All Summer on a Date: Three Romantic Comedy Short Stories (2 page)

“After you.” On the way out, Kyle tipped his head to flash Summer a crooked smile, reminding her of George Clooney.

Oh, yeah. This was definitely worth all the hairspray and underwire.

Once Summer settled back into the dark, low-slung seat of Kyle's car, she allowed herself to relax. She breathed easily as she watched Kyle navigate through the night rain. “I didn't know you drove a Porsche.”

“I usually drive the Lexus to work,” he replied. “You know, my hybrid SUV.”

“Right,” Summer said. But really, she had no idea. Why did everyone expect her to notice cars? And what would Lily's rules be about making conversation from here? Summer had the distinct feeling that gas consumption, foreign oil, and outsourced jobs were off the table.

“Kyle, you're a bad boy,” she decided to say with a wicked little laugh. “You drive a hybrid to
Consequence—
a magazine more hippie liberal than the Greenpeace newsletter—but when school's out ...” She lowered her voice conspiratorially, “it's the Porsche.”

“Can you blame me?”

Instead of answering, because she was pretty sure she better not, Summer just smiled and gazed out the window. She watched the wet street reflect the glow from the holiday lights strung along the deserted boulevard. The white lights, especially, looked—

Summer saw a figure flash into the street. “WATCH OUT!”

Kyle slammed on the brakes and wrenched the wheel, skidding though a puddle into the curb. Before the car could even bounce back from the impact, Summer was vaulting out the door.

“Summer!” Kyle leaned across the front seat, snagging closed the door she'd left gaping open. He lowered the window on her side of the car. “Summer!”

“I think he's hurt!” she called, running along the flooded sidewalk, pulling up her cavernous hood against the driving rain. “I've got to find him!”

Summer peered at all the darkened buildings, pulling up short when she saw him. Easy to miss, but she had seen his reflecting eyes in the faint glow of the streetlight.

Summer looked at the beaded bag still clutched in her icy hand and pulled out her phone. Tapping the flashlight app, she aimed the LED to get a better look.

 “Hey, there,” Summer whispered.

The slick black dog ducked his head away from the beam. But it wasn't a he. The dog was a girl, and a pretty young one by the look of the big white paws she hadn't yet grown into. Summer noticed the dog was leaning awkwardly against the door of a closed computer repair shop. As she got closer, the dog hunkered down under the shop's tiny awning.“It's okay, girl. I promise. I'm here to help.”

The dog was in bad shape. Shaking, soaked, and so skinny Summer could see her ribs. All of them.

“It's okay,” she cooed softly. She shoved her phone and clutch into the pockets of her cape and held out both hands toward the dog. “It's okay.”

The dog inched forward
.

“Yes, girl,” she encouraged softly. “C'mon.” She squatted, drenching the hem of her dress. “Come on, girl.”

The dog took a full step toward Summer, whose stomach lurched as she noticed the dog's limp. One more faltering step and the dog dove her head into Summer's outstretched hand.

“Yes, my girl,” she murmured, “yes.” She ruffled her hand gently over the dog's wet head. “Kyle,” Summer called. “She's hurt! We have to get her to—”

But Kyle was there behind her, standing under his umbrella. “Summer, that's a pit bull!”

Summer pulled the dog closer. “I know.”

“A pit bull!”

“Will you stop saying that like it's a curse? She's a
dog
.”

 “I'm calling Animal Control.” Kyle felt around in his coat for his phone.

Summer picked up the dog and moved so they were both under the tiny awning. “An injured dog brought in on a holiday weekend? They wouldn't let her live to see morning. Too much work.”

“My phone must be in the car. Look, Summer. Have you forgotten where we're going tonight?”

Summer just looked at him as she stroked the dog's head.

“We're off the clock,” Kyle blurted. “We don't have to try to save the world every minute of our lives.”

“Kyle.” She could feel a steely calm work through her. “I am going to help this dog.”

“That's it? You're ditching me for a dog?”

Summer mouth dropped open.
Ditching him?
“Is that how you see it?” Summer looked at him standing there, under his umbrella, so debonair in his immaculate black overcoat. Of course that was how he saw it. Of course it was. “Yes, Kyle. I'm choosing this dog over you. I'll call a cab. Happy New Year.”

When Kyle's taillights disappeared into the night, the wind changed with a vicious gust. Rain slanted under the awning and pelted Summer, making the dog jolt and whine.

“It's okay,” Summer assured her, pulling her cape over the dog. “I'll get you some help. I promise.”

She clamped her jaw shut to keep her teeth from chattering as she fished out her phone. Trying to control stiff, shivering fingers, Summer tapped at her touch screen to find a cab company. But she dropped the phone, catching it before it landed in a puddle by pressing it hard against the dog's quivering thigh. The dog yelped.

“Sorry!” Summer quickly got the phone away from the dog's leg.

“
Hello?
”

The voice was coming from Summer's phone. She looked at it quizzically then put it to her ear. “Hello? Who's this?”

“Summer? Summer Hodiak?”

“What? Who is this? How do you know my name?”

“Summer, it's Jeff Tracy. You called
me
. On my work cell. Are you okay? You don't sound okay.”

“Jeff? IT Jeff? From
Consequence
?”

“Summer ...” He spoke as if he were backing away from a bear. “Just tell me where you are and I'll come get you. You don't have to drive anywhere.”

“Jeff, no, no, I'm not drunk. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to call you. I'm standing in the rain with this dog, shivering, and I tried to call a cab. But I must have hit—”

“You hit him? Is the dog okay? Are you?”

“No, I didn't hit her. But she's a mess. I've gotta go call a cab.”

“On New Year's Eve? With a dog? Where are you? I'll be right there.”

Summer looked at her phone. Jeff, the IT guy from the magazine. He was offering to come rescue them? On New Year's Eve? Jeff from the office?

The dog whined, poking her head out from Summer's cape. She flinched as the rain pelted her snout.

“I'm on Foothill,” Summer said into the phone. “Somewhere. North side … I'm right across the street from Marcy's Cleaners.”

“Got it,” he said. “Stay put. I'll be there in ten minutes.”

Summer fumbled her phone back into her pocket. Okay. They were going to be okay. Jeff Tracy could give them a ride to a vet. Jeff Tracy from
Consequence
. But he wasn't on the clock. None of them were, as Kyle had pointed out. Should she offer to pay Jeff when he arrived? Was she being a jerk to even think that?

Of course she was. Jeff wasn't coming because the art director had summoned him. He was coming because he wanted to help a hurt dog. Or maybe he was just hard-wired to come to the rescue, like all the IT guys. Only they were usually saving people when it was about computer stuff. Summer could picture them as they scurried from office to office in their perpetual jeans and their T-shirts with the dorky decals. And Jeff always looked like he needed a haircut.

 Suddenly, headlights from the road seemed to beam right at her. “Summer!” a man's voice called.

Could Jeff be here already? No way. Summer's heart leapt—Kyle had come back for her! For her and the dog!

But instead of a black Porsche, a dinged-up silver Honda pulled to the curb. The car had barely stopped when Jeff came bolting out, wearing his usual jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt—and not even a jacket! He was brandishing a big golf umbrella, unopened.

When he got to Summer and the dog, he opened the umbrella and held it over her. “Do you want me to carry her?”

“No,” Summer said, clinging to the dog as much as the dog was clinging to her.

Jeff gave them a quick nod. “C'mon.”

He led Summer and her snuffling bundle to the car, keeping them shielded from the downpour. When he opened the passenger door, Summer saw that the seat was draped with gigantic patchwork quilts.

“Sit down,” he said, whipping off her sodden cape and tossing it into the back seat. As Summer landed with the dog in the nest of quilts, Jeff bundled another blanket around the dog. “All good?” But without waiting for a response, he slammed them in and rushed around to the driver's side. As soon as he got into the car, he asked, “How do you feel? Can you feel everything? Your toes?”

“Yes,” she said, pulling one of the quilts around her. “Wet and cold, but I'm good.” She noticed how the rain had plastered his dark hair to his head and face. “You got all wet, too.”

“How's the dog? Any bleeding?”

“Don't think so. But she's limping. And really skinny. Starved. We've got to get to a vet. I think there's a 24-hour clinic around here somewhere.”

In a matter of seconds, Jeff found the address on his phone. “Keep an eye out for Mountain Laurel Emergency Clinic. About two miles away, up on Sierra Madre.” He reached across Summer and took a granola bar out of the glove compartment. He gave it to the dog, who wolfed it down in one chomp. “Good girl,” he said with a quick smile. Then, without missing a beat, he pulled onto Foothill. They were off.

“Are you sure you're okay, Summer?” Jeff was shooting worried glances at her. “I didn't see your car anywhere. How far did you have to chase her until you caught her?”

“I didn't have to chase her. I got out of the car and she let me go right up to her. It was Kyle's car,” Summer explained. “I saw her and screamed, and Kyle slammed on the brakes.”

“Kyle?” Jeff didn't say anything for a few seconds. “You mean, you were already on your date when this happened? You weren't just running out for a Starbuck's fix or something?”

The dog barked and pawed at the quilt.

Summer didn't answer Jeff. She started drying off the dog as best she could.

“Summer,” Jeff said, “where's Kyle
if your date already started
?”

“I sent him on without me.” She answered matter-of-factly, rubbing the dogs's loose, furry jowls. “You're going to be okay, girl,” she murmured. “I promise. I'm going to take good care of you.”

“Summer,” Jeff said slowly. “He
left
you there?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “But I very strongly encouraged him to go.”

“What?!”

“He wanted to call Animal Control and be done with it,” she told him. “
I'm
the one who wants to help her.” She kissed the dog's snout. “Right, girl? And anyway,” she said to Jeff, “Kyle needs to get to this party—it's a huge schmooze-fest for him. Lots of pro-Green folks there, and he wants to make connections for
Consequence
.”

Jeff gripped the steering wheel hard enough to make his knuckles stand out taut against his skin. “Summer,” he said in a quiet, even voice. “You can make excuses for him if you want, but don't make them to me. Just don't. Please.”

“Okay,” Summer promised quietly, looking studiously out the window. “I won't.”

But what else could she have done? Bemoaned the fact that her date had dumped her in the rain without a backward glance? She may as well just paint a giant black L on her forehead.

“I'm just glad you're okay,” Jeff said, smiling over at her.

“Thanks to you,” Summer cried, turning to him. “Really Jeff. Thank you.”

“Not a problem.”

Summer looked back out the window, keeping her hands moving on the dog.

“So, what will you do with her after tonight?” Jeff asked. “I mean, she probably doesn't have anywhere to go. Will you keep her? Take her home?”

“What do you think, girl?” Summer hugged the dog's neck. “Do you want to come home with me?”

The dog licked her face, making Summer laugh.

Jeff laughed, too. “That's it? You'll take home anyone who licks your face?”

“This is it!” Summer called as the clinic came into view, but Jeff was already pulling up. They tumbled out of the car and charged through the double glass doors.

“This dog is hurt,” Summer said, rushing up to the counter. “Limping and really skinny. I found her in the rain.”

A vet tech in scrubs moved forward. “This way,” he said, taking Summer and Jeff through swinging double doors into the back. Summer eased the dog down onto a stainless steel examining table as the tech peeled away the blanket. Tears sprang to Summer's eyes as she saw the dog trembling on the table, looking up at her. Those big, brown eyes, looking right into her.

But a herd of techs was already ushering her and Jeff out.

“Wait!” Summer ran back and kissed the dog. “I'll be right out there,” she promised. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Me neither, girl,” Jeff said, also bending to kiss the dog. “Be good.”

“Okay.” A tech in pink scrubs swept them toward the door.

“C'mon, Summer,” Jeff said gently.

Summer swiped at her eyes as she and Jeff emerged back into the waiting room. “I don't know why I'm getting all emotional. I mean, I know she's not that bad. I think. But ...” She wiped away more tears. “She's just so scared.”

“Sir.” The receptionist looked at Jeff. “You'll have to move your car. And it sounds like this dog is a stray? Are you prepared to pay for its treatment?”

“Yes!” Summer rushed to the desk. “Yes, whatever she needs. I'll pay for it.”

“We'll need a deposit.” The receptionist placed a number of forms in front of Summer before he looked back to Jeff. “Sir? Your car?”

“You go move it,” Summer suggested to Jeff, “while I do all this paperwork.”

With a quick nod, he dashed out to the car.

When Summer put down the deposit and signed the last form, she limped on frozen feet across the waiting room. Jeff had returned from the car and was sitting on the peach vinyl bench that ran along the wall.

“What's all this?” Summer asked, noticing the stuff surrounding him.

Jeff held up the cushiest pair of Uggs Summer had ever seen.