The Summer of Us (Mission Cove 1)

“You have no idea what seeing you in my kitchen is doing to me right now.”

She wrapped her legs around my waist, laughing low in her throat. “I think I can, um, feel your reaction.” She rubbed against me. “I think you’re happy to see me. Or your cell phone is in your pocket,” she deadpanned.

“Baby, my cell phone doesn’t take up that sort of real estate.”

She giggled, the sound lilting and strange in my house. I liked it. I was about to kiss her again when the timer on the oven went off and she pushed away.

“Cockblocked by biscuits,” I muttered and set her on her feet.

She pulled the tray from the oven, the scent wafting over. She brushed butter and honey over the tops, the glistening sweetness making me salivate. She carried a plate to the table and slid it in front of me, then sat down.

“You have no jam in the house, but there was honey, so you’ll have to settle for that.”

“Okay. I think Mrs. Ellis got it in case I liked it in tea. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I never drink tea.”

She leaned over and kissed me, her lips lingering on mine. “You’re a good man, Linc.”

What happened earlier flitted thought my brain, and I frowned.

“What?” she asked.

I inhaled, then blew out a long breath and told her everything. Milo, what I asked him to do—what he had made sure happened.

She was silent for a moment, crossing her legs, pumping one foot slowly.

“You manipulated the situation.”

“It was going to happen,” I insisted. “Sooner or later.”

“But you made it happen now.”

“Yes. Abby needed to be safe. I won’t apologize for that.”

“I understand that, Linc, and I get where you’re coming from. But you need to be careful—this is a slippery slope you’re on.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, reaching for a biscuit and taking a bite of the warm, dense dough.

“Your father did the same sort of thing.”

I froze, narrowing my eyes at her, the biscuit now dust in my mouth. I swallowed and cleared my throat. “You think I’m like my father? I didn’t do it to hurt anyone or for any sort of gain. I wanted Abby safe.” I tapped the top of the wooden table, driving my point home. “He deserved what he got. I could have done far worse.”

She bit her lip, sadness washing over her face. “That’s what frightens me, Linc.” She stood, walking toward the sink. Her shoulders were slumped, her posture defeated. I dropped the biscuit on my plate and followed her.

I had done that. Upset her. Worried her. Her words from the other day came back to me. “I don’t like to see the hate you carry inside, Linc. It frightens me.”

I wrapped my arms around her, holding her tight. She didn’t pull away, leaning back into me.

“I didn’t mean that, Sunny. I wouldn’t do anything else. I did what I thought I had to do to make sure he went back to jail and stayed away from Abby.”

“And her mother?”

“If she is a threat, I will keep her away from Abby.”

“Would you-would you hurt her?”

“No,” I insisted. “She’d be given a stern warning, and we’d give her money to go away. Take her to the bus station and make sure she moved on.”

“If she refused?”

“Then we’d get a restraining order. I don’t hurt people like that, Sunny.” I tried not to feel insulted she had to ask, but I did feel a pang of hurt.

“You don’t feel that you’re manipulating people?”

“I suppose, in this case, I am,” I admitted. “I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable.”

She sighed. “I get the feeling you’re not really that sorry.”

“I’m not the boy I was, Sunny. Too many things happened, too many years have gone by. But I am still the man who loves you. Who is trying. Can that be enough?”

She turned in my arms and gazed up at me. I could see her struggle. I hated the wariness of her gaze. She wanted the boy who was only ever good. The one she remembered. But I had changed, and part of me was hard and did what I felt was best for the people I cared about. But I didn’t do things to hurt people the way my father did. I protected them.

I wasn’t my father. She had to see that. I had to make her see that.

I tucked a loose curl behind her ear, trailing my finger over the tender lobe. I felt her shiver. “Sunny,” I whispered. “I’m still me. A little tougher toward the world, but not you. Never you.”

“I want to believe that.”

“Trust me. Give me that chance.”

Her eyes grew round as I moved closer, lifting her to the counter. She squeaked as her thighs hit the cold granite, making me grin. I leaned in, ghosting my mouth up her neck, stopping to sweep my tongue along her skin. She gripped the fabric of my shirt, bunching it in her hands.