Page 71 of Cool for the Summer

“We’ll just remind them that we moved in together the first day we met, and it worked out okay.”

“After I got my act together,” I admit.

“And I got brave enough to ask for what I really wanted.”

We walk up the driveway and stop on the front steps, the place we had our very first kiss.

“I’m so grateful that what you want is me.” And then I kiss my boyfriend with all the love in my heart.

THIRTY-TWO

BECK

“Epic party, Kingston,”I tell our host when I corner him in his kitchen at the surprise welcome home party. “Jack and Pete’s expressions were priceless when they realized what we were up to.”

“Couldn’t have done it without your help, so thank you,” he says, raising his glass of bubbly to me in toast. “And everyone’s going gaga over your cookies, of course. That cookie shop of yours won’t be able to keep up with demand.”

“I can only hope.” I laugh. “And apparently you deserve a thank you, too, for talking some sense into my boyfriend.”

Yes, I say the last word in that sentence with a little smugness. Donovan’s also been using it every chance he can get, so I’m not the only one proud of our hard-won label.

Yesterday, after walking through the door hand-in-hand and explaining to Jack and Pete that we’d gotten our shit straightened out, we went up to Donovan’s room and talked for hours.

He told me how Kingston and Pete forced him to realize what he should have seen all along—that he’d fallen for me just as hard as I had for him, and the reason he’d been miserable since the day I told him I loved him was that he didn’t know how to reconcile the life I represented with the life he’d convinced himself he wanted.

“I’m not saying I’m completely mature enough to handle everything that being in a real relationship means—I’m rusty, but I promise to try,” he’d said with so much earnestness that I’d wanted to kiss the tip of his adorable crooked nose.

“I’m not perfect, either,” I assured him. “And we just need to promise to figure stuff out together.”

“That I can do.” And we’d sealed our agreement with a kiss, followed by other stuff that I only felt mildly guilty about engaging in while Jack and Pete were only a few rooms away. I tried to be quiet, but Jack did have a bit of a hard time meeting my gaze over breakfast.

This morning the married couple presented us with thank-you souvenirs from their trip—an early edition of Donovan’s favorite play they found in a bookseller’s stall along the Seine, and for me a madeleine pan from a famous cookware store in Paris. It took all my self-control not to stop everything and bake madeleines since we had to subtly get Jack and Pete to come with us to Kingston’s, where about two dozen of their friends were waiting to give them a warm Rosedale greeting.

An hour into the party, Kingston looks a bit frazzled, but happy. “Well, I could see you and he needed a little nudge to get you on the same page,” he says. “Anyone can tell just by looking at you that you’re crazy about each other.”

“Thanks for helping us.” I give him a hug and tell him I’ll check in before we leave, then return to Donovan’s side and hand him a fresh beer. Dulcie from the Rosedale Art Center is here, and she and Donovan are talking about the best way to workshop his play with the actors and other writers at the Art Center while Pete looks on in shock.

“I didn’t know you’ve been teaching at the Art Center,” he says. “I thought you hated community theater.”

Donovan blushes scarlet. “Dude, be cool,” my boyfriend hisses.

Dulcie just laughs. “Oh, it’s okay. I was a snob about it when I first came to Rosedale, too, but the Art Center is a special place.”

“Beck, the oatmeal cookies are incredible. They’re just like the ones my dad used to make,” Meadow says, joining the group, holding hands with Melissa from the bookshop.

I preen a little at the praise.

“We can’t wait until the shop opens,” Melissa says. “You’ve put it together so quickly.”

“Beck has the gift of being good at anything he puts his hands on,” Donovan says.

I’m not sure he means the double entendre, but I ignore the insinuation. “It helps to have the support of the whole community. It honestly feels like a team effort.”

“So I hear you’re going to be the spokesmodel for some sunscreen company,” Meadow says to Donovan.

“The small-town gossip circuit strikes again,” he says. “Yes. I’m doing some commercials for a sunscreen company. Should be fun, actually. They’re putting me up at a swanky resort for the first round of shooting.”

“Wait—your commercial gig is for sunscreen? How did this not come up earlier?” I side-eye Donovan and then let out a gasp as something occurs to me. “Please, please, please tell me they’re going to make you wear a Speedo.”

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