Page 4 of Sweet Summer

Honestly, the guy in front of me, who was once a lanky school boy wearing enough braces for his mouth to pass for a railroad, was now a man. He was a man with defined, sculpted arms, tanned smooth skin, and a smile that was as warm and welcoming as it was perfect and charming.

Something was jumbled inside me. I must be confusing things. I mean, I’m back in town and thinking of moving home, and I’m in a place that holds a ton of sentimental value. I must be getting my feelings crossed, right?

Yet, the more Wyatt speaks, the more I find myself notreally listening. I can only stare at his lips and think about how amazing it would be if I could stand on my tiptoes and brush my lips across his. Really slowly…

And there it is. That flame I hoped would burn out, the one that lit the torch I carry? I think it’s been reignited—it's not just Maisey who’s going to need a fire put out.

“Hey, Freya, did you hear me? I need you.”

Snapped back to the present, I look around and realize the bustle of the restaurant has intensified. Maisey’s seating a new table, giving me an evil glare from across the room, and in the distance the bell starts to ding on repeat in the kitchen, signaling another order is ready and in the window for pick up.

“I’d love to talk more, but it looks like we’re about to get busy again.” I lean in closer to Wyatt and cross my arms. “You free later today?”

“Hmmm.” Wyatt’s dark brown eyes sparkle with flecks of gold reflecting the sunlight. “I’m supposed to hit the gym with my friend Dylan, but I’m sure I can postpone it. What are you thinking? Do I need to be free for an adventure? For a meal? A lifetime?”

I laugh as I grab the lunch ticket from the outstretched hand of the line cook and begin loading a tray with the next food order. “We’ll start with an adventure, and the other parts can be up for negotiation.” I finish placing the last of the plates on the tray before picking it up in one swift, fluid motion and sliding the tray to my shoulder for its delivery. No teetering this time. “Deal?”

“Deal.”

I spin on my heel to go, and Wyatt playfully blocks the doorway I need to go through. Seems he doesn’t understand it's the lunch rush and I’ve got hot food to drop off to Lily Donnelly and her book club before theygo to the library. Don’t want to make them mad. Lily is known to throw her dentures when agitated. “Can a girl get past, please?”

He stands in front of me for another moment, and there’s this look on his face. If I'm not mistaken, I just caught Wyatt looking me up and down, as in checking me out and letting his eyes have their way with my body—which would suck for me because I’m sweaty, my hair is pressed into my forehead, and I smell like chicken fingers. We stand off for a moment before he moves to the side and waves his arm out in a chivalrous way as if pointing me forward. “Of course, but the next time there will be a fee.”

Okay, that sounded coy. Flirty. I hear the huskiness in Wyatt’s tone, and it throws me. It was like his words were G-rated, but the meaning carried an R-rated undertone. I raise my eyes to his, my heart pounding. I’m not sure what to do, and to be honest, all I can hear are my own words all those years ago, when I rationalized it would be better for us to be friends—I’d rather he be my friend forever than an ex-love. Right?

So, I do what’s best in the moment for me: I get outta dodge. I give Wyatt my best mini-curtsy before sashaying through the door and beeline it to Lily's table, calling out over my shoulder I’d see him later. As I place everyone’s orders in front of them—and move Lily’s water glass housing her dentures out of the way—a tingle sneaks its way up my spine.

I feel him watching me.

I turn around to look, and there he is. Standing right where I left him, watching my every move. To top it off, he’s doing it with this smile lazily draped across those full lips of his.

A voice inside my head screams at me to not go there.

But I am a very stubborn girl.

CHAPTER 3

Wyatt

Freya Fredericks is back, and it’s about time.

I’m still processing seeing my best friend for the first time in a year when I walk into the firehouse with lunch from the Red Bird. We’ve both had crazy, intense schedules this past twelve months, which didn’t allow either of us any time to catch up, except by text or a quick call here and there to check in. But now here she is, back home. And not only does she look amazing, but she feels amazing, too. It’s been a while since I wrapped my arms around anyone, and man if she doesn’t smell like heaven and sunshine sprinkled with vanilla cupcakes.

“Did you get me a pastrami on rye, Hogan?”

Shaken from my daydream, I reach into the bag, stamped with the familiar red bird logo from our favorite cafe, and toss the small parcel across the lounge area to the person requesting it. “You bet, Jay Dub.” He snatches it out of the air and nods his gratitude.

The firehouse is quiet today, with a few of our full-time staff taking midday naps in the bunks upstairs. My big news this year is that I became a probie—a probationary firefighter—at the Lake Lorelei Fire Department. The firehouse usually has six full-time staff, three part-timers—which includes me—and a rotating roster of local volunteers that vary in numbers depending on the time of year.

This week, though, is always a special case. Lake Lorelei likes to have a week of events around the Fourth of July. Everything is planned with the aim to bring in tourists to our town, which it does and then some. It’s a time of year when our population almost doubles in size, at least for a week, so we have more of us scheduled at the fire station than normal.

Scanning the room, I find an empty spot on the couch next to Jay Dub, one of our senior part-timers, who is focused on his pastrami sandwich at the moment. “Man, Maisey’s homemade bread is the best. Thanks, Hogan.”

“Pleasure’s all mine. Does it get me out of parade duty this week?”

“No way, probie.” Jack chuckles as he struts into the lounge and joins us. “I’ll need you to shine up the fire trucks before you leave today, as well as check equipment and run any checks for safety.”

“Got it, Captain. Anything else I can do to help?” Being a probie, I’m well-versed in my daily duties; my running checklist is always a work in progress, with the Captain adding to it as needed each shift. I’ll admit that some days I feel as if the weight of the station is on my shoulders, but my jobs are important for the overall safety of my team. My goal: to be off probation—and all going well, I’ll be promoted to full-time firefighter when my six-month period ends in just a few weeks’ time.

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