he so clearly aimed at me; the way his mischievous grin lit up his hazel eyes as they ran over my body. The commanding presence he had, how even without laying a finger on me, I felt every inch of him pressed against the side of my body where he sat next to me.

My skin heats, my pulse races. Mortified, I shake my head, trying to clear it. So he was hot. Whatever. Lots of people are hot. Lots of really annoying, awful people are hot.