My Bittersweet Summer (14 page)

I kept my attention firmly focused on her as she walked to her car, and she stopped when she got there, staring at Zach.

“And just in case you weren’t aware, you mess with her, and there won’t be a surgeon alive that can fix what I’ll break.” Flashing a quick smile, she got in her car, waved to me, and drove away.

Mortified, I pressed my fingers against my brow, begging my head not to explode with a migraine.

“Not sure what she’s worried about,” Zach said, and I looked up. He opened up the passenger door, grinning at me. “I’m far more afraid of what’d happen if I pissed you off.”

“You’re hilarious,” I said as I got in, being extra careful as I sat. One wrong move and Zach wouldn’t have to guess at what was under my dress.

“And you’re gorgeous, so I guess we’re both excelling tonight.” He winked at me and closed the door.

Flustered beyond words, I tried to remember if my pepper spray was still in my purse and how to use it. Zach hopped in the car like he didn’t have a care in the world, and away we went.

The silence was so uncomfortable for the first two minutes it was almost a relief when he finally spoke up.

“I meant that, you know.”

“Huh?” My mind had wandered down the various paths of disaster for the night, and I wasn’t sure what he was referring to.

“You look amazing. I’m kinda sorry I didn’t plan on showing you off to a bunch of people.”

Remembering my conversation with Des, I wondered if that meant what she said it had. If Zach was hiding me away from the people he knew, maybe he wasn’t turning over a new leaf after all.

“So where are we going?”

“Someplace we can talk and not be bothered,” he said, smiling. “I figured the point of this is to get to know each other, so that made sense.”

“Mmm,” I hummed thoughtfully, not giving him any indication of my feelings one way or the other.

“You’ll see. It’ll be fun. Promise.”

The car ran around the hills of Carrinaw Island, taking us all the way to the far corner. I sat up straighter in my seat when we entered the public park, one of his mother’s pet projects from years ago. “What are we doing here, hiking trails? I’m in a dress.”

“A fact I’m well aware of.” He chuckled. “We’re not hiking, don’t worry. Maybe next time.”

“Next time?” My head whipped toward him. “If you think I’m dumb enough to race you again—”

The car jerked to a stop in the parking lot. “You might have fun, Margie.” He turned and smiled at me. “Maybe next time when I ask, I won’t have to trick you into agreeing.”

After my subtle eye roll, I unfastened my seatbelt, which prompted him to bolt out of his seat and run to my door as I was getting out.

“You really don’t need to do that,” I said as I stood.

“Of course I do,” he said, offering his arm. “This is a date, and I’ll—”

“Treat it like every other date?” I asked, fixing him with a look.

His confidence faltered for a moment, but he insisted on his arm again. “No, I’ll treat it like a first date. An honest one.”

“Meaning what?”

He gave up on the arm and motioned me around to the back of the car instead. A push of a button on his key fob, and the trunk popped open.

“Meaning, one where I can be myself.”

I peered inside, half expecting to see rope and duct tape, but finding a blanket, thermos, and a picnic basket instead.

“And apparently I’m the only one going to see whoever that is,” I murmured to myself.

Zach paused mid-motion as he reached for the basket. “What?”

“Uh, nothing. Need some help?”

The half-smile he gave me wasn’t the playful one I’d gotten used to seeing. It looked… sad. I winced. My comment was pretty harsh. I really could be a bitch sometimes. Maybe it was time to ease up on him a little.

He handed me the thermos, then grabbed the blanket and basket himself, shutting the trunk with a thud. “This way,” he said, heading up and to the left.

An easy, paved path gradually wound its way up to the top of a small hill, a gazebo at the crest of it, overlooking the beach below. Mosquito netting was draped all around the outside of the structure, and I pushed aside the opening to let us through. It wasn’t nearly dark yet, but four unlit candle lanterns sat in readiness around the benches ringing the interior, a fifth lantern on a picnic table in the center. Briefly, I wondered how much it had cost him to rent it out and set everything up, but it occurred to me it probably wasn’t much more than dinner at a fancy restaurant would be. Zach covered the table in the red blanket after placing the lantern on the ground, motioning for me to sit while he laid out the contents of the basket. To my surprise, along with two blue plastic cups and silverware wrapped in cloth napkins, he placed two takeout containers on the table.

“Should I ask, or are we playing Guess the Where the Food is From?” I allowed myself a small smile for him, as he looked like he was doubting the entire evening by that point.

“It’s…” He lowered himself onto the bench across from me and stared at his container. “It’s my favorite meal. I… Well, I asked Rosie if I could help her make it.”

He did what? Beside myself with curiosity, I opened my container. Two homemade tamales, Mexican rice, and a small salad with a scoop of corn tomalita on top awaited me, the aroma absolutely mouth-watering.
 

“You helped make this?” I looked up at him.

Zach nodded, his hair bobbing a little with the movement. “Yeah, well, I didn’t want Rosie going to all that work just so I could impress a girl, so…”

Good grief. Was he blushing? I bit back a giggle.

“Hey, Zach?”

He finally looked up, his eyebrows drawn together in doubt. “Hmm?”

I picked up my silverware bundle, smiling at him for real this time. “It looks great. Rosie makes some of the best tamales I’ve ever had, and this stuff?” I pointed my fork at the sweet corn tomalita. “Easily one of my favorite foods.”

Some of the tension eased out of his shoulders. “Yeah?”

Scooping up a bite of the tomalita, I nodded. “Yeah. I mean, the food served at places like Le Beau Tournée is great and all, but it’s not…” I stared at the food on my fork. “It’s not comforting. All that fancy business, it looks great, but it’s not warm or friendly. It’s like a painting in a museum beside the scribble drawing a kid made you for your birthday. One is worth more money, but the other is emotionally priceless. Make sense?” I stuffed the fork into my mouth and looked away, a little embarrassed by expounding on my personal food philosophy when he hadn’t even asked.

He responded with a sigh. “Okay, I have to confess.”

“Confess what?” I mumbled through my mouthful.

“I maybe asked Rosie if you’d like this before I went to all the trouble.”

I choked a little as I swallowed. “You what?”

Zach quickly grabbed the thermos and poured me a glass of pink liquid. “I just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t hate it, that’s all. I swear. This really is my favorite, though.”

Washing down my food with a drink of the watermelon agua fresca, I shook my head at him. “Look, that’s great and all, but you need to knock that off. Seriously. If the point of all this,” I waved at the table, “is to be who you really are, stop looking for my approval. If you’re just doing this to impress me, that’s not really being yourself. Don’t be who
I
want you to be, show me who you are, and let me figure out if that’s someone I want to know.”

He poked at his tamale. “I will if you will.”

If I said I saw that coming, I’d be a liar. Zach had more or less called me out for doing the exact thing he’d been doing: putting up a front to keep others out. Mine was specifically tailored to him, while his was more general, but it was still sort of the same thing. The problem was, I didn’t know how to dial back the nasty when he was around. Was that who I really was?

No. At least, I didn’t think it was.

“My favorite color is yellow, but it looks terrible on me so I never get to wear it.”

His gaze lifted, searching my expression. I raised my eyebrows, hoping for a little more than a blank stare.

“Uh… blue,” he said. “My favorite color is blue.”

Of course my dress happened to be his favorite color. Great. “What about books? Do you read much?”

“Yeah, but mostly prep for school this fall, so nothing fun right now. Business and finance. You?”

“Sort of the same. Lots of books in French, classics, contemporary fiction, and a little poetry. I’m building my vocabulary as much as I can.”

His fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “You’re studying French in college? I figured you’d be doing culinary school or something.”

“Not studying French.” I shook my head. “Practicing it. I’ll be living in Paris at the end of August. Culinary school comes later. I’m doing a management degree first.”

Zach looked absolutely dumbstruck. “In Paris?”

“Mmm-hmm.” I swallowed a bite of tamale. “I got a scholarship for the American University for next year. If I can keep my GPA up, I should be able to get it for the year after, too, but it’s not guaranteed or anything. That’s a big reason my parents took on Le Beau Tournée. It won’t be as hard to keep me there if my scholarship falls through.”

“So, no culinary school then?”

“Gotta finish my Bachelors first. The plan is for me to apply to Le Cordon Bleu after graduation, but that’s at least four years away right now.” The conversation was easy for me. None of it was overly personal, and I’d talked about it for so long, with so many people, it was sort of surprising he didn’t know. “But what about you? College in the fall?”

He broke eye contact and stared at his food again. “Uh, yeah. I’m studying international finance. Not really all that exciting.”

I snorted. “Sounds like you’re super stoked about it.”

He shrugged. “It’s just something to do.”

“Would you rather be doing something else?”

The silent response I got told me a lot, but nothing specific outside of it being a prickly topic.

“Is that a no, an I don’t know, or a yes, but you don’t want to tell me what?”

“Honestly?”

“Seeing as that’s kind of why we’re here, yeah.”

Zach picked up his spoon and scooped up his entire serving of tomalita, transferring it over to my plate. “Honestly, this stuff isn’t my favorite, so it’s all yours.”

I leaned on my hand and grinned at him. “Thank you, but you’re totally dodging my question.”

He lapsed back into silence.

Obviously I was going to have to give him something a little closer to home before he trusted me with whatever it was he wasn’t telling me. My chest tightened at the thought of sharing something personal with him, as it felt like anything I shared could and would be used to hurt me later, but if I expected him to open up, I needed to be willing to do the same.

“After I slapped Matt that day, I had a panic attack and barfed in the bathroom of the linen store on Main Street.” The second it was out of my mouth I wished I could take it back. Resting my forehead on my hand, I closed my eyes, wanting nothing more than to disappear. Of all the things I could’ve told him, why did I pick that one?

But he didn’t laugh.

Tentatively, I peeked at him. He was looking at me, but not judgmentally, or like I’d given him a fully loaded verbal weapon.

“You did?”

I nodded, still cringing.

“Why?”

Lowering my hand, I stared at my lap as I picked at my fingernails. “Old habits, I guess. PTSD stuff. I heard a doctor say something like conversion disorder once, but Dr. Hooper never mentioned it.”

There was a long pause. As I continued fussing with imaginary bits of skin around my nails, Zach stood and walked over to my side of the table, sliding in next to me.

When his hand slipped over mine, gently entwining our fingers, I was so terrified I couldn’t move.

“No, it’s not what I want to do.”

I couldn’t look at him, my focus completely on the way his thumb felt as it lightly brushed the back of my hand. My tongue had turned to lead in my mouth, and it took a huge effort to process what he was saying.

“I thought about joining the Peace Corps, but my parents said no. They want me to take over their businesses someday, so that’s why I’m doing International Finance. The deal is that I get my Bachelors and I could maybe spend my summers volunteering for one of the programs in Africa or South America that builds schools or teaches kids about tech or something, but it’s contingent on my grades.”

Good grief. It was only June. Why the hell was it so hot?

He leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper. “I won’t tell if you won’t, Mighty Mouse.”

The nickname was enough to shatter the moment. I ripped my hand away and glared at him. “Why do you insist on ruining everything with that stupid nick—”

Every single thought in my head burst and scattered as he caught my face in his hands and kissed me. What was uncomfortably warm a second before, turned into the blasting heat of a midday sun in August. In Death Valley. It was a soft kiss, still tentative even though it was stolen, and long enough to silence me, but brief enough that I didn’t have time to re-engage my brain before he slowly backed away.

I sucked in a shallow breath as his hands fell away from my cheeks, my eyes fluttering open only to blink dumbly at him.

“Wanted to do that for days,” he said, brushing a curl away from my forehead. “That seemed like a good reason. I don’t want to fight with you, Margie.”

“Then you should probably stop saying stupid things,” I managed, weirdly out of breath.

“It’s not an insult when I call you that, you know.” He grinned and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Do you even know who Mighty Mouse is?”

I struggled with a witty retort, but settled for the first thing that came to mind. “There’s more to it than you being an annoying jerk?”

Handing me his phone, he leaned an elbow on the table and shook his head. “Watch that.”

The device began blaring trumpets as the grainy video played. Per the title of the video, it was a cartoon out of the 1950s, and appeared to be the adventures of a mouse equivalent of Superman. I watched the opening theme song and handed it back to him when the video ended.