Page 6 of Holiday Tides

“Tunnel.” The call cuts out.

“That slimy little…”

I let the rest of my sentence drop off, a split second from turning this casual run into one that beats away at the frustration of today. Moving into Gramma’s cottage was supposed to be a win after years of hard work. Being in a place I loved so much as a child, surrounded by the warm reminders of my grandmother, seemed like the perfect balm after everything that happened with Kayla in July. But now my former rival is working across the street for who knows how long, and any money I was hoping to use for Christmas splendor will need to go toward repairs. I interlace my hands at the base of my neck, allowing my head to bow forward.

“Summer!”

“You’ve got to be—” I pull my cap lower, as if that will hide me from a rapidly approaching Nick. Yeah, right. I’m dressed like Santa’s speed-working elf.

“Wow. You’re fast.” At least Nick has the decency to be winded. “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot—mainly because both of yours were off the ground.” The humor in Nick’s voiceonly makes my neck muscles twitch. If I look up, he’ll be smiling at me with that smirk of his.

“Uh. I like your running clothes.” The slight nervousness suddenly infiltrating his words sounds odd. “You should see my wetsuit this time of year. The town calls me—”

“What do you want?”

My upward snapping chin matches my tone. I know I shouldn’t be taking my frustration out on him. Nick technically did nothing wrong other than poke at all my insecurities by being…well, him.

“I was hoping to—”

A white Pontiac crawling along ten miles below the speed limit squeaks to a stop. The driver should have their brakes checked, but someone converted the auto shop next to the Wilks Beach Fire Station into a Crossfit/boxing gym.

“Summer? Summer Owens, is that you?” Carol Cook’s scratchy voice floats through the opening passenger window. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Hi, Miss Carol.” I give a small wave, automatically reverting to the childhood habit of calling her ‘Miss’ even though I’m a grown woman now.

“How are you doing today,Carol?” Nick asks, placing a hand on the top of her car and emphasizing her name to point out how juvenile I sound.

I sigh internally. Five seconds back in each other’s company and we’re already subtly sparing.

“Nicholas.” Carol’s bone-dry greeting reminds me that I have an ally here. Carol never cared for Nick’s family, calling them arrogant blowhards. Apparently, she hasn’t warmed to them in the years I’ve been gone.

“Anyway, Summer,”—her bright-pink lipsticked mouth curls into a mischievous smile—“you look like you could use apeppermint latte. Hop in. I’ll drive you to Seabreeze Beans, and you can tell me what brings you to town.”

I see right through her caffeinated bribe, but Carol’s voracious appetite for gossip is exactly the escape I need.

“What a lovely offer.” I infuse extra saccharine into my words as I pull open the car door and shoot Nick a patronizing smile.

“But—”

“Did you ever get back to Hazel Thompson about her kitchen cabinets?” Carol interrupts. “She told me this morning that the one beside the sink door is slightly crooked.”

I don’t miss Nick’s muffled groan as I slide into Carol’s tidy car. It smells deliciously of wintergreen mints. As Carol pulls back onto the road, I flash Nick a victorious smile. The way Nick shakes his head, rubbing his jaw, is so reminiscent of all the times we squared off on something—the highest score on a test, being chosen for an essay contest, or to represent the school at a leadership conference. My tongue darts out reflexively, like it has so many times before. This time, instead of Nick’s scowl intensifying, he laughs, and I’m left bewildered, watching his mirthful form recede in Carol’s side mirror.

“Are you here to visit or to stay?”

“Stay. At least for a while,” I amend, not really knowing what island life will look like long-term, especially if I keep running into Nick Watson.

Carol chuckles. “I’ve been wondering when Velva’s house would finally pass to you.”

I tear my gaze away from the mirror, offering a rueful smile. “Story of my life.”

Like everything, the cottage has been passed down through all my siblings who wanted it until I finally got my chance. I didn’t have clothes that were mine first until I moved out for college, and even then, I was buying things second-hand to save money.

“Sam didn’t do a good job taking care of the place. Leroy had to nearly threaten him to cut the grass in the summer.”

This time, I can’t restrain my sigh, and the sound infiltrates the car’s quiet interior. Based on what little I saw last night when I placed my boxes in the living room before collapsing in bed, I’m not surprised. It’s exactly like my irresponsible brother to not take care of things that matter so much to others.

“I know you’ll make Velva proud.” It’s unlike Carol to say something complimentary, so her statement immediately puts me on edge. “Butwhyare you back?”

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