Page 15 of Rebel Summer

“I’m okay. Thanks.” I smiled at him and attempted a change of subject, a reason for me to linger. “Is Sunny Palmer’s new book out yet?”

Briggs was quick to crush my spirits in his shy way, telling me that Sunny’s newest book would not be released until later this summer. After some small talk with Briggs and with no other books tempting me to purchase, I stepped out of the store in full adult mode, heading north toward Dax’s shop.

Apprehension caused my hands to sweat and my heart to beat like a drum in my ear. The feeling of puke lodged in my gut was a bonus for my efforts. This wasn’t a neighbor or friend I had accidentally wronged. Or sweet Briggs from The Book Isle. This was Dax Miller. The guy I’d basically told once to have a nice life amounting to nothing on the island.

Of course, that was after he had accused me of being a fake and caring more for the public opinion than my own. Just like my dad. Coincidentally, Dax had been one of the only people in my life that had seemed unmoved by my dad’s politician act.

So, crawling to Dax to thank him for his help as well as apologize for my actions wasn’t something I was pushing people out of the way to do.

Even though I was GOING.

The road curved, and I sucked in a breath at my first sight of his building since the accident. Billowing blue tarps, held together by rope, flapped in the breeze while covering the gaping hole in the double-story glass window. I took it all in, unease filling my stomach to the brim.

I had done that. To someone else’s property.

Me and my accidental stupidity.

It was nothing but pure willpower forcing my feet to close the distance. A large driveway to the right of the building led to three garage doors—all of which were closed today—and a sidewalk down to Dax’s private marina where he stored and fixed boats. I made my way toward the front entrance, grateful to see that the damage had only been to the windows. At least it wouldn’t be months of repair to the entire building. Just a quick re-ordering of a humongous custom window set.

Easy peasy.

I opened the door and stepped into a large, empty, two-story room. The glass had been swept away with visible dust streaks on the glossy epoxy-coated concrete floor. In the center of the room were two large garbage cans full of…Lego pieces. A flash of the crash came back to me as I remembered the pounding noise they made raining down onto the golf cart. Realization sunk in. I had destroyed the Lego car. A literal town landmark, formerly showcased proudly on one of those fancy slow-rotating display pedestals. A gigantic car almost as large as a real-life Volkswagen Bug, now in shambles.

I cringed, thinking about the poor soul who would have to spend fifteen years of their life putting that back together again.

Against the back wall of the large room, there was a counter with several old barstools. I saw a bell, which I rang hesitantly, after a two-minute internal debate on whether I should just wait to speak with Dax in court, until my conscience won out. The sound of music wafted through the hallway that led toward a shop door with a partial window at the top. After another minute spent gaining courage, I stood and strode toward the closed door.

Woman up, Ivy Brooks. You can do this.

When I opened the door, the soft sound of music suddenly turned loud as I stepped into an uncharted domain.

Though I wasn’t sure how I knew it, the song “Old Time Rock & Roll” rang through the speakers. I was decades too young to know it, but the tune seemed to transcend all time and years, giving me the feeling I’d heard this song a thousand times but couldn’t place where.

Dust particles filtered the air as I looked around the massive room. In front of one garage door was a boat sitting on a trailer. Every other spare inch in the shop was cluttered with lawn mowers, weed eaters, trimmers, and golf carts.

I inched my way into the room, if only to give my body a job that didn’t include dancing to oldies music in a shop I wasn’t sure I’d be welcome in. But there was something off with this version of the song. A voice. A voice that got decidedly louder as the chorus picked up again.

But the part that drew my attention was the feet and legs sticking out from under a golf cart. It almost seemed strange, seeing a golf cart where a car usually would be, but that was Sunset Harbor for you.

Dax’s voice noticeably waned through the next verse, still making noises along with the tune but in a much more distracted way, like he was tightening a bolt at the same time. Hearing his voice without him knowing felt intimate. Too intimate. Dax had always been a wild card. I had no idea how this little chat would go. I was trying to get the courage to alert him of my presence when he suddenly rolled out from under the cart.

Our eyes met instantly. Though, to my slight disappointment, he didn’t startle at my appearance. Instead, he sat up, his dark gaze swallowing me up in one big gulp. My skin came alive with goosebumps as he bent forward, propping his arms on his knees. His eyes drifted briefly down my flowy tank top and blue shorts, landing at the bandages on my arm before returning to my face—at least, I assumed. I was occupied elsewhere.

He was shirtless.

So…

That’s where I was.

He leaned over and picked up his dusty phone from the floor, and soon, the music blaring from the speakers in all four corners of the shop was turned down to a normal level.

And then he spoke, erasing ten years between us with his words.

“Look who’s back in town, gracing us all with her superior and, might I add, explosive presence.”

It’s amazing what the brain can hold onto throughout a decade. In reality, though, my body sighed with relief at his words. The tone felt right. He’d be annoying, for sure, but we’d be fine. I deserved that, and I would graciously let him get it all off his chest.

“Yeah. Hi, Dax.”

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