Summer Ever After

“I’m fine. Are you always this pushy?” she says, standing tall—or as tall as she can be compared to my height. She’s a cute little munchkin, but even I know when to back down from a she-witch.

“Normally, no,” I chuckle, and she peers at me unhappily. I kind of expect her to slam the door shut, but she doesn’t, not yet anyway.

“What are you staring at?” she softly asks, and I need to get out of here. She’s managed to make me pissed off and curious at the same time, which irritates me.

“Nothing, Blondie.” I push past her, clutching her bag, being as pushy as she claimed me to be a moment before. She backs up, looking outraged, but doesn’t leave the room or say anything more. “Where do you want it?” Looking around the cottage, I see the familiar dainty wicker furniture, pastel décor, and framed nautical scenes lining the walls I remember putting up when Maddie first opened the cottage. My attention returns to her as I await her response.

“Here, just leave it please.” Ignoring her, I brush past her into the bedroom, putting the bag on the suitcase rack next to the bed. “Hey!” she yells, but I leave the bedroom before she can get any feistier with me. The bedsheets have already been pulled back, telling me she was laying down, and the faint scent in the room has already changed from the eco-friendly cleaner Maddie typically uses. Damn woman seems to have permeated the cottage all right.

“You could say thank you,” I roughly tell her from the doorway. I’m feeling defensive; never in my life has a woman confounded me so quickly. Her orangey smell has filled the cottage since she’s been here, and I know shaking her from my brain is going to take some serious effort.

A delicate hand reaches into the purse she’s clutching to her chest—I notice the same ridiculous pattern from her luggage—and she pulls out another matched piece, her wallet, which irritates me for some reason. “Here, for you.” A shaking hand tries passing me a bill of some amount. Turning it over, I see its five bucks and I sure as hell don’t take it. I’m not the help, if that’s what she is thinking. Maddie is my neighbor and this is something I help her with.

“Keep it, sweetheart, and get your own damn luggage next time.” I walk away, leaving the cottage. Fuming, I hope I won’t have to run into this woman the rest of the summer. She might be a pretty shell, but her attitude doesn’t impress me to pursue her further.

Chapter Three

ABIGAIL

Exhaustion washes over me as I sag against the closed door with relief at having made the trip. My limbs shake as I think about the responsibilities I’ve momentarily escaped and the consequences likely to chase me here. I’m sure tomorrow will look better once I’m settled. The once dull ache in my head has begun to pound. I lurch away from the door in search of my purse and a packet of pain relieving pills.

As I look inside my bag, I see my phone light up. Pulling it from my bag, I read the caller is my dad. It would seem there’s no reprieve just yet. Squeezing my eyes closed, I answer the call dutifully. “Hey, Dad.”

“Where the hell are you, Abigail? I get a message from Lucas and my secretary that you’re not coming in. We discussed this.” Dad’s gone right into lecture mode, attempting to steamroll right over me.

“Dad, we discussed this. I’m not taking the case. You gave it to Lucas already. I need some time. I need to think about things… make decisions.” It takes a herculean effort to keep my voice strong. The second Dad suspects I’m wavering, he’ll go in for the kill. Pacing the small living room area, I sink down into the couch made of thick wicker furniture and deep plush cushions.

“What could you possibly need to think about? You have a job and responsibilities and clients counting on you. First year associates don’t get vacation time, Abigail. You haven’t earned it. You don’t get special treatment working for me.” Straight to the point, Dad makes his case a strong one.

“I’m not asking for special treatment.” Rolling my eyes, I think about my college education, my car and the condo he paid off. I sound like a brat, but I didn’t ask for those things. Petulantly, I whine my excuses. “I still don’t have an actual caseload. I finished up the last deposition for Mr. Ellery before I left.” He ignores me completely and keeps going.

“What the hell possessed you to drive all that distance by yourself? Is that little town even safe? Nothing but a bunch of townies, I bet.” His voice sounds disgusted and I’m reminded of how Mom had been thinking of leaving Dad before she got sick. This was her home, and it feels like he’ll desecrate her memory any way he can because in the end she did leave him by dying.

“Mom grew up here. How can you say that?”

“She never had a reason to go back.” Of course she didn’t, because my dad practically made my free-spirited mother a drone to his work and social calendar. Even her cancer was an inconvenience to him.

“Well, maybe that was her mistake.” My voice is shaking. I’ve never liked bickering, but it seems as if it’s all I do with my dad. Rarely do we ever agree on anything.

“I’m going to pair Lucas with your sister. At least those two will know how to win a case without giving up the farm. I’m sure Lucas knows how to earn his keep by now.” I’m sure my dad thinks I should be working long unbillable hours since he foot the bill for school.

“I’m staying, Dad. I’ll keep you posted on when I plan to come back to LA.” My stomach churns fiercely as I press the button to end the call. I rarely speak defiantly to my father. My cheeks flame with guilt. Am I the spoiled brat who ran away from her privileged life to find herself?

I feel like somebody should be singing Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off” because I’m definitely rattled by my dad’s call. Sluggishly moving into the bedroom, phone in hand, I pull back the covers and sit down. Turning the sleek phone over in my hand, it lights up a second time. My sister, Leah, is calling me now. I’m sure my father called her and now she’s calling me to follow suit in how much of a disappointment I can be by not following the rules. I just can’t take much more of this today, so I ignore the call.

I fall into bed and s

oon find my cheek resting against a damp pillow from a torrent of tears. A knocking on my door interrupts me and figure it must be the man who is bringing down my luggage. I brush my hair back as best I can and clean the tears off my cheeks.

Nervously, I crack the door open. Wow. For one thing, he’s huge, like a football defensive linebacker with big broad shoulders, dark sandy blond hair, and a tan that makes his skin glow like caramel. He’s pushy, but I see my bag just beyond him and I try to convince him to leave it there for me to drag in on my own. He’s insisting he brings my suitcase in, and I don’t know how to respond.

Being cautious, I refuse until he barrels his way into my room. Even though I am pissed he wouldn’t leave me alone, I try offering to tip him, only to have him refuse and storm off. He might as well have thrown the money back in my face. Our exchange is snippy and unexpected, leaving me confused. I don’t normally react this way to people I have just met, but this guy seems to be the exception.

I wait until he is a good distance off the porch before I open the door and watch him retreat back up the sandy trail to the house. The way he carries his body is intimidating, but seeing how his cargo shorts mold his backside snags my attention, and I notice his shirt looks pretty much painted on his shoulders. He’s good-looking and probably way more arrogant than I need. I’m not looking for a relationship anyway—heck, I am still technically in one at the moment, but it doesn’t mean I’m totally immune to him and unable to window-shop just a teeny bit.

Confused by these feelings, I shut the door and lean against it from the inside, groaning. Sleep. I need good sleep to get through this. I’ll be here for the next two months. I need to take this time to work on me, and I’ll deal with whatever shit Lucas is pulling when I get back to LA.

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