Page 35 of Cool for the Summer

“Thinking about what?”

He laughs ruefully. “I’m actually not sure. I’ve never thought about owning a store, but it seems appealing. Being in the center of town, getting to talk to people, providing something they need. Making people’s lives a little better through retail therapy.”

“So what, like a boutique or something?”

“Or something.” He shrugs and frowns. “It’s only a kernel of an idea, so it’ll probably peter out, like everything I try.”

“Don’t say that.” I go to finish my second muffin, only to realize it’s already all gone. I snap my muffin-sticky fingers as an idea hits me. “What about baking?”

“What about baking?” Beck repeats, confused.

“Rosedale doesn’t have a great bakery—you said it yourself. Hot Brew has muffins and stuff, but no cookies, no cakes, no pies. You could open a bakery.” I disregard the part of my brain that calls up the statistic that most small businesses fail and focus on how freaking delicious everything Beck makes turns out.

“I don’t know,” Beck says slowly. “There’s this woman, Stacy, who provides the baked goods for Hot Brew. She’s got that space covered, I think. She has a booth at the farmer’s market that I was going to check out tomorrow.”

“I’m pretty sure a town the size of Rosedale could support two people who like to bake delicious treats,” I say, determined to be supportive even if I’m not actually sure what I’m saying is true.

“Apparently she’s not into cookies,” Beck says, tapping the counter nervously. “I could specialize. I do love baking cookies. And they’re easier to display and package than cakes or pies.”

I remember what Beck said to me the first night he made me a batch of molasses cookies. “It could be called the Cookie Counter! Or Beck’s Cookie Counter? I like them both. And you could have high top seating and sell drinks, maybe?” I can’t help getting into the concept now.

He laughs, and my chest puffs with pride at having made his frown disappear. “Wow, you’re full of ideas.”

“It’s just that it’s so perfect for you. And it would fit in with the other businesses on Main Street.” I can picture Beck in a cute apron, greeting the denizens of Rosedale with a smile and hooking them on his amazing creations.

“I guess—I don’t know.” He bites his lip. “Baking for me has always been something I do to blow off steam or make someone happy. What if I did it as a job and it wasn’t fun anymore?”

“Or maybe you’d get to do something you love as your job,” I say. “Look, owning your own business isn’t easy. There’s paperwork and permits and taxes and all that—but it could be really rewarding, too.”

“Okay, okay. Yeah. I’ll think about it. The space I saw yesterday used to be a deli or something, so maybe it’s already set up for food?” He goes to the computer and types for a second. “Another thing to ask the agent.”

I wash my hands in the sink and rummage in the cupboard for Cleo’s lead. I crouch down and attach it, giving her a thorough head scratch in the process. “So—you like Rosedale enough to settle down here, maybe?”

Beck doesn’t answer right away as I grab the keys to Pete’s car and pat my pockets for my wallet. Eventually, he says, “I like Rosedale, sure. Settling down hasn’t exactly been my strong suit, but I’m getting tired of being on the move. Rosedale seems as good a place as any. Maybe better than most.”

“But?” I prompt, hearing his underlying hesitation.

“But I’m scared,” he says softly. “Nothing I’ve ever done has ever really worked out. What if I try this and nothing comes of it? I’ll just be back where I started—at loose ends.”

“But you have to try,” I tell him, certain of that if nothing else. “You can’t dog-sit for the rest of your life. You deserve to have your own place, your own career, your own life.”

We’re both borrowing Jack and Pete’s life for a couple of months, but I have a life to go back to in the city, even if it’s crappy plays and endless auditions. It doesn’t make sense for Beck not to go after what he wants—he’s too awesome for that.

And his smile and his quiet “thank you” keep me company for the rest of the day.

FIFTEEN

BECK

It’spast Cleo’s dinnertime when I park the GTI haphazardly in the driveway and rush into the house, my brain filled to the brim with information and ideas. After talking to Noelle, Sergio’s real estate agent, on the phone, she immediately persuaded me to look at a few houses and the retail space on Main Street. That took up most of the afternoon, and then when I found out her sister owns a bakery in Brooklyn, I lost track of time picking her brain about that.

I should have been home an hour ago to start dinner and make sure Cleo was okay, and my heart’s racing with excitement over all the possibilities I’ve thought of today and with the fact that my actual job right now is to take care of one very cute dog.

When I skid to a stop in the kitchen like a harried cartoon character, I’m astonished to find it completely empty. No hungry pup. No hungry Donovan, for that matter.

I worry for half a second until I spot them through the French doors. Donovan’s throwing the ball for Cleo, his tight black tee showing off his elegantly muscled arms as he arcs the ball across the yard. The sun’s starting to go down, bathing the backyard in gold. His profile is perfectly outlined by the flare of the setting sun filtered through the leafy deciduous trees that ring the property, making him look more like a sexy model than usual. My heart, still galloping, doesn’t slow down as I watch him play with Cleo, but it feels as if it’s being squeezed unpleasantly tight even as it tries to hammer its way out of my chest.

I know it’s beyond foolish to let myself feel any sort of way about him, but he’s making it really, really difficult not to fall for him. It’s not just the way he looks, so objectively beautiful that I’m still not sure how he exists—though the more we get to know each other the less his beauty surprises me and the more his goofy, dorky sides come through and humanize him—it’s more the things he says, as if we’re actually friends and he really cares about me. I have a lot of friends in a lot of parts of the world, but it feels really good to have a live-in cheerleader who takes me as I am and seems to think I’m pretty awesome.

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