Second Summer

By Salem Patterson

In Second Summer, first in the Four Seasons quartet, thriller novelist Taylor Harris seeks somewhere to settle in and work on his latest novel. When he chooses the Eastmark Hotel, he does not know that the hotel's manager and driving force is Evelyn Scot, the woman he loved and lost fourteen summers before.

In a series of painful and frustrating revelations, the separated lovers learn of all the things they have missed in one another's lives—and that someone intentionally kept them from communicating for many of those fourteen years.
As Taylor and Evelyn strive to explore and understand the years they spent apart and their lingering feelings for one another, Taylor's career and his renewed relationship draw unwanted attention from an anonymous fanatic who seems to know the author's every move—and who is bent on seeing that Taylor live up to his potential as a writer, even if it means eliminating all other distractions in the author's life. The writer's struggle with this new danger and the regrets of his past mirror Evelyn's own efforts to overcome the years of emotional uncertainty she experienced on her own and at the hands of her domineering and sometimes intimidating ex-husband, and the two learn they must depend on what they have together to help them through the troubles they each experience.

Featuring a colorful cast of primary and secondary characters and the insular beauty of the fictional Eastmark Hotel, Second Summer demonstrates the tenacity of true love and the lasting ways those who love and are loved touch one another's lives. Through Taylor's and Evelyn's relationships with one another and with their friends and family, this novel shows the intricacies of relationships and the bonds that transcend time and strife.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Salem Patterson
• Release date: Oct 14, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301070213

Salem Patterson

Salem Patterson is the pseudonym of aspiring cowriters Jennifer Patterson and Amanda Salem. Patterson and Salem have been two halves of the same writing brain for several years, taking a friendship that started with a flat tire and a common interest in writing to new levels and new successes.

Book preview

Second Summer

Published by Salem Patterson at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Salem Patterson

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication

Second Summer is dedicated by the authors to the family and friends who supported them in their first authorial endeavor and who continue to support them today.

To our parents and spouses, who show loving understanding when we talk to and about our characters and disappear for hours on end into our own little world and to our friends who read, re-read, and read more, with a particular thank you to Kerry B., who provided a title when we simply could not find the words.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

Sneak Preview of Finally Fall

PROLOGUE

1989

No mama, I didn’t bring the red dress, Evie said as she slung the bag over her shoulder and picked her reading glasses up off of her nightstand. She had been hoping to make it out without being seen. No such luck. It was nine o’clock in the morning and her mother was already worried about her wardrobe for this evening’s events. The only wardrobe she was worried about at the moment was the strap of her bathing suit top that was twisted under the strap of her bag.

Stepping out of her room, she nearly ran over her brother, who looked as if he had just gotten in. His dark brown hair was more unruly than usual, and he had the same suit on that he had worn to last night’s dinner party. He placed a finger over his lips to ask for silence as he made his way to his room just down the hall. You owe me, she whispered with a shake of her head. He winked at her before shutting his bedroom door and she sighed. It was only appropriate her twin brother live life beyond the fullest, since she tended to do the opposite.

I thought I told you to bring the red dress, Evelyn? Aurelia Scot was waiting for her in the kitchen. She knew her daughter too well; there was an important dinner this evening, so it was only natural for Evie to try and be absent all day. She had hoped by the age of nineteen, nearly twenty, her daughter would step into womanhood and the responsibilities that came with it. Two years of college had only served to make her more stubborn in her eccentricities, and it was vexing to someone who embraced the rich lifestyle God had graced her with. Perhaps by the end of the summer, her daughter would recognize there was no way to escape her destiny.

Evie sighed deeply and plucked an apple from the bowl on the counter. It makes me look like a hooker, she stated, ignoring her mother’s gasp as she tucked the apple in her bag along with a bottle of water that she took from the refrigerator.

It does no such thing, Aurelia said, placing her hands on her hips and frowning. It shows you off nicely and I was hoping you’d have it to wear this evening.

Moving across the kitchen to the back door, Evie stopped and faced her mother. If there’s a gentleman you want me to meet tonight, mother, you don’t want me in such a dress. He’ll think I’m easy, and how will I ever lure him into marriage? she asked with an innocent look. And you shouldn’t frown so, it’ll give you wrinkles, she said before pushing the door open and leaving with a quiet chuckle. It was satisfying to see her mother’s outraged expression even as she tried not to frown.

Standing on the back porch, she breathed in the sea air. The family cottage they had here was right on the ocean and she loved it. When she was younger, she had enjoyed being so close to the sand and surf for entertainment purposes. Many hours had been spent constructing castles of various sizes and shapes, or riding the waves and racing Eric towards the shore. Now she loved it for relaxation purposes. Although today, she’d have to head farther down the beach, away from her parents and her mother’s nagging, if she wanted to relax.

She knew what was expected of her, what her parents wanted. Marriage to an eligible, wealthy young man so she could be just like her mother, which was not what she wanted for herself. She just needed to get it through their heads and had tried numerous times. Perhaps she could convince them of it by the end of the summer. Reaching the water’s edge, she slipped off her flip flops and held them in one hand as she proceeded down the beach and away from familial obligations for the day. About a half a mile down was a long line of rental houses and the Ocean Isle Resort. She could rent a chair and umbrella there and hide out.

It wasn’t long before she was ensconced safely under the umbrella, sitting in the low chair with her glasses on and her book in her lap. She had read the book once before, but The Alchemist seemed a fitting re-read this summer. A book about following your dreams and finding your place in life seemed all too appropriate to her.

An hour passed and the tide was going out, bringing the sandpipers to run along the sand. She glanced up for a moment, watching them dodge the water and look for food. A few people walked by, searching the beach for shells, and she smiled in contentment as she returned to her book. Her toes dug into the sand and she reached around in her bag for the apple she had brought along. It should hold her over for a couple of hours at least.

Taylor Harris looked out over the beach and narrowed his eyes at the morning joggers, the bikini-clad sun-worshippers, and the posing men who had apparently managed to leave their mirrors long enough to come out. This wasn’t at all what he’d had in mind for a vacation, though he knew it was an American tradition to camp out on the beach to show one’s independence from life. Taylor also knew he should have counted himself lucky that his three friends, all of them overjoyed with the break from college and responsibilities and the day-to-day minutiae of life, hadn’t dragged him to somewhere like Panama Beach or some equally decadent, overcrowded, noisy, party-saturated spot. Of course, their theory had been that the odds were much better at a place like this, where fewer guys went to hang out over the summer vacation.

He’d nodded and agreed, because agreeing with his friends was always the easier way out. A few nods and agreements was all it had taken to land him here, and now, he knew he couldn’t claim it was a mystery how he’d ended up here.

His light brown hair blew in his eyes as he stood at the edge of the beach, his hands shoved in the pockets of khaki shorts he’d only just bought, his bare torso not yet bronzed by the sun, hair not yet shot with gold from it. He’d tried his best to stay indoors and read, but had been mocked for it, so he thought he’d do his duty early today and maybe get some peace and quiet tonight. So far, they were all still asleep, trying to rest off the previous night’s carousing. He was fairly certain Simon had someone in his room with him, and he was also fairly certain Jeremy had convinced some young woman into accompanying Paul, despite his social awkwardness, his plaguing nervous mannerisms.

He pitied Paul, mostly because he knew exactly what that felt like. His cheeks burned and he glanced back over his shoulder at the house that was too large for just the four of them—and their occasional houseguests. The cunning house with its tall windows and white shutters, wide open spaces and high ceilings didn’t quite feel easy to him, anyway, the bulk of the cost footed by Simon, the rest of it easily covered by Jeremy and Paul. They’d refused his offer to chip in, and though he knew they meant well… he shook his head. It was the same as it ever was. They always seemed to know best for him.

Rubbing a long-fingered hand over his stomach, he found himself pushed farther away from the house, the thought of money embarrassing him enough to make him embrace the long stretch of beach. His towel slung over his shoulder, he plodded along with feet still unused to the feel of the sand, looking for a spot to settle.

Despite the odd looks that came his way, he ultimately found the most peaceful, entertaining activity on the beach. His towel spread out, he leaned back, his hands buried in wet sand, his legs stretched out on the towel, and faced away from the water. He knew what the water looked like, it really presented nothing new, but the people… the people always brought something new.

He knew Simon had never understood his love for crowded, often low-class places, preferring to stick to the security his money could afford without indulging in the luxury he so loathed. But people were much more honest, rawer, more interesting to watch when their pretenses were stripped away—airports, flea markets, shopping centers. Occasionally, though, watching the peacocks was sort of fun.

He grinned as an overly tanned man walked by, his musclebound arms held slightly out to his sides in the manner of meatheads all over the world. Taylor’s eyes tracked him as two pre-adolescent boys followed after, mocking the man’s stature with overaffected, pompous struts.

You’re supposed to be looking at the women, not the men, the dry, amused observation came from his other side, a voice familiar from years’ worth of history, a childhood together, an accidental friendship formed before any of them had understood the differences of their families, the social demarcation of wealth and prestige.

Or the water. That’s less weird, the second voice joined, lighthearted and laid-back, just as familiar.

Taylor turned his head finally and saw Simon and Jeremy respectively, standing side-by-side. They could have been brothers, the wild and the tame, the hedonistic and the harmless. Simon’s jet-black hair was too long, curling over his ears, and Jeremy’s sable mop was a mess, tossed by the wind, though it always looked like that. Taylor grinned in response; he couldn’t help himself, but part of him felt intruded on, his private time now over. He pushed the feeling away with the ease and thoughtlessness of habit, his eyes cast up to theirs.

The people are the best part, he explained, but he’d go no further. For as much as he loved them, he rarely ever talked about his writing to them. It wasn’t as though they didn’t get it, it just seemed… private.

There are better best parts, my friend, Simon said, putting his hands on his hips and sliding his sunglasses over his eyes, looking around. For instance… His eyes lit on a bespectacled brunette down the stretch, the umbrella drawing attention to her while warding off the sun.

Jeremy let out a low whistle as Taylor sighed and looked over obligatorily. Simon never took long to work around to this point. She’s pretty, Jeremy observed, pushing his glasses up on his nose and peering a bit more closely at her bikini top and jogging shorts made brief by long legs. Great build.

After a moment’s assessment, Simon sighed. She looks like a snob, he judged, sounding bored and disappointed. Or uptight. He’d grown up among these people. She could have fit in with his family just fine. We could always go see which it is, and if it’s curable.

No challenge too large, Jeremy said with a good-natured grin. They fell into conversation, neither of them noticing that Taylor had turned away, a small frown tugging on his lips as he resumed his people-watching. He wanted little part in this, though he wasn’t about to say so. The game was old, the outcome predictable and usually unpleasant. What point was there in a change of scenery if the actions remained the same?

After they’d walked away, however, Taylor found it hard to keep his eyes away from the tableau they made. As Simon stayed standing, one hand hanging loosely to the edge of her umbrella, and Jeremy plopped down in front of her, legs akimbo in the sand, Taylor could easily imagine the conversation. Simon was no doubt smugly making a pass at her, with Jeremy’s easy, enviable friendliness making up for any faux pas intentionally committed by their unofficial leader.

It was easier to look at her now without the scrutiny of his friends. They seemed to watch him all too closely when it came to women, both here on vacation and back at college. His dating, or lack thereof, had been carefully monitored, commentated upon, and augmented against his will by Jeremy and Simon, particularly the latter, with sycophantic encouragement from the hapless Paul.

So, it was much easier to look from afar, even if he did envy them their ease. She was pretty, Jeremy had been right about that, the dark chestnut of her hair gleaming in the sun as she tilted her head to regard his friends, her lips full and unpainted in a small smile that looked not snobbish, but guarded. The book she held in her hands seemed more comfortable to her than the conversation did, and the umbrella spoke of comfort and caution instead of exhibitionism and sun-soaking. The spectacles slipping down the small, straight nose made him smile, so rare were reading glasses in a place like this, and he found himself wondering about her in the way he wondered about any interesting personality who might make a good character. She could have made a decent ingénue, he thought, savvy and competent, though private. He knew nothing about her, and yet, with his imagination, it was too easy to see everything about her.

When his friends started back across the sand, Jeremy looking apologetic and Simon looking simultaneously smug and sullen, Taylor tugged himself from his reverie and looked away, embarrassed by his scrutiny. It was too far away to tell what had happened, anyway. Still, he wondered what they had said, if they had unsurprisingly offended her, or equally unsurprisingly managed to charm her.

Earlier, she had glimpsed the young man sitting in the sand, facing away from the water, and was momentarily intrigued. It had not taken her long to realize he was watching the people instead of the ocean, and with a small smile, she had returned to the adventures of Santiago.

Now she watched the two boys leave her and head back in his direction. She momentarily wondered why he had stayed behind before she pulled her gaze away from them. Her mother would die if she knew she had rebuffed the Browning heir. It would not even matter that he’d had less than honorable intentions toward her. Making note of what page she had been on, she placed her book on her bag and rested her forearms on her knees as she watched the waves. She wanted to cool off a little in the water, but she’d wait until they left.

Being right is extremely gratifying, Simon said as he approached. I try to do it at least twice a day.

She was shy, Jeremy said, bringing a slight smile to Taylor’s lips. Ever the optimist, Jeremy was. He would make a wonderful doctor someday. And we did interrupt her.

Her father is an old friend of my mother’s, Simon supplied. If my mother weren’t a dried-up, frigid bitch, maybe they’d have made quite the couple. As it was, she met a dried-up, frigid bastard and built the life of her dreams. Anyway, she’s a Scot.

You didn’t say anything like that to her, did you, Simon? he asked, a bit dismayed. No one deserved Simon at his worse if they hadn’t chosen it. Taylor couldn’t complain—he had, after all, chosen it.

On the contrary, I tried to be a good neighbor and invite her to our place, but she’s too good for us. He clapped Taylor on the shoulder. You should have worn sunblock, buddy.

Taylor glanced down at his slightly pink shoulders and then back up at his best friend with a frown. Finally, knowing Simon would never give him a straight answer, he looked to Jeremy. Apology?

I think things are okay. It’s not like we’ll see her again, Jeremy pointed out, but his expression was sheepish as he shrugged.

Narrowing her eyes on the three, she sighed and wiggled her toes in the sand before sitting back against the chair once again. Picking her book back up, she adjusted her glasses and decided to read while waiting for them to become fascinated with one of the sunbathing, giggling girls that were bound to be heading out soon for optimal sun exposure after sleeping in.

She could not focus on the words printed on the page, however. The conversation from earlier made her wonder if perhaps she was hiding not only from her mother but from the world in general. The young man who had sat in the sand had been genuinely friendly, even if it was probably to cover the fact that his friend was being a touch bold. Would it have hurt for her to take them up on their invitation?

Taylor was relieved when Simon announced they were going back to the house to wake Paul and Miriam, hoping to embarrass one or both of them before hashing out where they might go for lunch and what might be found to do this evening. Half of what they said went straight past Taylor as he struggled not to look back up the beach at the girl—Miss Scot, Simon had said. Not as good as a first name, but still a name. Not that he needed one.

Be back at the house by noon, Steinbeck, or we’ll leave you to forage for lunch, Simon called, walking backward for a few moments as he watched his friend. He’d become too withdrawn in recent months, nearly as bad as when his parents had died. The way Simon figured it, they had one year left of school to remedy that withdrawal before it set in chronically.

Taylor waited until they’d all but disappeared, specks against the backdrop of the house that served as a temporary home, before he stood, brushing his hands against his shorts. Obviously, Jeremy hadn’t apologized for or in front of Simon. The ensuing reaction would have been worse than the original action. For a moment, Taylor was ashamed to love his friend as much as he did, but Simon had problems of his own and plenty of them.

So, he’d apologize for him. Another long-standing habit.

He crossed the beach, trying manfully not to wince at how hot the sand had gotten. As he neared her, he felt the damnable, ever-present nerves start to wind up his stomach, and he held back a sigh.

She was prettier up close, the dark-framed glasses suiting her completely, her expression quiet and intelligent, the dark, arched brows drawn down slightly in a frown, whether at what she was reading or what she’d heard, he couldn’t guess. She wasn’t anything like Simon’s type, or anything like the girls Simon usually pushed at him. It was a refreshing change, if he’d been looking for one. Which… he wasn’t. Ah… good morning. Hello.

She was still frowning slightly as she looked up, but a grin tugged at one corner of her mouth as she saw who the voice belonged to. The watcher, she said quietly as she closed her book and pushed her glasses up on her nose, more out of habit than necessity. Maybe his friends had made him stay behind because they knew she’d have found him more to her liking. His eyes were intelligent and friendly, the uneasy smile he offered her quite devastating. The fall of caramel brown hair in his eyes just added to the effect, and she struggled for nonchalance. Good morning, she replied, glancing beyond him to see that his friends had vacated the beach.

He’d been prepared to apologize, but the first words out of her mouth made him falter, as did the suppressed grin. That didn’t seem a bit like the girl Simon had tried to describe, though Simon wasn’t exactly the most observant among them. The… It sunk in and he flushed, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. The watcher. Oh. Right. You saw me sitting… He turned and looked at his towel. It’s a hobby, he said by way of explanation.

She tried very hard not to notice the play of muscles across his chest but sadly, or not so sadly depending on how you looked at it, failed. Clearing her throat, she placed her book aside once more and dropped her gaze. He had nice legs, too, she thought, and then mentally cursed for noticing. "If you sit far enough back you can see people and the ocean," she finally said as she tried not to act like such a …girl.

I was sort of attempting to distance myself from the house. He shoved his hand through his hair and wondered what in the hell had gotten into him. Hadn’t he come over here to apologize? Which… I’m sure you saw why.

He hit on you, too? she asked with a grin.

He was speechless for a moment, then he laughed, surprised at her humor, and even more so at the target. Women usually loved Simon. No, he said, shaking his head, put more at ease by her jest. She was as clever as she looked at a glance. It was almost too promising. Look, he said as his laughter tapered off to a smile. I really am sorry about him.

She wished he wouldn’t smile at her like that, even if she couldn’t help but return it. No need to do that. He’s harmless. Unlike you, she thought with chagrin. I take it this is something you do often?

Wondering what she was referring to, he considered it for a few moments, rocking back on his heels in the sand. Well, ah… talk to pretty girls, no. Sit on the beach, definitely not. Apologizing for my best friend is… well, sort of common. Had he said ‘pretty’? He’d thought it, but he hadn’t actually meant to voice it. Damn it. It was the smile. Or the glasses. He was a fool.

He was very honest, she thought as she tilted her head and slid her glasses off. That was not something that was very common in the men she’d had the misfortune to be around. His face became clearer without the glasses and she almost wished she had not taken them off. He had a poetic face that showed more emotion than most men would ever admit to, the type a girl could swoon over. It sounded old-fashioned even to her, but it was the best first impression that came to mind. You shouldn’t have to apologize for him. He’ll never learn to do it himself, she said, quickly dropping her gaze before he noticed her scrutiny.

The glasses were bad enough, but seeing those dark, serious eyes without them—lovely, he was going to turn into Keats any minute now. He’s not sorry and I am. I’m the only one who’ll apologize. He sounded weak now. Perfect. I shouldn’t have disturbed your reading.

Apologizing for yourself now? she asked with a small smile as she placed her glasses on top of her book. I wasn’t reading—woolgathering and self-introspection were all you interrupted, and for that I should thank you.

Neither bad things, he said, wondering why he was still standing here. Oh! His exclamation was loud and sudden, and he accompanied it by extending his hand. Taylor Harris. A bit late, I realize. Good God. He wanted to bury his head in the sand. If he hadn’t already asininely blurted out that he never talked to girls, it would have been obvious regardless.

Her smile widened as she reached out and took his hand. Evie Scot, she supplied as the warmth of his hand closed around hers.

It’s nice to meet you, he said, holding onto her hand for a moment, his eyes fast on hers. Really. It was one of those things that had been said so often that the power had long since been leached from the words, and he felt he had to qualify it.

Sincerity, another lost trait in the male species. It’s nice to meet you, she responded as she reluctantly let go of his hand. Truly, she added as she brushed a stray strand of hair off of her cheek and tucked it back behind her ear. Pushing herself up out of her chair, she stood, pleased to see he was quite a bit taller than she was. Are you and the boys here all summer? she asked, hoping his answer was in the affirmative.

God, she had long legs. He rubbed his hand over the top of his head again, nodding. We’ve got the house until the week before school starts back up. College. He glanced up toward the house to keep himself from staring. I think they’ll forget everything they learned last year, he added with a grin before turning back to her. Are you staying for long? He tried not to sound too hopeful, though he knew he failed. Pretense was not a strong suit of his, and there were few things that interested him here outside of the books he’d packed and the people-watching. It would be impossible to hide that he was, for once, actually interested in talking to a girl.

Chuckling at his very probably true observation about his friends, she enjoyed the feeling of satisfaction that he would be around all summer. She rocked forward on her toes, letting out a little of the tension she had building up in her. It was not something she was used to, and she was unsure of what to do about it. I’m here until the middle of August, a few weeks before the fall semester starts back up. Same as every summer as far back as I can remember. The one difference being this summer, her mother was pushing her more stringently towards a future she did not want.

It wasn’t as though he’d needed a reminder of who she was, or her status—Simon knowing who she was had really said enough—but the fact that she came here every summer made his smile soften a bit, and it occurred to him he probably appeared very much like his housemates: like a rich college boy spending his summer vacation at the beach. And most of that would have been true, but for the important part. The part that would make him actually in her league. And yet… If you couldn’t ignore your better judgment on your last summer break, when could you?

How many summers would that be, then? he asked, squinting as the sun got in his eyes. That’s my clumsy way of trying to determine how old you are.

I turned twenty last month, she replied with a grin. Your clumsy way of asking is preferable, she said before quickly adding, Although, I’d not call it clumsy. She shifted her position so he wasn’t forced to look into the sun, even though she liked the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as he squinted. She was finding she liked too much about him.

Twenty? he repeated, surprised. He shifted as she did to even things out and to get the sun from his eyes, finding himself a little closer to her. Sorry, it’s just that you act much older. It’s complimentary, he assured her. Most girls are sort of tiresome. No offense. How had Simon thought her snobbish? There was a small sort of satisfaction in knowing she hadn’t reacted to Simon’s usual charms.

I’ve been told I was unlike other girls before, she said, glancing past him and looking down the beach toward her house. Her mother was one of those who had said so. I know when it’s not meant as a compliment. She smiled at him. Most boys are irritating and would have retreated back to their house, she said with a nod of her head toward the house she assumed his two friends had entered. Of course, most boys would have gotten the brush-off by now, which would be why they had retreated.

I’ve been told I’m not much like a guy’s supposed to be, he admitted. It’s never been complimentary before. He looked at his watch. Ten ‘til noon. It was time to decide if he was going back to the house to do God only knew what for lunch, or… Look, the guys are doing lunch at noon. Would you want to? Not with them, he hastened to add, one foot shifting in the sand. You know, continue this conversation somewhere where we’re not standing and squinting and sweating.

If this wasn’t a good idea, he thought, if it wasn’t meant to be, then she’d say no.

Yes, she answered, quite possibly a little quicker than was seemly, but she didn’t care. You should get out of the sun, she pointed out as she lightly brushed her thumb over the reddening skin of his shoulder. She told herself it was not an excuse to touch him, because she wasn’t one of those types of girls. You’ll not be able to people-watch for a few days if you get sunburned, she declared as her hand dropped back to her side and she rubbed her thumb and forefinger together.

I think I’d find a way to make it out here, Taylor said, his eyebrows lifting slightly at her touch. Simon would give him hell for ages if he’d seen how absolutely frozen he’d been as she’d run her thumb over his skin. I, ah… I’m not all that familiar with the places around here, he admitted. I hadn’t thought far enough ahead to you saying yes. Not that it has to be of any sort of import—not like a date. Unless you want it to be a date. Just lunch, he finally said, trailing off. Let’s blame the last ten seconds on heat stroke.

Her lips twitched as he floundered over his invitation. She shouldn’t want to kiss a young man she had just met, but she did want to and she was more than a little confounded by it. With a small shake of her head, she cleared her thoughts from that direction. Joe’s is just on the other side of the resort, and they are right on the beach, so we’ll be in the appropriate attire for lunch, be it a date or just lunch. She’d not confirm which it was, she’d just enjoy the chance to spend a little more time with him.

***

Evie slid the straps of her dress over her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She was late for her meeting with Taylor. The last five days had been idyllic if she could just forget the fact that her family was around, she thought with a scowl. Most of her mornings had been spent at the same spot on the beach. And though she’d gotten no more reading done, she had managed to learn a lot about him.

He was more than a watcher, he was a writer. When he spoke about his writing, he was a changed man. He was confident, no longer stuttering over phrases or thoughts. She had been fascinated at the difference in him and tried to get him to talk about it as much as possible. But he had always managed to try and redirect the conversation to her and her family – a topic she also tried to avoid as much as possible. Even through that verbal dance, though, she felt she knew him.

Slipping an old pair of denim shorts on, she took off the necklace she had been wearing and pulled a tank top over her head. She pulled the pins out of her hair and dragged her fingers through the mass of waves before stepping out of her room. She quickly made her way to the kitchen and the back of the house, hoping she could escape before her parents could catch her.

She was looking over her shoulder as she went out the back door when her brother’s voice made her jump.

And where might you be going? Eric asked as he leaned casually against the porch railing, his undone tux tie hanging loosely around his neck. He had noticed Evie’s impatience this evening. It was more pronounced than usual, so he had deduced something was up, and as always, he was right.

I’m going for a walk, she said as she lifted her chin up a notch, daring him to question her.

He looked at his sister standing in front of him, her eyes sparkling with excitement he’d not seen in them before. She’d not been the same the last few days – he had caught her humming earlier this evening when she had been getting ready. It was very out of character for her, and he thought perhaps it was time he met this fellow who had managed to do something no one had been able to do. But not tonight. He’d make a trip down the beach tomorrow and see what he could find out.

Be careful, he finally said, pushing away from the railing and stopping to place a kiss on her forehead as he passed her.

I will, she said with a relieved sigh before taking the steps down to the beach in two long strides and heading quickly in the same direction she headed every day.

Taylor was waiting, but he wasn’t keeping track of the time. He trusted her, he knew she would come, and if she didn’t… well, if she didn’t, something was the matter. He frowned, refusing to let his too-vivid imagination travel in that direction.

He’d never taken to anyone as quickly as he’d taken to her; years ago, Simon had decided to befriend him and then forced the issue in a way Taylor had no power to refuse, and before he’d known it, he’d been stuck tight in a group of four friends who, though they often misunderstood one another, were as close to brothers as any of them were ever going to get. But he’d never taken to a girl—a woman—in the way he’d taken to her.

He’d dated, of course, usually girls Simon shoved in his path, telling him they’d be good for him, and that they’d be a good way for him to lighten and loosen up. He’d given up protesting, finding it both exhausting and fruitless.

But this… this was different. And with each day that passed, he was more and more certain that keeping things friendly would be more than impossible by the time the summer was over. She was too intelligent not to admire, too sweet not to like, and too beautiful not to want. That was a first, wanting something for his own, and he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t want her.

She could have asked him to meet her on the beach at any hour, and he’d have been standing just as he stood now, bare feet in the sand, frayed denims looking more white in many places than blue in the moonlight, his button-down shirt rolled up at the sleeves and blowing in the slight breeze. Nights here were far better than days, and yet, this would be the first time he’d spent an evening with her. There was no good reason to be nervous about it.

Down the beach, Evie just barely refrained from breaking into a run when she spotted him. Instead, she slowed down to a normal walk and tried her best to appear casual, even though her heart was beating double time in her chest. She’d not seen him since yesterday morning, since her mother had made plans for them all day and then the dinner this evening. She had missed him, she realized with a touch of fear.

If she missed him after only a day, what would she do when the summer ended? Taking a deep breath, she pushed the thought aside as she reached him. Hey, she said with a smile. Sorry I’m late.

Anytime would be right on time, he said, wanting to touch her but keeping his hands in his pockets. After a moment, he needed movement, and he withdrew a hand and shoved it through his hair. You look good. Nights were far better than days, indeed—the way she looked in the dark and the moonlight was… better than every cliché. Mind-boggling. It was too many things.

She’d had men earlier this evening tell her the same thing, some using more poetic phrases but none making her feel as he did when he said it, despite the fact that she was decidedly more dressed-down than she had been earlier. Thank you, she replied, stepping a little closer to him.

One hand lifted as though to touch before he changed direction, anchoring it behind his neck. Sorry. Did you want to walk, or find somewhere to sit? He looked back over his shoulder. The humble abode has been abandoned for the night, if you wanted to get indoors.

I’d like to stay out here, for now, she answered as she turned her face toward the water. Closing her eyes, she let the breeze blow her hair about her neck, enjoying the way it felt. I’ve been cooped up indoors all day and all night, she added before turning back to face him.

Then let’s remedy that. He gave her a small smile and took her hand in his, looking down at her expectantly and hoping he looked and sounded more casual than he felt. Which way?

Evie squeezed his hand. That way, she said, nodding in the opposite direction of her house. Her stomach was in knots and she wasn’t quite sure why tonight was any different than any other time she’d spent with him, but it was a