Page 15 of Cool for the Summer

“Right, the pool.” He sounds less than enthused.

“You don’t like swimming?” I try not to pout—maybe it’s better if I don’t have to see him half-naked and wet.

“Swimming is okay, but I’ve been living in Manhattan for twelve years. We do other things for recreation.”

“Oh, yeah?” I can imagine. Donovan has the air of a guy who indulges himself—when it comes to men, at least.

As if to prove the point, he says, “I was thinking of going to the gay bar in Midville tonight. Pete said it’s a good time.”

I tamp down the flare of jealousy. So he wants to go out. He’s got every right. I keep my voice neutral when I say, “On a Monday?”

He frowns. “I forgot it was Monday. Well, I’ll check their hours later. Do we need pasta?”

Almost an hour later, we get in the checkout line with a cart loaded to the brim.

“We’re only staying for two months,” Donovan says as he surveys our haul.

“And believe me, we’ll be back in a week to restock.” I start putting things on the conveyor belt, but he stops me.

“Wait. Should we split it up somehow—or just settle up after?”

“Oh.” I hadn’t thought about money. It’s typically my last concern. “So much of this is stuff I want. I’ll take care of it, and you can get the next grocery run.”

“Are you sure?” He looks doubtfully at all the food.

“I’m sure. You bag.” I shoo him to the end of the conveyor belt.

“New in town?” the woman scanning our purchases asks with a friendly smile. Her name tag reads Annie.

“Yeah. Temporary residents,” I say, smiling back.

“Welcome to Rosedale,” she says.

Donovan lets out something like a snort as he puts the celery in a canvas bag. I glare at him.

“Thank you, Annie,” I say, injecting my voice with all the Texan sweetness I can muster.

She finishes ringing us up, and I tap my credit card. I wait until we’ve pushed the cart out of earshot to admonish him. “You were kind of rude.”

He winces. “Sorry, but I don’t buy all this small-town hokeyness. There’s something in the water here that makes everyone overly chummy. I’m all for politeness, but I’m not here to be indoctrinated into the cult of Rosedale.”

“I think it’s nice,” I say. “Small towns are charming. Not like cities—all smelly and confusing and dirty.”

Donovan smirks. “What about the lack of—uh—options?”

I know what he means. “I don’t need a different guy every night,” I say shortly. I regret it as soon as I say it. Just because I’m not into casual hookups, it doesn’t give me the right to judge.

But he doesn’t seem to take it personally. “Different guy? There aren’tanyguys.”

“Not true,” I say, arguing and not exactly knowing why. “Jack’s agent Kingston is gay, and he has a house here.”

“He doesn’t live here full time,” he counters.

“What about Shay?” I open the hatch and we load in the bags.

“Who’s Shay?”

“The guy who did the flowers for Jack and Pete’s wedding. He just moved here. I didn’t meet him, but Jack was going on and on about how great his eye was.”

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