Page 40 of The Summer Plans

“What about pancakes?” I suggest.

Logan’s eyes light up. “Those are her favorite! Lucas and I made them for her once, but we’re not allowed to make her breakfast in bed anymore.”

“Why’s that?”

Lucas’s head drops. “We didn’t make it right.”

“Well, I know how to make pancakes. I’d be happy to serve her breakfast in bed.” I pat him reassuringly.

The boys grin up at me, relief washing over their faces. It makes me wonder how bad they must’ve messed up her pancakes.

“What if we make all her meals? And you can help us,” Lucas says. “So we don’t mess up.”

“Sure. What else does she like?” I ask.

“Spaghetti. And garlic bread,” Lucas offers.

“And strawberry smoothies,” Logan adds.

I open the app for the market and add everything to my cart: ingredients for her pancakes, an egg-free alternative for Logan, ingredients for spaghetti, all the snacks the boys said she likes, some fresh flowers I’ll say are from her kids, and a strawberry daiquiri mix along with some coconut rum. Whenever we went out as a group in high school, she used to get virgin strawberry daiquiris. When I asked her about it, she’d shrug and tell me they made her feel grown up. I’m pretty sure those are the strawberry smoothies Logan is referring to.

This is going to be her best birthday yet.

CHAPTER 12

SUMMER

When I roll over, the bed is empty. Again. Every morning, I wake up alone just like I do at home. Part of me had hoped that sharing a bed with RJ would mean getting to spend some quality time with him. Early morning conversations while we’re still groggy and trying to hide our morning breath. Middle-of-the-night snuggles when one of us drifts over the makeshift boundary we made between us. Waking up to him examining each freckle on my cheeks as he watches me sleep.

These are dangerous thoughts. He’s making an effort, and I want to believe in him, but he’s let me down before, just like other men.

The house sounds surprisingly quiet, and I lie here, hoping to get a few more winks.

“Morning, darlin’. I’ve got your favorite, pancakes with sliced bananas, chocolate chips, a layer of peanut butter spread between each one, and a side of bacon.”

I keep my eyes shut, determined to enjoy this as long as I can. Of all the recurring dreams I’ve had about this man, this one is my favorite. I can verbalize all the dirty thoughts in my head I’m too afraid to say out loud. Why can’t I actually wake to this?

“Mmm, the only thing I’m hungry for is you,” I reply sleepily.

There’s a small chuckle. “Is that so?”

That’s odd. He usually jumps right into it. I guess my brain is conjuring up new scenarios this morning.

“Yep. I need that big, hard dick either in my mouth or between my thighs. Think you can handle that, RJ?”

The bed dips, and I startle, my hands shooting out in front of me when a warm palm clasps my shoulder, massaging gently. “Summer, darlin’, wake up.”

Oh, sweet baby Jesus. That wasn’t a dream. He’s really here. How much did he hear? “What? What time is it?” I yawn, hoping to save face.

“It’s almost ten. The kids have been fed and are watching TV. I’ve got breakfast here if you’re hungry.”

Holy shit, I slept in. Wait, I thought that was part of the dream. “What is it?”

“Didn’t you hear me? I made your favorite, Elvis pancakes with a side of bacon. If you need a side of something else, let me know.” There’s a teasing tone in his voice, and I swallow down my embarrassment, desperate to change the subject. How does he know my favorite birthday meal?

I sit up quickly, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. Nothing could prepare me for the sight of RJ, shirtless, in a pair of floral swim trunks sitting on the side of the bed with a tray of food in his hands.

His eyes flick down to my chest, and I look down, mortified to see that one of my boobs has popped out of my tank top. I cover my breast with my arms as I yank at the fabric.