Perfect Summer (11 page)

“Early bird catches the worm.”

“Yeah, like I want to touch a bunch of slimy worms. You early birds can have them.” She crossed her left foot over her right. “I prefer waffles.”

“What would I need for them?” He was definitely interested in her waffles.

“All you need is a waffle iron and the same ingredients as yesterday. Oh, and a phone that doesn’t call people until after ten in the morning.” She yawned for good measure.

“That’s practically lunchtime.”

“What are you, eighty? Eat breakfast at four, lunch at ten, dinner by two, and bedtime at five?” Once she got past his defenses, she really liked him as a person. “I bet you have a Luby’s frequent diner’s card.”

“One more punch and I score a free Luanne Platter.” He grinned. “Nine-thirty.”

“Nine forty-five,” she countered.

“It’s a date.” He smiled directly into her eyes. “I would have waited until ten.”

“I would have gotten up at seven, but thank God, I don’t have to.” She returned his smile and made the mistake of returning his direct gaze. Every molecule in her body urged her to lean over and kiss him lightly on the mouth. Slowly, her weight shifted to the balls of her feet, and she tilted her head up.

“You are definitely different from any other girl I’ve ever known.”

The smile froze on her lips as she rolled back on her heels. Of course she was different. Twenty pounds heavier and a foot and a half taller made her the Amazon ugly duckling in his world full of petite swans. It was a mistake she wouldn’t make again.

“What’s the usual mentor routine?” His eyes flashed with interest.

She noticed that his left hand slid in his pants pocket, but his right fiddled with the button on his suit jacket. Fidgeting. So he was better on the phone than face-to-face. Had he been a shy kid who’d covered it with a brilliant smile and lots of swagger? Charm was his fallback defense, it wasn’t meant for her specifically. She just happened to be in the line of fire.

“They came in once a week and gave a talk about what they did for a living.” She held a hand up. “You don’t have to. I’d prefer to keep it informal. Our last mentor was the Risk Management Officer for a manufacturing company. He came Thursdays at ten thirty and bored us for an hour with statistics of on-the-job accidents.”

“Sounds stimulating.”

“It was. Apparently Mr. Sales was somewhat of a celebrity in risk management circles.” Summer rolled her eyes as the toupee-wearing, teeth-sucking ferret of a man who’d called her sweetie and stared at her breasts came to mind. “Ever notice how your home shredder has a picture of a necktie with a line through it on the warning label? Mr. Sales was shredding a company memo when his tie got caught. He claimed to have had a near-death experience.”

Too bad the tie had been a clip-on or Summer wouldn’t have needed the industrial-strength air fresheners to banish the stench of Old Spice and cigars that was Mr. Sales.

Summer sucked in a deep, lemony, male-scented breath. This was more like it. “The kids love you, and you smell nice. You’re already ahead of the game.”

“Do I need to prepare a speech every week?” Clint’s eyes only got as far as her mouth. He wouldn’t look her in the eye because he was too embarrassed.

Summer wanted to pat him on the head and tell the shy little boy it was going to be okay. “Tell you what. You show up once a week for a couple of hours, and we’ll call it even. If you want to speak, you can; if not, don’t. Are Mondays good for you?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “I’d prefer the morning. Nine?”

“Works for me.” She glanced at her watch. “I don’t know your schedule, but it’s lunchtime. After that, I have a free period. My next class starts at one. You’re welcome to go get some lunch and come back, or if you have other commitments, we’ll see you next week.”

She wasn’t dismissing him, but if he wanted a way out, this was it.

“Do you have plans?”

“For what?” She picked up her facedown copy of
Romeo and Juliet
, tucked in the envelope from her Dillard’s bill to mark her page, and closed the book.

His brow scrunched up, and his eyes squinted like he couldn’t believe she was missing the obvious. “Lunch.”

“Yes. I’m making a sandwich.” Opening the right top drawer of her desk, she pulled out the latest addition to her personal library. “And starting this.”

Summer grinned as she held up her copy of
Clint Grayson—Prince of the Gridiron
. “I’m sure it’ll be a page-turner. I can’t wait.”

“Make me a sandwich too, and I’ll give you the CliffsNotes.” Another genuine smile started at his eyes and worked its way down. “Want me to begin at the beginning?”

“Why not?” She was getting through to him. Shyness gone. It was progress.

He laughed. “My mother swore I was conceived on the ninth hole at Pebble Beach. My father had double bogeyed the last three holes, so she felt the need to console him.”

“I hope for both their sakes the chilly wind usually ripping off the Pacific was calm that day.”

Clint raised an eyebrow. She didn’t know him well enough to know if that meant he was impressed or skeptical.

She stepped in front of him. “I have a feeling this is going to take a while. Follow me into the office, and I’ll see what I can do about a sandwich.”

She led the way into her small office and would’ve opened the door, but he pushed it open first.

“Have a seat.” Squeezing between the sofa and desk, she stepped to the refrigerator and opened the door. Pulling out various plastic bags, jars, and a pitcher of iced tea, she glanced over her shoulder for a place to put her armload.

Clint unbuttoned his suit coat and made himself comfortable. “Either you have an incredible metabolism or you’re feeding an army. That’s a lot of food.”

She gritted her teeth and smiled so hard her cheeks quivered.

Here came the fat jokes—better for her to preempt and save face. “It takes a lot to maintain this physique. You are what you eat, and I’m working on becoming the first walking, talking chocolate chip cookie.”

Since she couldn’t be thin, pretty, or smart, she’d learned to be funny. Jolly saved fat’s ass every time. Every kid she’d met at fat camp had sad eyes and a good joke.

She backed out with an armload and dumped it on the desk. Grabbing the stack of paper plates on top of the filing cabinet, she turned back to the desk and dealt out four rows, six plates across.

“Give me a minute on your sandwich. I need to make the others first.” Tearing open a large Ziploc back containing a loaf of bread, she pulled out slices and slapped two side-by-side on each plate. She stacked one piece of bread with turkey breast, lettuce, tomato, red onion slices, bean sprouts, diced carrots, and pickles.

“Are you feeding the entire school?” Clint sat up.

He seemed sincere, so Summer bit back the “no, they’re all mine” that popped to mind. “Just my class. Minds function better when stomachs are full.”

Feeding them lunch five days a week was seriously eating away the small bit of life insurance money her grandmother had left her, but Summer wasn’t about to let her students starve. The gnawing, burning pain of hunger had been Summer’s least favorite childhood companion. Poverty hadn’t been the culprit but her mother’s “tough love” that Lillian Ames had elevated to a blood sport.

“Why don’t they eat in the cafeteria?” Clint stood close behind her and picked up the mayo and a plastic knife. “Does everyone get mayo?”

She hadn’t pegged him for a helper. Summer smiled. She loved when people surprised her.

“Yes, and mustard. They aren’t picky.” She added an apple to each plate. “They don’t eat in the cafeteria because they can’t afford it. I’m sure they’d qualify for the state-sponsored free lunch program, but then the other kids would see and make fun of them. My students are allowed to eat in the classroom, no questions asked, and they can take food home for their families—”

“I don’t understand.” He shook his head. “Why would they take food home?”

“Because there isn’t any when they get there. Most have younger siblings they have to feed.” She began topping the turkey and veggie sides with the bread slices slathered with mayo and mustard. “My kids have lives most people can’t imagine.”

His face turned the color of rice pudding.

“You do this every day?” He finished the last piece of bread and helped her top the rest.

“Five days a week with as much extra as I can manage on Fridays.” Summer loaded up her arms waitress-style and backed into the classroom. “If you wouldn’t mind staying in here so they can’t see you, I’d appreciate it.”

“Why?”

Bless his heart, he really didn’t get it.

“You’re their idol, and it would shame them to be seen taking charity. I’ll be right back for the others.” Summer unloaded the plates on her desk in front of the whiteboards and was back for the second load.

“I’m using you and your class so I can make myself look good.” His tone wasn’t apologetic, but he wouldn’t meet her eye.

She loaded plates. “I know.”

“You’re not angry?”

“Would it matter if I was?” She loaded more plates. “I’m sure you have a good reason. All I ask is that you remember pride is a delicate thing. It can’t be bought, but it can be taken. Feel free to show the world what a terrific mentor you are in the classroom, but let it end here. Leave my kids’ personal lives out of it. It takes a lot of courage to come to school wearing the same clothes as yesterday because you had to sleep in a car or on a park bench. It’s impossible if the whole world knows you’re homeless. I need my students to come to school because it’s the only chance they have at a better life.”

Clint nodded. “You have my word, or if you need me to sign something, I will.”

“No.” She backed out bottom first. “I trust you.”

***

Summer trusted him. Clint took a deep breath. More than likely, that would prove to be a huge mistake on her part.

She was unlike any person he’d ever met, and he couldn’t get a handle on her end game.

Last week, she should have sold him out and told the first reporter she could find that he’d fallen asleep in her class, but she hadn’t. And today, she’d gone out of her way to make him feel better after his almost panic attack. Who did that? In his world, motivations were clear-cut and upfront. The coaches wanted his best, the owners wanted a winning season, the fans wanted to feel like a part of the game. Hell, even his aunt had her own agenda. But Summer? What did she want from him?

He shook his head. He needed to find out because he wasn’t so free and easy with trust. Everyone wanted something. When he found out what she wanted, he’d use it to his advantage.

Davis was starting to second-guess himself. Lilly wouldn’t admit that she loved him. Being helpless and bedridden didn’t help his cause or his self-confidence.

He folded and unfolded the sheet covering his legs. His chest felt like Wile E. Coyote had stacked a hundred anvils on it, but that was nothing compared to the ache in his heart. He shared his life with Lilly, but she never talked about hers. She had a daughter, he knew, but she’d only slipped and mentioned her once.

Light humming drifted up from downstairs. The pressure in his chest lessened. She was here now and taking care of him. He’d never really thought of her as a nurturer, although, in her own way, she was sort of a rabid Florence Nightingale. The image of her dressed as a naughty nurse popped into his head. That was a great idea.

So what if she was a few years older than him? She was in great shape—hotter than hell—he didn’t give a damn about when she was born. Gently, he leaned over to the nightstand, opened the drawer, and pulled out the small, black velvet box that had cost him more than he’d billed out in a year. Six months of going from jewelry store to jewelry store and finally, he’d found it hiding in a small mom-and-pop store in San Antonio. Two karats of emerald-cut perfection on a platinum band with a thin band of diamonds for the wedding ring. Classic and beautiful…just like Lilly.

Would she take it, or was he kidding himself?

Her high heels clacked up the stairs. Who cooked dinner in heels?

He slipped the ring under the quilt…not tonight…maybe after he was healed. It wasn’t that he was chicken, it was just he wasn’t one hundred percent sure she’d say yes. It was funny, every serious girlfriend he’d had since high school had hinted none too subtly about a ring, but he hadn’t felt the slightest inclination toward “I do” until he’d met Lilly. The day he’d laid eyes on her, he’d known she was for him. Convincing her to go out with him had taken two whole months, but he’d done it, and she would be his…forever.

He hoped it wouldn’t take him that long to convince her to marry him.

“Dinner is served.” Lilly stepped into the room, holding a tray containing two steaming bowls, a flower in a vase, silverware, two wine glasses, and a bottle of wine. She was a throw-back to the 1950s in a dress, stockings, and a pearl choker. Didn’t the woman own a pair of jeans?

He sniffed the air. She’d cooked for him. “Chicken?”

Lilly’s mouth stretched into a thin smile—she didn’t do goofy grins. “Chicken and dumplings. Your horde of unruly hens gave me the idea. My mother’s recipe, only she made tofu and dumplings. Trust me. Chicken is much better.”

“You don’t talk about your family very often.” He scooted over, making room for her.

Lilly set the tray down in front of him and eased down next to him. “Not much to say. My parents were free spirits who lived in a Winnebago and traveled from protest rally to protest rally. We moved into an actual house when I was fifteen because social services found out that I’d been”—she made quotes with her fingers—“
homeschooled
my entire life.”

“What’s wrong with homeschooling?”

“Nothing, except my parents never bothered to fill out any paperwork or teach me anything. Luckily, I read a lot and taught myself.”

He lifted a thick, golden spoonful of chicken to his mouth and covertly sniffed. It smelled okay. They’d been eating takeout the past few nights, and she’d never cooked for him before. Lilly didn’t really look like the type who spent a lot of time in the kitchen. He tasted it. The only word to describe it was
yum
. “Wow. This is fantastic.”