Page 19 of The Summer House
Eight
Atapping noiseinterrupted the cries of seagulls and the sound of the crashing waves from Callie’s open window. She rolled over on the portable air mattress she’d been using until the furniture was delivered, her mouth dry and her head slightly pulsing.
Tap, tap, tap.
She put the pillow over her head and tried to focus on the sound of the waves but from under her pillow, the tapping became more of a loud knocking, and she worried that whatever it was would wake Olivia and Wyatt, so she sat up. She spent a second getting oriented and peered at her watch that was on the floor—six oh-two.
Knock, knock, knock.
Callie sprung out of bed and padded quickly down the stairs to the front door, her energy depleting from just that little burst of activity. She opened it and only then did she remember she was in nothing but a long T-shirt, the weather too hot for anything else. She hid behind the door and peeked around it.
“You said you started early. I figured we’d want a little breakfast first.”
She blinked over and over to make sure she was seeing correctly. Luke was in the doorway, holding a cardboard tray with three coffees in one hand and a large paper sack in the other. He held it up. “Breakfast,” he said with smirk. “May I come in?”
“I’m not presentable,” Callie said, as heat crept into her face and slid down her neck. She wanted to look nice, to feel good about herself, but she also wanted to see that smile of his again.
“You’re plenty presentable,” he said, walking in past her. “You don’t need a bit of make-up and you’re wearing more clothing than most of the people I hang out with. We’re at the beach. No biggie. Where’s the kitchen?” He carried on into the room and down the hallway.
Callie shut the door and followed behind him, unsuccessfully tugging on her T-shirt to try to make it longer. “Do you always just burst into other people’s houses?” she asked quietly as they entered the kitchen.
She had no idea about the state of her hair but she couldn’t comb it with her fingers or her T-shirt would ride up. When he turned to look at her, she squared her shoulders proudly as if she didn’t care a thing about how she looked. Why should she anyway? But then she wondered if anyone had followed him. The paparazzi might be taking photos of them right now through the window. She’d be the scandalous Other Woman in a feature about that actress girlfriend of his or something. She yanked her shirt down again.
“I didn’t burst in,” he said. “I knocked. You opened the door.” He handed her a paper cup of coffee. “It’s a caramel macchiato.” He started rooting around in the bag that he’d set in the only clear area on the counter, paint supplies and extra floor tiles taking nearly all of the space.
“How do you know I like caramel macchiatos?” She did, but she wasn’t going to let him have the satisfaction of knowing that right away. He was too smug.
He didn’t look up. “All girls like caramel macchiatos.”
She gasped in disbelief at his generalization. Just because all the girlsheknew liked them—
But before she could say anything, he redeemed himself a little. “But if you didn’t like it, I was going to offer my vanilla latte.” He handed her a breakfast sandwich wrapped in paper. “This is a buttermilk biscuit with eggs, cheese, and bacon. Is it safe to say that you like this?”
“Yes.” She took it from him and allowed herself a little smile.
“And just so you know, the barista told me that all women like caramel macchiatos. I’ve never been to the coffee shop before. I have someone who cooks for me usually. I went there because I thought you’d like it.”
She stood still for just a tick, letting his gesture sink in. “What made you think I’d like it?” she asked, trying to will the flutter from her chest. He’d surprised her.
“Because I asked a few people on the street to tell me where to get the best breakfast in town, and they said it was the best. And when I got there, I saw their lunch menu had crab cake sandwiches, so I thought it was a good sign.” He grinned at her, his smugness now taking on a new light. He wasn’t being arrogant, he was proud of himself for following a hunch and getting it right. She had to drink her coffee to keep the silly smile off her face. He was thoughtful.
“Do I smell coffee?” Olivia said from down the hallway. She entered the kitchen in her thin nightgown. “Oh!” She crossed her arms, her panic-stricken gaze flying over to Callie’s bare legs and then back to Luke before questions filled her eyes.
Luke handed her the other caramel macchiato.
Clutching her coffee to her chest, still trying to cover herself, Olivia smiled nervously. “Thank you for the coffee.”
“It’s a caramel macchiato,” he said with a nod.
“Oh, that’s my favorite!”
Luke and Callie shared a glance and she shook her head with a grin.
“So he just… came over?” Olivia whispered to Callie as they finished getting dressed.
Callie nodded. “He seems to do what he wants, doesn’t he?”
“I’m sure he doesn’t mean any harm. Maybe he really wants to help out.”
