Page 21 of The Summer House
“So you’ve known them since you all were kids?” He picked at his brush, removing a piece of dirt before continuing.
“Yeah. Olivia’s my best friend. She’s the first person I call when I need to talk, and the one who knows everything about me—the good and the bad.”
He nodded. “I know that kind of friend. I grew up with a guy named Todd Crowder. He’s moved away now; he and his family live in Portland. I fly out to see him once a year. He and I did everything together growing up. We worked at an ice cream parlor one summer just for fun. We wanted a reason to get out of the house.”
She smiled. “Were you any good at scooping ice cream?”
“I could swirl the soft serve ice cream about a foot high without it toppling off the cone. We used to make those for our friends until the manager found out we were giving extra large ice creams for the price of a single.” He looked over at her and chuckled. “We gave that manager quite a time that summer. Todd and I would write ‘Secret Concoction’ on the menu—the day’s flavors were written new every morning with chalk. Then we’d come up with a recipe based on the person ordering, changing it depending on what we thought the person might be like. The manager had a fit when he noticed that the topping selection had dwindled to barely anything by Wednesday when it was supposed to last until the weekend. He almost fired us, but he liked the idea so much that he let us continue.”
“So what would you make for me?”
Luke eyed her, that smile returning before he pursed his lips, squinting his eyes in thought. “Nothing too fussy—maybe a nice vanilla—but sweet and warm, so perhaps a hot fudge drizzle with homemade mint chocolate bark sprinkled on top.”
“That actually sounds perfect. My favorite ice cream flavor is mint chocolate chip.”
His eyebrows shot up in surprise, causing three lines on his forehead. “Mine too,” he said with another grin.
“Whenever I had a bad day, my grandmother would take me out for ice cream,” she said. “I used to want to just get chocolate, but she’d say, ‘The fun in life comes from risking doing something new. That’s how you grow. Look at all the flavors! Pick one you’d like to try. If you hate it, I’ll buy you a chocolate one. The point is to try it.’ That’s how I ended up liking mint chocolate chip.”
“I like your grandmother.”
“I miss her.”
When they’d finished, they were both speckled with paint.
“The hose is here,” she said. “If you want to wash up.” She noticed Luke’s shirt, after he’d carried the paint bucket over to rinse it, and pursed in her lips, trying not to show concern.
“What?” He dropped the brush with a plop into the nearly empty bucket and turned on the water.
Callie ran her hands under the stream and lathered with the old bar of soap she’d left on top of the hose reel since they’d started painting the exterior last week. It had just been easier to leave it outside.
“Look at your shirt,” she said. It was covered in sticky, white paint.
He looked down.
“Couldn’t you feel that? It’s soaked all the way through!” Callie unwound the hose a little more to get the entirety of her arms wet, the cool water refreshing in the intense heat. “For such a neat painter, I’d expect you to be a little cleaner at the end,” she teased. She felt the zing of nervous energy, taking a chance by joking with him. “I barely have any on me.” Which was good since she hadn’t done laundry and this was the last clean outfit.
With a devious gleam in his eye, Luke held out his arms, confusing her. “Thank you for letting me help today. It was fun.” He started walking toward her.
“What are you doing?” she said, backing up and putting the spraying hose in between them.
“I just thought I’d give you a hug…” His face was alight with mischief.
“Don’t you dare,” she said, jabbing the hose in his direction. “I’ll spray you!” She put her thumb over the end of the hose, forcing the water out in a hard stream in his direction. He ducked it, darting to the side, quick on his feet. She slung the stream toward him, but he was too fast and she missed, his arms still outstretched an enormous smile on his face.
“Come here,” he taunted her.
She backed up again, nearly stumbling over some loose patio tiles.
Luke put down his arms, that grin still present. “Okay,” he said in surrender. “I won’t get paint on you. But I had to try! May I have the hose to wash up?”
With a dubious look, she handed him the hose, still leaning back, her arm outstretched as far as it would go. “The water feels wonderful in this heat,” she said.
“It does feel good,” he said, putting his thumb on the end like she had and shooting a geyser into the air above them, the water falling down on them like a rainstorm.
Callie squealed and jumped out of the way, only getting the spray on half her body. “You’ve got me all wet!” she giggled, unable to be annoyed.
“You’re notallwet,” he said. “This would beallwet.” He sprayed her again.
“Oh, you are in so much trouble now,” she said, completely forgetting she’d just met him and pawing for the hose, but he held it above her, out of reach, drenching them both, the water puddling at their feet in milky, paint-filled pools. Callie jumped for it, missing and stumbling on the uneven pavers again. Luke caught her with his free hand and scooped her up, pulling her close. She felt the thin, wet fabric of their shirts between them, the way his muscle contracted in his bicep as he caught her, the lightness of his fingers at her waist.
She pulled back and her shirt was soggy with water and paint.
“Got ya,” he said, his eyes lingering on her longer than usual. Then he broke out in the most gorgeous smile, sending her stomach into somersaults.
