Page 22 of Holiday Tides

Nick

It takes Ezra and me exactly twenty minutes to remove the old range and slide the new one in its place. In that time, Summer expresses her gratitude while being overly polite, just like she’d been in her afternoon texts. I thank Ezra for helping me and slide the kid a fifty-dollar bill during our handshake goodbye. His eyes turn to tea saucers before pedaling away on his beach cruiser.

“Everything okay?” I ask, leaning against the kitchen door jamb.

Summer startles, pausing in running her fingertips over the range like it’s a brand-new Maserati.

“Actually”—she sets her shoulders—“we need to talk about paying you for your work. Installing this and restarting my pilot light.”

I tilt my head with a shrug. “I’d have restarted anyone’s pilot light for free. It’s something you could’ve walked yourself through with a YouTube tutorial.” She opens her mouth, but I continue, “And tonight, I simply plugged the range in. If you’dlike to award me a medal of honor for understanding how an electrical outlet works, feel free.”

No reaction. Nothing. Nada.

Summer’s lips remain in that firm line, her jaw tight, but not because I’ve annoyed her. She really expects me to take money for something that costs me nothing but a few minutes of time? That’s not going to happen. I know we’re supposed to be turning over a new leaf, but my next instinct is to tease her. If I can’t make her smile, I know for certain how to annoy her.

“Are you afraid that you look like a potato in that cream sweater?” I let the corner of my mouth slide up, hoping she’ll take the bait. “Because with your green slacks, it actually reads inverted leek.”

It’s the lowest of blows, going after her attire, but this swirling desperation to get a reaction from Summer keeps scratching at my neck. Besides, she looks beautiful—professional while simultaneously approachable. Technically, she’s overdressed for the casual dining atmosphere of Bayside Table.

“An inverted leek?” Her tone is dry, but at least she’s talking.

I lean my head to the side, as if assessing her upside down. “Or a stack of Legos.”

She scrubs her face with her palms. I’d wanted a reaction, but Summer suddenly looks so exhausted I have to clench my toes in my boots to keep from gathering her in my arms.

“Look. Nick, I—”

“Need to cancel.” I push off the wall. “It’s not a problem. I’m sure you’re exhausted after a long day.” After turning to see myself out, I rotate back. “Why don’t you let me know what you’d like from Bayside Table, and I’ll grab it for you so you don’t have to make dinner.”

Her face rises with a pained expression. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

My chest squeezes, but I maintain my casual posture, tucking my hands in my jeans pockets. “Why not? I’d do that for any friend.” I gesture toward the stairs. “Go get your Christmas pajamas on while I get you something to eat. You can send me with cash, and I’ll even knock and drop it on your doorstep just like a delivery service. Just tell me what you want.”

My heart feels like it’s punching my chin as I wait for her to speak.

Her shoulders lower half an inch. “I don’t carry cash.”

“Then you can send me the money. Just let me help you out.”

“You’ve already helped me out.” She points toward the range.

When I groan in frustration, her mouth finally loosens, a hint of a smile flirting at the corners. As her grin turns over to something devious, my breath hitches in my throat. Whatever Summer is about to ask of me, I know I’ll wholeheartedly comply. Somewhere, in the recesses of my mind, my male pride calls me a few names—chump, whipped, simp. But since pride has misled me in the past, I ignore it.

“I will agree to this if you tell me the honest story about why you never went to school. I need to know why you’re a completely different and freakishly kind human when you were a giant butthead throughout high school.”

My muscles tighten, thinking about a time in my life I don’t enjoy revisiting, but I set my lips in a teasing smirk. “I see how this goes. You were holding out for the better payment— information. I should have seen it coming. I’m sure you’re not even tired after taking care of sick kids all day. That was all smoke and mirrors to get me right where you want me.”

“You’ve got me all figured out.” Summer brushes past me and begins climbing the stairs. “Just let me change into something that isn’t covered in germs.”

“You’re coming with me?”

“If you think I don’t want my food hot out of the kitchen, you’ve lost your mind.”

Bayside Table is only two blocks north on Sand Bend Road—the only road that runs the length of the town. It’s a Wednesday in winter, so we’re seated in mere minutes, Summer joyously ordering she-crab soup, hot wings, a side Caesar salad, and a peppermint hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and chocolate shavings. Wilks Beach’s sole restaurant nestles against Back Bay with large plate windows to capture the view. Since the sun set long ago, those windows reflect the cozy dining space. Electric table candles wreathed in plastic holly, piano holiday songs beneath the din of fellow diners, and a Christmas tree decorated with lights, tinsel, and Bayside Table gift cards all add to the comforting ambiance.

Our drinks arrive, and I nearly snort my spiced cider when Summer ungraciously bites the entire dollop of whipped cream off her hot cocoa.

“What?” The feigned innocence as she wipes the back of her hand across her lips finally does me in. “You’re not the only person who likes whipped cream.”

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