Page 52 of The Summer Plans

Me: I’ll think about it. Not the boob thing. I need to go before he thinks I’m pooping.

CHAPTER 15

RJ

Summer has been in the bedroom for a while, and my anxiety ramps up with each passing minute. Did I push her too far? Should I have stopped things? I wasn’t about to make a move when she was drunk.

I wasn’t sure if she felt like I did, until last night. It feels wrong having this kind of knowledge, as if I scored some cheat code to hacking her heart. She never would’ve admitted those things sober, but I’m glad she did. It was just dry humping, but it opened a door. I’m running out of time, though, since we’re set to leave tomorrow. Even though we’re both going back to Colorado, we won’t be staying on an island together. And we won’t be sharing a bed together.

Summer emerges from the bedroom in a tank top and the tiniest jean shorts, and I drink her in. “There’s some bacon and toast left. And there’s a few cheese slices if you want to make an eggless breakfast sandwich.”

“You don’t have to keep cooking for me. I can handle it myself.” Her tone is sweet as if she’s politely brushing me off, but I don’t like the bite in her words.

“I told you. I got you.” She looks over at me, finally making eye contact. “I want to be someone you can count on.”

She nods but doesn’t say anything else as she makes herself a plate. I take a seat at the island, gesturing to the stool next to me, but she ignores my offer and stands on the opposite end, eating over her plate.

Once she finishes, she rinses her dish and tells the kids, “I have so much to do before we leave tomorrow. I already got pictures of the upstairs, but I need to do the main floor and finish my list of updates and repairs that need done. I should’ve gotten a handyman out here already, but I’ve been distracted. It’d probably be good to have an inspector come out too.”

A knot forms in my stomach the longer she speaks. I don’t like that she won’t look at me, so I turn to the kids. “I need to talk to your mom. How about you all head upstairs and clean up your rooms? Make sure everything you aren’t using is packed in your suitcase.”

Surprisingly, they obey, hustling up the stairs with Sophie bringing up the rear, eyes glued to her phone.

I take a step closer to Summer. “About last night.” She lets out a deep breath, and I search her face for a clue as to how she’s feeling. Was she afraid I’d bring up what happened this morning?

“What about it?” She pushes past me, filling a glass with water as she pops two ibuprofen.

“You were pretty drunk.”

“That’s why my head hurts,” she groans. Her head swivels to mine. “Did we?”

“No,” I cut her off quickly. “Nothing happened between us when you were drunk.”

Her shoulders relax. “Did I say anything embarrassing?”

I bite the inside of my cheek as I try to stop the smile from spreading. “There may have been some embarrassing admissions.”

“Oh God. Like what?”

“You didn’t want to go crab hunting because they taste gross and can taste you.” I leave out the rest of what she told me.

“That’s not so bad. Did the kids have fun crab hunting?”

“They had a blast. Sophie sent me a video.” I play it for her as she leans in. Her warm floral scent hits me, and I slowly relax as the sounds of her kids squealing emanates from my phone.

“Thank you. For arranging that.” She looks up at me as if suddenly realizing how close we are. Her eyes briefly flick to my lips before she shakes her head, clearing the thought. “I don’t know what came over me last night.”

“About that. I am so sorry. I told you I made an adult daiquiri for you, but I didn’t know Lana had been refilling your cup with it for as long as she had.” Her eyes get big, and I shake my head before she can speak. “None of the kids drank any.”

“Oh good.” She exhales as she takes another sip of water. “My head hurts and I definitely feel hungover, but I figured I’d feel a lot worse considering how drunk I must’ve gotten to not remember much of it.”

“I gave you the rest of my Gatorade. I always have the packets when I travel to replenish after my runs. I basically made you a super electrolyte cocktail after you threw up.”

“I threw up? Please tell me you’re joking.”

“You made it to the toilet, and I held back your hair. Then you cried about wanting to take a shower, but you could barely stand so I gave you a bath. I tried to make you keep your underwear on, but you stripped down before I could stop you.”

Her hands fly up to her face, and she groans into them.