One Last Summer, Page 3

  Chapter 3

  Jenna Brennan

  The next morning, Cole walks into the kitchen with a smirk on his face. I’d never say it aloud, but he’s changed in an excellent way. He was always tall, but a little on the stringy side. That’s all been replaced with solid muscle over. It’s no wonder that I spent the night dreaming about him ambushing me in various locations and reliving that kiss. I have to get a grip here, stop being shallow, stop checking out his butt.

  To keep him from seeing a blush that feels warm on my cheeks, I pick up my fork and plate to take them to the sink.

  “Morning, Jenna. I was thinking about this contest.” Cole pulls a plate from the cabinet.

  “Me too.” A complete lie. I was thinking about how solid his chest felt. “You should quit now so you don’t embarrass yourself.”

  “Funny. I came over to say that same thing.” Cole’s shoulder and arm brush against mine, and tingles spread through me as he says, “Walter said there’re pancakes for breakfast. Did you leave me any?”

  “Of course. I only ate three. There’s a big stack over there.” I gesture with my fork.

  He grabs silverware and sits at the table, then places three pancakes on his plate. “I think I’ll eat four.” With a wink toward me, he puts one more on top.

  My stomach flips. Oh, he grew up sexy. “I could eat more.” Glad I didn’t drop my plate yet, I sit next to him as he loads a fifth pancake on his plate. I choose two more and drench them with syrup.

  “Speaking of me winning—” He grabs a few grapes.

  “We weren’t.”

  He tosses one in the air and catches it in his mouth. “I always win our competitions.”

  “No. You don’t.”

  “Do you want to toss a coin to see who wins?” For the briefest pause, one of Mom’s rules intrudes. Never win a game against a man or you’ll never win his heart. I hate that rule. She said “heart,” but I know she only meant it temporarily, and that winning alimony was always her long-term goal. She’s never believed in marriage, or true love, or even family. And I guess neither do I.

  That’s not true—I believe in those. But thinking I could be part of them or have them in my life makes me nervous. Based on the only example I’ve ever had, I could really mess things up. I clip that thought short and remind myself that I believe in hard work and taking care of myself. And I’m not following Mom’s rule. I won’t be trying to win Cole’s heart this summer—just Walter’s business. I’m going to make it on my own.

  Cole digs into his pancakes, and I push mine around my plate. When he finishes, he snags another handful of grapes.

  “These are mine, and you know I don’t share them.” I snatch the bowl of grapes away. “I have a degree in hospitality management. This contest is almost too easy.”

  “Ooh, that scares me. Oh wait—no, it doesn’t. My major’s business management. I’ve got this.” With a smirk, he adds, “You didn’t finish your pancakes. I win, plus I ate a donut on the way down.” Cole throws another grape, but I rise from my seat and bat it out of the air, then step on it as I leave the kitchen.

  My heart feels lighter. It’s fun to spar with Cole. I guess this was our common ground. We made everything a game, and the work became fun.

  Before the screen shuts, I hear him yell, “Five-second rule.”

  One more step and I trip over something, barely managing to stay on my feet. When it moves, I scream. The dog sniffs my shin, his tail thumping against the decking of the porch. “Is this—Oh. It is!” With a soft sigh, I reach behind Seal’s ears and scratch. “You are such a sweetheart.”

  When I drop to my knees, he slouches to the floor and army crawls to me. His pink tongue licks my wrist. By Seal’s reaction, I think he remembers me from sleeping on my bed.

  Cole, standing in the doorway, calls, “Seal, come.” The dog immediately perks up and walks to his side. Then Cole lifts his attention to me. “Yeah. He grew up into a little troublemaker while you were gone.”

  We found him almost two years ago right before I left. He was such a cute little guy. We were walking along the beach and saw what we thought was a baby seal nestled in the rocks. It’s against the law to approach the seals, but when Cole pointed his camera that way and zoomed in, we could see it was a puppy instead—a Blue Heeler, all dark eyes and speckled fluff.

  The screen door slams, shutting Cole and Seal in the kitchen while I turn the corner and enter the laundry and supply room. I check the calendar on the wall to see which cottages need to be cleaned today.

  Grabbing the wagon and filling it with supplies, I wonder if this is what I want to do. Yes, I love the hospitality industry, obviously, and if I stay here, I would do it all instead of only having a desk job. Maid. Front desk. Activities for the guests. Canoes. Hiking trails. The variety adds its own appeal. Another bonus—I’d be my own boss.

  The resort for my internship was in a beautiful location in Colorado, but it was also remote, where shopping in a town with more than two choices was an hour’s drive away. Misty Harbor is close to a city, actually two—Seattle and Olympia—but far enough away too. I know Uncle Walter thought I’d do my internship here, but he probably guessed why I didn’t.

  The job I have lined up in Idaho is remote as well. I thought I wanted to work for a corporation with resorts around the world—transfer every few years, travel around each location to see the sights. The Idaho job is exactly that, but it wouldn’t be home.

  Home. That’s what I felt for a brief moment in Cole’s arms at the airport. It felt right. A shiver of longing skips though me.

  Uncle Walter comes in just as I turn the little red wagon toward the door. I try for a nonchalant tone and ask, “I noticed that Cole has marked out every Tuesday and Thursday night. Those must be his date nights.”

  He looks toward the calendar. “No, he hasn’t been much into dating for quite some time. But you two will have that conversation when you’re both good and ready, I suppose.” He holds the door open for me to leave, then mutters behind my back, “But neither of you are good or ready.”

  I have to admit, I feel a little relief that Cole’s not dating. My heart fills with tender feelings I thought were in our past. The idea that Cole was waiting for me to come back clicks in my brain. Just as quickly, I tuck that thought away. That’s not what I want—he probably doesn’t either. He’s probably just legitimately busy.

  As my supply wagon bumps along the gravel path leading to the Sunshine cabin, I look out over Hood Canal to the east. The water is calm today but steel gray. Behind me, snow-capped peaks cut into a clear blue sky. A need to be from a place overwhelms me. This place.

  I already know the ins and outs of Misty Harbor, though maybe not as well as Cole. Would he stay and continue the maintenance even if I win? I can’t imagine the cottages without him. A squeeze in my chest confirms that I can’t imagine a future where he lives somewhere else, and I would only see updates about him on social media. I did that last year. It doesn’t work.

  It’s almost two hours before I’ve finished the inspection list and can pronounce the cottage ready for new guests. I pull the door open and tug the wagon outside, overflowing with supplies and soiled linens.

  Cole’s replacing the porch lights, his polo shirt rising above the waistband of his jeans, showing a hint of his ripped stomach. I feel as if I’ve been caught gaping at him and pick a safe subject, quick. “You won’t be hurt when Uncle Walter chooses me, right? I mean, it’s not like the cottages have been in your family for decades.” It’s way easier to banter with him than to decide what my feelings about him really are.

  “The cottages may have been in your family, but they’ve been in my life. It’s what I’ve known every day since I was ten. You’ve been here, what—ninety days a year?” The teasing look in his eyes falters. “And some years, ninety days less than that.”

  Although the last sentence was barely whispered, more with regret than guilt, I’m not ready to go
there. I know we’ll have to talk about it … sometime.

  His backpack slips from his shoulder as he steps down the ladder. I grab it to keep it from falling. As I move the bag into place, my hand brushes over Cole’s arm and back, and awareness crackles over my palm and straight up my arm. He pivots toward me, his eyes dark, and his lips much too close to my face.

  “Jenna—” His hand slides into mine as I turn. He looks at me intently.

  Wanting to change the mood, I quickly cut him off. “You’re welcome, and I had an internship.” I stick my tongue out at him and turn away, pulling the wagon back toward the laundry. Seriously? What am I, eleven?