Perfect Summer (36 page)

Her mother shivered.

It never got old.

The next day, Summer hefted the last peach cobbler out of her truck and set it on the long picnic table on Mario’s new back porch. Today was the housewarming party for Mario, and the furniture donations were pouring in.

Summer stopped and appreciated the view.

Under a huge oak tree, her mother sat at a card table and directed people and furniture. She had a floor plan of the house, had color-coded the rooms, and used a walkie-talkie to contact Mario, letting him know where to put things. All of Summer’s students were here, some carrying things in and out of the house and some playing catch with Clint’s teammates, Devon had rolled his smoker over, and he and his mother were arguing about whether the ribs were done, Chuck and Stan manned the refreshments table, keeping the margaritas and lemonade flowing, and Clint played ring-around-the-rosy with Mario’s little sisters. It was a perfect day.

All because of Clint.

He’d brought so much to her life and gave so freely, he was truly a gift. Love bubbled up, healing the tiniest remaining cracks of her heart. She loved him, freely and unconditionally. The falling had been so gradual that she hadn’t even noticed until now. She loved him…. It was real.

She sat down hard on the stool beside the table. Love was real. It wasn’t fireworks and fancy words but finding the one person who got her. Clint knew everything about her and wanted to be with her anyway. She wanted to be the same for him. She traced the edge of the table with her index finger. That was unlikely, since he didn’t believe in love.

She would enjoy their relationship for as long as it lasted, and when they parted ways, she would treasure it always. One side of her mouth curled up.

That was a crock of horseshit.

She’d be devastated when they broke up.

She looked around her at all of the life and laughter. Without Clint, her life would go back to the boring drag of endless days melting into each other. He made things colorful and shiny and lively.

Summer shook off her bad mood. The future could wait; she was living in the now.

“Summer.” Clint’s voice carried from the back lawn. “Can you do me a favor?”

She looked up. Her mother stood over him while he was on his knees playing London Bridge.

She plastered on a smile. She was in a good mood—that was the plan, and she was sticking to it. “Sure.”

“Your mom needs some more Post-its. Can you get them for me? They’re in my study.” A knowing grin came over his face. “Top drawer.”

Summer laughed. Clint had showed her around his house this morning, and they’d made love on his desk. It was the one place he claimed to have never done it.

“I’ll be right back.” Summer rolled out of the chair and walked through his back door into the kitchen. While she could appreciate minimalism, she didn’t understand the stark, bare countertops and hidden appliances. It was a sea of nothingness. No cookie jar or coffee pot or microwave held space on the white marble. Everything was white—walls, counters, carpet, even the floors. Heaven couldn’t be this blinding.

The perverse part of her wanted to dump a glass of red Kool-Aid on the white carpet of the living room just to add some color. The house didn’t fit its owner. Besides the white, there were lots of chrome sculptures and knickknacks. Everything was cold and sterile. Clearly, the decorator had never met the owner.

Clint was brown, overstuffed leather chairs, not a trim, armless sofa shaped like a Nike squiggle. The floors should be dark mahogany and the walls something rich and soothing like butterscotch. Clint’s life was colorful, but his house was not.

She walked through the living room with the expansive windows overlooking the pool and backyard, into the hall with nothing to break up the white except a floor-to-ceiling chrome sculpture that looked like a giant Hershey’s Kiss minus the wick. Summer knocked on it. It rang hollow. If she’d had that in her front entry, it would have been made of chocolate and she’d have bitten off a hunk every day. She turned down another hall and found his study.

More white, including the desk. The only color was the papers on his desktop that had been in neat little stacks until Summer had climbed on top and taken Clint’s dictation. She smiled. Clint seemed to like that she didn’t have lots of experience but was willing to make up for lost time.

She opened the top drawer, moved some papers around, and spotted a pad of Caribbean-blue sticky notes. She grabbed a black Sharpie, too, in case her mother needed another. She was about to close the drawer when a paper caught her eye. The top read:

Summer Ames Findings
.

She snatched up the paper.

Daily

Subject leaves her house every morning between seven forty-eight and seven fifty-two. She then goes to McDonald’s and enters the drive-thru, where she orders a large drink. From there, she continues on to Travis High School. After school, subject either drives home or to the Teen Center on West Lynn. According to the Rev. Tim Tutt, who runs the center, she volunteers on the teen hotline and with their GED program.

In the two weeks of surveillance, subject doesn’t appear to have any social activities, although she does interact with her neighbors frequently. The only other contact is infrequent visits with her mother, Lillian Ames.

Background

Subject is thirty years old, makes forty-seven thousand dollars a year but appears to have a trust fund that she will inherit when she turns thirty-five. The exact amount is not available through public records. She has a 900 credit score and no outstanding debt.

Subject was engaged to marry Jonathan Andrew Dew on August twenty-seventh of last year, but according to the Internet, the wedding was cancelled. Before that, I couldn’t find any other social connections other than high school and a few college functions. She is the only child of Franklin and Lillian Ames. Her father is deceased, and her mother lists “homemaker” on her taxes
.

Scrawled across the bottom in obviously feminine handwriting was:

World Wide is going to love her. Use her students to win her over. Love, Bunny
.

Summer’s knees buckled, and she crumpled to the floor. She pulled at the collar of her tee shirt. She couldn’t breathe. Clint had a report on her. He’d had her under surveillance. Everything was a lie. Clint’s own voice played through her mind:
I’m using you to make myself look good.

At least he’d been honest about it, but she hadn’t realized how far he was willing to go just for the sake of money. Clint had one hundred million reasons to wine and dine her, pretend to care, only she’d forgotten it was all a game. Everything in her had told her that he was too good to be true, but she hadn’t listened.

Gullible, stupid doormat.

Clint had walked into her life, grinned and flattered her, and she’d bought it hook, line, and perfect-bodied football player. The bit about his fear of public speaking was the clincher. He’d come up with a way for them to bond and make her feel helpful. He was good. She nodded. Very good. The big screen was where he belonged. That kind of acting talent shouldn’t be wasted on commercials.

She’d been played. All Clint cared about was winning. She was a cog in the wheel of his endorsement deal. Her inner critic stood up, took a bow, and yelled, “I told you so.” She wasn’t good enough, had never been good enough, and would never be good enough.

She was tired…so damned tired of kicking her own ass. Self-pity had never been her problem; self-hatred was another story.

Well…fuck that!

She kicked the file drawer of the desk. The vibration shot up her leg. She was pretty damn great.

In fact, she was perfect. Clint had some character flaws they were about to hash out, but Summer was just wonderful. All this time, she’d worried about not being good enough for him, well, he wasn’t good enough for her. She kicked the drawer again and stubbed her pinky toe. “Damn it.”

What would happen to Mario after the endorsement deal was signed?

What would happen to her?

They’d both be out on their asses.

Her eyes went to the handwritten message at the bottom of the page. Using her was one thing, but using her students was another. No one used her kids.

“Are you having trouble finding the sticky notes?” Clint’s head popped around the door. “Jesus, what happened?”

He ran to her.

“Don’t touch me.” Summer used the desk to hoist herself up. Rage stamped out the pounding pain coming from her pinky toe. “How could you?”

“What?”

She shoved the paper at his chest. “Using me is one thing, but my students are off limits.”

He looked down, and his face turned the color of oatmeal. “This isn’t how it looks. I mean, it is…but it isn’t. Bunny sent me this, but I didn’t read it.”

He really thought she was an idiot. That realization quadrupled her anger. She had to get out of here before she scratched his eyes out. “I want a contract stipulating everything you promised to Mario and his family drawn up, signed by you, and emailed to me by close of business tomorrow. In addition, you will allow them to live here rent-free for another five years. Should you sell this house, you will find and pay for similar housing—”

“Just listen to me.” He touched her arm, but she shook him off.

“Do not contact me again or set foot on school property. If you do, I will hold the press conference from hell and tell world exactly the type of person you are.” Summer was having a hard time keeping her voice from shaking. Angry tears spilled down her cheeks as she stepped around him. Her humiliation was complete. He got to see her cry one last time.

“I love you.” His voice was quiet but hard.

Summer whirled around. “You are a piece of work. I thought Jack was bad news, but you’ve got him beat. The irony is that I
am
in love with you. Congratulations, you won.”

“Damn it, I don’t need a piece of paper to tell me about you because I know you, better than you know yourself.” His voice turned tender. “You chew on your bottom lip when you’re nervous and massage the muscles at the back of your neck when you’re frustrated. When you’re angry, you cross your arms over your chest with the right on top.” His eyes never left hers. “You see perfection in everyone else but not in yourself. You let others slide when they make mistakes but beat yourself up over the smallest things. You like long baths instead of showers, prefer watching a movie to reading a book, hate mornings and stupid sitcoms. You bite the thumbnail of your left hand when you’re puzzling something out and smile when you have the answer. You are gracious, kind, and thoughtful, and you only see the good in people.”

Everything in her wanted to believe him, but it was too convenient, and he was too charming.

“Why are you doing this to me?” She stepped toward the door. She needed to get out of here. The tenderness in his eyes hurt.

Clint kicked the door shut. “You don’t get to walk out of my life. I’m in love with you, goddamn it, and we will live happily ever after, even if it kills me.”

“Do I get to choose the method?” Summer snorted. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud. Okay, maybe I did.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why are you mad?”

She had right on her side, and he had…well, a charming smile and nice hair.

“Because you don’t trust me.” A muscle worked in his jaw. “Yes, I used you but only in the beginning. Now, as far as I’m concerned, World Wide can kiss my ass. I was looking for a life after football, and I found it, and it has nothing to do with an endorsement deal.”

“All this time, I have been so caught up in the fact that you’re too good for me that I didn’t take the time to realize that I’m too good for you.” It was the truth, and Summer could feel it all the way down to her toes. She was wonderful. He was a loser. End of story.

“I was hoping it would take you longer to figure that out.” Clint blew out a long breath. “Like after our golden wedding anniversary.”

What did that mean?

Summer pointed to the report. “What am I supposed to do about this?”

“If you’re going to read my mail, why don’t you read all of it?” He picked up a handful of papers on his fax machine. Hurt and anger turned his voice to all business. “This is from my travel agent confirming the surprise trip I’m taking you on when school’s out. We’re going to Italy for two weeks so we can eat pasta and absolutely no salad.” He held up another piece of paper. “This is confirmation of my order for Belgian chocolate chips that I’m having shipped directly from Belgium. The best cookies in the world deserve the best chips.” He tossed that one behind him and held up the third piece of paper. “This one isn’t for you but your class. At the end of the year, I’m giving away full scholarships to those who make it into college. I’m talking a full ride, books, rent, tuition, spending money.” He dropped that one and held up the fourth piece of paper. “This…wait, this is my electric bill.” He dropped that one. “But this. This is all you.”

She was absolutely floored. He’d done all of this for her…and her students. He hadn’t run to reporters with his random acts of kindness because he really cared. She knew it and should have seen it from the start. Clint was honorable, only she’d refused to see it.

He practically threw the paper at her. She glanced at it.

It was dated two days ago.

Mr. Grayson,

Thank you for sending the wonderful specimen. The rose is a climbing rose and is related to the Rosaceae Zephirine Drouhin but isn’t quite the same. This is a rose that we thought was extinct. Where did you find it?

Out of the cuttings you sent me, I’m attempting to root four. If they root, it’s up to you to name it. Do you have any ideas?

Sincerely,

Jan Yonkin

Antique Rose Emporium, Brenham, Texas