Page 57 of Summer After Summer

“It’s not like the old days,” I say as I push the gate open.

“I don’t agree. You look great out there.”

I grit my teeth. I thought his cold stares and clipped voice the other night were bad, but this is worse. Nice Fred. Former Fred. I’m not sure I can take it.

“Thanks.” I turn to the path that will take me the short way home. “I walked here,” I say. “You don’t have to come with me.”

“I could use a stretch. I’ve been in meetings since five.”

I look at him now. His dark hair is mussed, and his face has its pre-shave stubble. “London time?”

“London time.”

“You’re still based there?”

“I’m half there, half here. But I plan to make this my base. I’m putting a team in place who will run things in London so I can be less involved.”

“And get more sleep.”

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “More sleep would be great.”

The path to my house is narrow, not built for us to walk next to each other, and I’m grateful for that. It’s easier to talk to Fred when I don’t have to look directly at him.

“I hear you on the sleeping,” I say. “There’s no air in my room.”

“I remember.”

I blush. “Yes, well … Ash is getting her guy to take care of that today, she says, so that’s good.” I sound like a moron, speaking in half sentences.

“You made up?”

“You knew we weren’t speaking?”

“She told me.”

“Oh?” It comes out like a squeak.

“I mean years ago. I haven’t spoken to her recently if that’s what you’re asking.”

I feel a tinge of relief that Ash wasn’t lying to me last night. “You’ve never liked her.”

“That’s not true.”

“Fred, come on.”

He lets out a sigh behind me. “Okay, maybe. But I had my reasons.”

“I remember,” I say with some satisfaction. Two can play at this game.

We’re at the end of the beach path, and I step onto the sidewalk. It’s only a block from my house now and I pick up the pace. Anxiety is pricking at my fingers, and my hangover feels like it’s back for round two. I need a shower, meds, a nap. I need to get away from Fred.

“Are you thinking of playing professionally again?” Fred asks.

“What? No. I’m too old.”

“You’re not old.”

“Thirty-six tomorrow,” I say, then kick myself.

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