Holiday Tides (Wilks Beach Holiday Novella)

12. Nick

twelve

Nick

H ere’s what I expected when returning to my jobsite after driving to the mainland to retrieve the custom cabinet pulls for the kitchen and picking up sandwiches for everyone: my crew doing their jobs. Instead, I find everyone but Dina standing around the newly renovated kitchen as Summer removes drywall from a dividing wall between the kitchen and the living room that the homeowners asked to have removed after yesterday’s walk-through. I also don’t anticipate what a vision Summer makes in her snug green sweater pushed up at the forearms, dark jeans dusted with gypsum, and her green Fair Isle snow cap.

“You really don’t use sledgehammers?” She has a flat bar in her hands, prying the edge into the waist-high saw cut made horizontally along the drywall.

“No, ma’am,” Don answers, eyes on her progress. “That’s just a stupid thing they do for television.”

“I keep waiting for some idiot to whack right into a 220V line or something.” Ezra chuckles from his position, leaning against the original farmhouse sink we decided to keep.

“That’s good,” Don says. “Just pull it away from the framing. We’ll see if she’ll come down in one piece for you.”

The segment has wallpaper on it, so though Summer got the left side to lift away in one piece, the drywall breaks on the right side, folding in on itself.

“Sorry,” she murmurs. The remorse in her soft word is the sweetest and most unnecessary thing I’ve ever heard.

“Not to worry,” Don reassures her. “We’re throwing it away anyway.”

“Oh, yeah.” Summer brightens and rips the rest of the piece away in one large slab. “Now I do the top?”

Don nods, sliding a mini step ladder over to her with his boot. Looks like they’ve already used a handsaw to bisect the top portion.

“Go ahead, honey.”

My shoulders tighten at the endearment, even though I know Don didn’t mean anything by it. Some possessive part of me wants to be the only one to call her nicknames, even though the one I use causes Summer’s face to flare with irritation.

I lean against the entryway, crossing one boot over the other while keeping the two large to-go bags in my hands. “Isn’t this cozy?”

The rest of my crew has the decency to look chastened, but Don simply gives me an upward nod. “Summer wants to talk to you.”

“Does she?”

Her neck flushes at my flirty tone, and Summer yanks down the top piece with too much effort, nearly clobbering Don on the head.

“I got this,” Ezra tells Summer, taking the drywall from her.

“Thanks.” Then she slides her safety glasses off, giving me the stink-eye as she strides out the front door.

“I guess we’re taking this outside,” I say to my crew, setting the bags down for everyone else to eat.

Summer paces back and forth in the small front-yard patch of centipede grass, lost in her own thoughts. I slide my hands into the pockets of my duck vest, waiting. When she finally notices me, determination hardens her gorgeous cheekbones.

“Let’s go for a walk.” When she takes off toward the beach access walkway, I’ve got no choice but to follow.

Summer is quiet all the way through the walkway and down the beach to the water’s edge. Since this property is at the south end of the island, close to the park, the stone seawall and inlet are easily visible to our right. Summer turns left, walking on the hard-packed sand just beyond where the waves lick the shore. The mid-day sun warms my neck as we keep a steady pace, the glistening, rhythmic churning of the waves the only sound between us.

“Did you know there’s an evolutionary impulse to be near water?” she begins. “Some scientists believe that’s why humans—and many other animals—have an affinity for shiny things, because it looks like sunlight reflected off water. Our brains interpret shiny as water, and water is important.” Summer gestures to the Atlantic Ocean with a sweeping arm. “Though we can’t drink that.”

A briny salt scent enters my nose as I take a satiating inhale. The offshore wind is producing set after gorgeous set of clean waves, making me wish I’d paddled out this morning.

“Fascinating,” I deadpan, just to tease her.

Her head drops back, gaze drifting skyward as if searching for strength. “I don’t know what to do with you, Nick.”

“I could offer a few suggestions.”

She stops me, one hand to the center of my chest. “It doesn’t make sense for you to be such a raging booger nugget one minute and then a seemingly regular—if not kind and socially engaged—human the next.”

“Booger nugget?” My eyebrows hit my hairline. “What kind of insult is that?”

“Trust me. That word has started many a playground throwdown.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Summer drops her hand with a huff, and I try not to wallow over the loss of contact.

“Here’s an idea,” I add, continuing down the beach. “It’s been a decade and some change since we’ve had a real conversation. Is it possible”—I glance at her sideways—“and you might want to consult your scientist friends here, but is it possible that the both of us might have changed a bit during that time? Just a thought. A real wild one, actually.”

My mouth quirks as Summer stares into the distance, shaking her head.

“Nick.” My name is an exasperated puff of breath as she stops again.

I turn to face her. “Yes, darling?”

Take that, Don. Darling is infinitely better than honey.

“What do you want here?” She flings her hands between us.

My mind races on its own. I want to grab her wrists and pull her against me. I want to kiss her until she forgets to over-enunciate the K sound in my name. I want a real chance to be the man Summer deserves.

“I’d start with cordial neighbors, but ultimately I’d like to be friends.”

“ Friends? ” It’s her turn for her eyebrows to hit the brim of her cute hat.

“Friends,” I confirm, pushing down the front edge of her hat before walking again. “And I want a crack at fixing your grandmother’s house. It’s one of the few original homes on the island. I’d love to restore it to its former glory.” I pause. “With your permission, of course.”

Summer pulls off her hat to run a hand through her straight blonde locks. The ocean breeze tosses a few strands over her eyes, and I have to bury my hands in my pockets to keep from tucking them behind her ear.

“And this weird renovation fantasy has nothing to do with me. It’s about the house?”

“Absolutely,” I lie. “I have fever dreams about that fireplace. Do you know exactly when the house was built? I’m guessing in 1944, along with the library after Oceana became a naval base on the mainland?”

She blinks, her unadorned blonde lashes sparkling in the sunlight. “I don’t know. I could ask my mom.”

“Would you?” I begin walking again. “I’d appreciate it.”

“And that’s it?” She catches up in a few quick strides. “It’s about the house, not me. You’re just really into residential home repair.”

A genuine smile curls my mouth. “Working for WB Renovations is the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Summer worries her bottom lip. “This isn’t some revenge plan? You’re not going to put Kool-Aid in my pipes, or shut off my electricity, or take my precious, precious hot water away?”

I laugh. “Revenge for what, Summer?”

She opens her mouth before closing it again.

We continue walking, a peaceful silence between us now. Cargo ships hover in the distance, ready to enter the Chesapeake Bay to be unloaded along the harbor. The clouds are so perfect they look like they’ve been painted there.

“So,” Summer begins, “you’re like the people on This Old House ?”

“ I wish. Tom Silva is my spirit animal.”

Summer chuckles, shaking her head again. “You’re right. A lot has changed over the years.”

“We should spend the short while that we’re unofficial neighbors reacquainting,” I suggest, keeping my voice even while my heart spins in my chest. “I’m only on this site until the 20th.”

After which, I’ll still be living and working in Wilks Beach, but Summer doesn’t need to know those specifics now.

“What do you say? Should we bury the hatchet? Let bygones be bygones? Wipe the slate clean?” I toss each iteration out like fluff, knowing she’d distrust the sincerity coursing through my veins. I can’t take the chance of Summer shutting me out like she did years ago.

She stops. “No more competing with each other?”

“Nope.”

Summer thinks for a beat before outstretching her hand. “The past is past. It’d be silly to hold onto it.”

I briefly grip her cold fingers when I really want to bring them to my lips and then tuck them into the pockets of my vest.

“Glad you’re finally seeing things from the correct point of view.” I can’t help but get one last comment in before we start fresh.

A devious twinkle lights her blue eyes. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll let you get started on that fireplace tonight…”

The way she licks her lips before they slowly slide into a wicked grin has me utterly distracted. It takes entirely too long to process the rest of Summer’s sentence.

“…if you beat me home.”

A dozen of Summer’s footprints litter the packed wet sand as she sprints ahead of me, ten times faster than she’d been running before. I’m athletic and surf nearly every day, but it’s clear after a few seconds, I won’t catch her. Summer’s wide, toothy smile beams at me as she turns up the walkway, barely slowing her breakneck pace.

I slow to a jog, grinning like a lunatic. “Stubborn Summer.”