Page 13 of Holiday Tides

I give a curt nod, biting the inside of my cheek to keep my lips from wobbling.

“Good.”

Then Nick uses his broad shoulders to push past me into my house.

nine

Nick

“What do you think you’re— Nick, get out!” I ignore Summer’s protests, resting the window against the chair rail in the small dining room. It’s not any warmer in here than it was on the beach. The idea of Summer shivering throughout the night when I could have helped her sends a flush of heat prickling down my legs.

“I don’t think I will,” I tell her, striding past the central staircase.

All island homes are built on concrete piers going to the bedrock since you can’t build a foundation on sand, meaning they lack basements, and a lot of these old cottages don’t have their heating or cooling units in the attic. The double-shuttered doors at the back of the house look promising. Summer follows me, a sharp tirade—something aboutaudacityandmale ego—peppering me as I search.

“Bingo,” I murmur, finding a combination furnace and water heater closet.

It takes me exactly five seconds to determine that the pilot light is out. I chuckle despite the irritation simmering in my veins.

“What? What’s so funny?”

After turning the pilot light to theoffposition, I punch up from my crouched stance. “What’s funny is if you’d simply mentioned that your house had no heat, I could have fixed this yesterday. But no, you had to be typical, Stubborn Summer.”

I don’t even notice that I’ve crowded her against the back door until she swallows, eyes wide. “Oh.”

“Oh,” I mimic. Everything in me wants to lean forward, to trace a finger down the goosebumps along her neck, but I force myself to step back. “Do you have a long lighter?”

“I—” She blinks rapidly. “I think so. In the kitchen.”

As she scurries past me, I close my eyes and take a slow, steadying breath, reminding myself that Summer has a boyfriend. He might be thewrongboyfriend, but that’s her choice to make, not mine.

The process of relighting the pilot goes smoothly and silently, both of us receding into our thoughts. Once a low humming permeates the quiet house, and I confirm that warm air is coming through the floor vents in a few rooms, I tilt my chin toward her attire. Summer looks like she’s wearing every long-sleeved shirt and pajama pant she owns.

“It will probably take the rest of the day, but you won’t have to wear all of that tonight.”

As she self-consciously tugs at her sleeve, I notice how cold her hands look. All I want is to rub them between my own, but I tug down the brim of her green Fair Isle patterned hat instead.

“Did you sleep in this?” I make sure to keep the words light, teasing.

Summer wrinkles her nose at me, pushing the hat out of her eyes. “What I wear to bed is none of your concern.”

I chuckle. Haughty Summer has returned, ladies and gentlemen.

“I know you’d rather have your toenails pulled off by pliers, but…” I press my lips together, pausing. I wanted to get all of this out under the guise of our usual ribbing repartee, but I can’t. “Please don’t go to bed cold again. I promise I’ll never hold this over your head. I’ll never tease you about needing help. Everyone needs help every once in a while, and I’ve taken my share of it from this community. If you need something, please ask me.”

Summer’s beautiful blue eyes dart to her feet. She’s quiet for so long I wonder if I’ll ever get an answer.

“Why does your wetsuit look like a Santa suit?”

So we’re going to avoid the topic altogether. Okay, then.

I’m disappointed, but I don’t let it show in my tone. “Haven’t you heard the tales of Surfing Santa?”

She raises her face, the corner of her lip lifting before she forces it down. “No.”

“He’s a myth. A legend, really.” I lean my hip against the kitchen counter as Summer rolls her eyes. “He surfs the angry winter waves, bringing joy to locals in the form of sporadic gifts. But since he travels by ocean and doesn’t want to ruin anyone’s flooring with his damp wetsuit boots, he leaves presents on people’s doorsteps. I’ve heard that sometimes the wrapping paper is sprinkled in ocean water, but a wet gift is still a gift.”

A reluctant smile splits her face. It’s the most breathtaking thing I’ve seen in days, and I regularly watch the sunrise break over the ocean.

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