Summer's Road (25 page)

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “What are you doing right now? You sound tired.”

I smiled. “I just finished a painting and I’m relaxing on the porch.” Though we would never work as a couple, I thought about the sweet little things he did for me, like calling me beautiful and bringing me daisies.

He laughed. “Well, you are beautiful and I’ll have to thank Ian for the daisies.”

Not realizing I’d spoken the last part aloud, I bit my lip. Then it hit me, what he’d said in response. “What?”

“I ran into Ian in Charlotte last time I was down there. I was buying you roses and he stopped me. Told me to buy daisies instead. I’ll admit, it didn’t seem as romantic, but I figured he was the best friend and would know what he was talking about. They
did
make you happy.”

My chest grew tight. “Yeah.”

We exchanged a few more pleasantries and disconnected.

Shaken, I stared out over the yard and tried to get a grip. It was just flowers, right? Not a big deal. Except I’d used that trivial gesture to focus on how Matt saw me in ways Ian didn’t. I always got the impression Ian couldn’t see past our history to the little things that mattered to me, couldn’t find his way around my depression to the person under all of it. Yet, this kind of proved he did.

And if he had feelings for me, even as recent as a few weeks ago, why would he help Matt pick out flowers I preferred instead of letting Matt flounder?

Rising, I sank my feet into the grass and made my way next door.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Ian

E
xhausted beyond comprehensive thought, I dragged myself into the living room after grinding for hours in the workshop on a curio cabinet. A custom order the client wanted by the end of next week. My muscles were strained and protested movement, but the burn felt good. Besides, a shower and eight solid hours of sleep would fix the discomfort.

I wondered if Summer was coming by. Probably not. She’d said she had paintings to finish up, thus my late night in the workshop. I’d forgo sleep to see her...

As if I’d conjured her, she rose from the recliner in the corner and flipped on a light. The excitement of having her here died when I read the distressed look in her eyes and the border of irritation in the twist of her mouth.

“Matt called.”

I shoved my hands in my back pockets. “I could give two shits.” Christ, tell me we weren’t going to fight over that guy. I thought he was finally out of the picture, that I’d proven to her we were the better fit.

“You ran into him a few weeks ago, told him to buy me daisies instead of roses.”

I studied her a good long time, but I couldn’t figure this riddle out to save my life. “And?”

Flustered, she rubbed her arm, and the tell had worry kicking in my gut. “They’re my favorite.”

Uh, no. Was this some kind of test? I was never good at them. “Orchids are your favorite flower, though daisies are a close second.”

She started breathing heavy, her gaze flittering around the room in panic mode.

I stepped forward, but stopped. I couldn’t fathom a guess, but something about the damn flowers was important to her, enough to storm over here at nearly midnight and put her in a tizzy. “Are we going to have a fight about flowers?” Tension and confusion laced my tone, because...damn. What the hell?

Hand on her forehead, she looked at me through wide, bottomless eyes. “How...” She cleared her throat. “How long have you had feelings for me?”

Every muscle in my body went rigid to the point of pain. From Matt to flowers to this. With the sinking suspicion my answer might make or break me, I tried to swallow past the boulder and think. I’d hinted I’d wanted her for a long time, but we’d not actually discussed the logistics. To me, it didn’t matter. We were together now.

“How long?” Her voice rose an octave.

I ran a hand through my hair. “I can’t pinpoint a date on the calendar, Summer. It just...” I blew out a frustrated breath. “It started as teenage hormones, I think. But then it didn’t go away. And through the years, lust turned to desire and...”

Trembling, she was trembling like she had no idea I loved her. “And what?”

Anger beat at my temples. “And you know what? I
can
remember the exact day I realized I was insanely, madly, hopelessly in fucking love with you. Four years ago, when you wanted to end it all and I almost couldn’t bring you back. My nightmare began that day. I slid right out of denial and into holy shit and haven’t been able to comprehend a future without you in it since.”

Breaths soughing, I stared at the ceiling. Shit. Shit squared. I hadn’t wanted to throw that back at her, but it was the God’s honest truth. Every day of those early years, lusting after her and wishing she’d catch on, paled in comparison to the last four years when I knew I was in love with her. That this ache inside wasn’t just physical, but an emotional fist that would never unfurl.

“I would think a man who’s supposedly in love with me wouldn’t want to give my boyfriend the advantage of telling him my favorite flowers were daisies and not roses.” The anger had drained from her voice, leaving a quiet tremor in its place.

We were back to flowers. But I was starting to understand. Maybe.

“There’s no
supposedly
about it, sweetheart. I’m in love with you.” I forced myself to look at her and the bafflement in her expression sliced. After everything life had thrown at her, she didn’t think she was lovable. Her mom had walked and her dad had died and she’d been picked on by classmates, rendering her the opinion she wasn’t worthy of love. “I thought he was what you wanted, so I helped the guy out. I just wanted you happy. That’s all.”

More arm rubbing. “What about your happiness? Don’t you deserve to be happy?”

I had no answer for that. Not one she’d understand.

“I don’t want Matt.”

Christ in Heaven and all that was holy...

I rounded the table and pinned her to the wall with my body. Her eyes flew wide. The flash of heat all but sparked an inferno between us. The irony of her between a rock and a hard place, like I’d figuratively been for years, was laughable and not lost on me.

A breath shuddered out of her and I dropped my gaze to her perfect mouth.

Done with talk, I went for action. I crushed my mouth to hers and kissed her with all I had left. Then I took her against the wall in my living room, and again in my bed, in case she hadn’t gotten the memo I was all in.

I
watched from my seat as Summer walked up to the podium in the Charlotte Art Museum, fidgeting with her dress. What a dress it was, too. Long, deep burgundy, and a slip-satin that hugged her hips and waist. The neckline swept low, peeking at the swell of her breasts. The tone complimented her skin, especially when she blushed, and it was really damn difficult watching her move in that thing when all I could think about was getting it off her.

She placed a hand to her hair, which was in some complicated twist concoction, and tapped the microphone. “Can I have your attention, please?”

Yeah, she had my attention, all right. A new fantasy ran amuck through my dirty mind. One in which I took out those pins in her hair, one by one, until the strands fell over her shoulders so my hands could roam through them. Then I’d fist that dress and shove the material up past her hips and—

Hell. I was flanked between my parents, Rick and Dee, in a room full of people. I folded my arms over my chest and shifted in my seat. Uncomfortable didn’t begin to describe the tightness behind my fly. The damn tuxedo wasn’t helping either.

Everyone shuffled to take their seats in the ballroom. Summer spotted us from the stage and visibly relaxed. In years past, when she’d given her thanks to the attendees and delivered a speech, she’d look at me so her nerves wouldn’t consume her. I gave her something to focus on. Summer and crowds didn’t mix. Plus, she hated attention.

“I would like to thank all of you for coming here tonight.” She bowed her head, the audience probably figuring she was reading off of a card, but I knew better. She started out her speech the same every year and it was the most difficult part for her. “There are very few things in life more precious than children. In this room are parents who have lost a child to a terminal illness and parents with a child who have been diagnosed with a life-threatening illness.”

She lifted her head to the crowd. “We were able to raise more this year than last for our two charities and the art therapy program.”

The crowd clapped.

She grinned.

I basked, a smile curving my lips.

“All ten of my paintings, as well as the students’ pictures and the artist donations, have sold out. So, thank you.” She bowed her head at the applause.

Christ, she glowed. I was so damn proud of her.

“Lastly, I have some bad news.” Her mock pout was too cute for words. “We will no longer be having art therapy at Baker Elementary School.” She paused. “Starting in two weeks, it will now be held at
Quinn’s Place
, my new studio.” It took a full three minutes of grinning and waving her hand to calm the cheers down. “With a very special thanks to Rick and Dee O’Callahaun, and Ian Memmer for helping me get it running,
Quinn’s Place
will open next Friday.” She held up one of the folders I’d compiled for her. “These will have all the information you need. They’re being passed out now.”

Summer nodded to Eric Holcomb, the museum director, and he began distributing the folders to the tables. She started to step down from the stage when another woman came up beside her to halt her progress. My gut twisted in recognition and worry ate at the lining. I nearly rose from my seat to stand beside Summer, but Rick put a hand on my arm and squeezed.

“My name is Nancy Melbourne, and my son, Jon, is in Miss Quinn’s therapy class.” Summer glanced down as the woman sniffled. My knee bounced in restlessness. “Jon is in the hospital with little time left. He wanted me to say he wished he was here.” Nancy wiped her eyes with a tissue. “Jon was not the first child she’s touched, and he won’t be the last.”

Nancy smiled at Summer, who was rubbing the skin off her arm, before turning back to the crowd. “The parents and children would like to dedicate an award—” Nancy read from a plaque in her hand “—to Summer Quinn, for the patience, courage, sacrifice, and beauty she has bestowed upon us. Thank you for the last five years.”

She turned toward Summer, handing her the plaque, as the crowd stood cheering. Summer’s hands shook as she accepted it and, damn...my eyes burned. That had been a really great thing for her class to do. She gave endlessly and it was relieving to know it didn’t go unrecognized by someone other than me.

After the tables had been fully cleared of dinner and the orchestra was through playing, I finally got a moment alone with her in a corner as the crowd dispersed. I handed her a champagne flute. “Well done, sweetheart.”

She smiled and took a sip from her glass, nodding to Eric as he sidled up to us. “Thanks for everything.”

He waved his hand with dramatic flair. “That’s why you pay me the big bucks. Miranda did a great job on your hair.”

She reached up to touch it. “Thanks. I suppose your ego doesn’t need the boost to say you were right. How’s the dress? Did Dee do well?”

I groaned my approval.

“Summer, my dear, if I weren’t as gay as they come, I’d ravish you. I most definitely approve. The hair, the dress, and the date.” His eyes shifted to me. “You, handsome, are lick-able. Rawr.”

Uh... “Thanks?”

Summer laughed and slid her arm around my waist, dipping her hand under my jacket to trace her fingers over the base of my spine. I sucked in a careful breath and cleared my throat.

Eric said his goodbyes, then Rick and Dee made their way over. Summer directed us to a secluded part of the ballroom, a smile playing on her lips.

She dropped her hand on a covered canvas. “One painting of mine wasn’t purchased.”

Dee frowned. “But you said all of them—”

“This one was not meant to be bought.” Rick brows rose. “Correct?”

Huh. Okay, she had my interest. I wondered if this was what had kept her up late last night.

Summer nodded and removed the sheet.

Dee gasped, Rick stilled, and I was...floored.

It was a portrait of Dee from behind, sitting in a rocking chair, holding a child to her chest. The baby’s face was hidden so all that could be seen was the top of its head. Rick was leaning against a window frame, facing forward, a smile curving his lips as he watched his wife and child, adoration in his eyes. The brush strokes and low lighting she’d used added a secret whimsy to the piece.

“For your nursery.” Summer watched our friends for their reaction, but all I could see was her. She took my breath away.

“It’s really something, sweetheart,” I choked.