Page 55 of Summer People
And boy did he growl a lot at the lobster bake.
Every time someone came over and interrupted us, he’d let out this heavy sigh, as if interacting with other humans was exhausting.
Though he found his second wind when the music started. The man seriously had me dancing nearly half the night. Every time someone suggested he take a break and asked to dance with me—mainly Wilder—Fisher’s eyes narrowed, and I swear little darts shot straight out of his pupils.
He must really like dancing.
I didn’t mind in the least. It may seem counterintuitive, but the more time I spend in Fisher’s arms, the more relaxed I feel. Perhaps it’s the way he smells. I’ve read a thing or two about how one person’s pheromones can be attracted to another person’s. It’s science.
That, or I just really like him.
Doesn’t matter either way. I’m not dating. Even if I were, there’s no way I should get involved with someone who is raising a child. My life is a mess. The last thing I want is to drag an innocent child into it. I’m no good for either of them—or anyone else, for that matter—until I figure out who I am and what I want to do with my life.
This summer is about finding me. Discovering what brings me joy. I think I’m doing a pretty decent job of it so far. Take this moment, for instance. As I sit, surrounded by familiar faces with loud voices echoing off the ceiling, I feel nothing but joyful.
“Scoot down,” a deep voice grumbles from my side.
I peer up, and when I meet Fisher’s eye, my stomach does that weird flip. The tone of his voice is always at odds with the way his brown eyes brighten when they land on me. Like we’re in on some secret. A secret that involves a hidden sweet side of him.
Before I can think too much further into it, Wilder appears at his side, wearing a T-shirt that saysI’m a f*cking delight.
“Can I sit on the inside?” He cranes his neck one way, then the other, then his shoulders droop in relief. “Never mind. I think I’m in the clear.”
He eases into the seat next to Fisher, and with a grunt of annoyance, Fisher leans away from him. The move causes our thighs to brush and a thread of electricity to course through me. Those brown eyes find mine again, silently confirming that our proximity is okay.
Without my permission, my lips kick up on one side.
Maggie leans across me and hisses, “What are you two doing here?”
I frown at my friend. “Doesn’t he have to be here since he’s the sheriff?”
Fisher’s expression remains blank. Maggie, on the other hand, is smirking now.
“No. Neither Wilder nor Fisher ever come to the town meeting. They always complain that because they’re on Saturdays, they’re nothing but a nuisance.”
“They are,” he grumbles, the low sound vibrating through me and making me shiver.
She beams, chin lifted, like he’s just proven her point. I’ve never seen the quiet woman so amused. “So like I said,whyare you here?”
Fisher completely ignores the question, facing forward.
Wilder shifts our way and whispers, “I’m avoiding the level-five clinger.”
Fisher sighs. “It’s about time you stop hooking up with random tourists, don’t you think?”
I fold my lips in, fighting a laugh. Maybe that’s why Wilder kept asking me to dance at the lobster bake. The woman he was with did seem a bit clingy.
“There’s no one else here,” Wilder says as he leans back and folds his arms across his chest.
Breath held, I peer over at Maggie. Before I can get a look at her expression, the baker who despises me settles in the row ahead of us.
“Hi boys,” she says in that high pitched voice that Sutton hates. I can understand the sentiment, especially when she winks at Fisher. “Are you going to the brewery tonight?”
His jaw ticks, and with a glance at me, he leans back, drapes his arm along the back of my seat, and spreads his thighs wider. “We’ll see.”
Flora’s nose flares in annoyance as she eyes the way he’s touching me. I can barely focus though because once again I’m surrounded by Fisher. His warmth, his scent, his almost possessive attitude. With a huff she spines around and Maggie leans across me again, talking to Wilder. “There’s always Flora.”
Wilder shakes his head, lips kicked up in his usual smirk. “I’m not the one she likes,” he mouths.
