Holiday Tides (Wilks Beach Holiday Novella)

21. Summer

twenty-one

Summer

“ S pencer will ask for your social security number. Don’t give it to him. He’s already going to do a full criminal record check the second you step out of the room. Also, Spencer’s wife, Lydia, doesn’t really like jokes. She’s always a little slow to the uptake.” I suck in a hasty breath. “And if Simon offers you anything, politely decline. He’s been known to try and suck people into pyramid schemes by owing him favors. Now that he’s finally working instead of trying to con his way through life, Mom wants it to stay that way.”

Nick’s hand falls firmly on my knee. “Summer, I don’t mean to pull the orphaned-at-eighteen card here, but I think I can handle your quirky family for an evening.”

“Right.” I try to focus on Mannheim Steamroller coming through the truck speakers, but all I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears. “Right. This will be fine. Everything is fine.”

“If you say ‘fine’ a few more times, I might believe you.”

“You don’t think this will be fine?” The question rises into a squeaky range.

It’s not that I’m embarrassed by my family. I love every single one of them and their dysfunctions. But I’ve never brought a man home, never introduced anyone to my parents. Before Cooper, I never dated anyone for longer than a few weeks. Nick and I have only been together for less than twenty-four hours. A wave of nausea forces me to roll the window down as Nick pulls into my parents’ neighborhood.

“This will be great.” He sends me that cocky, confident smile of his, nearly popping the anxiety bubble whirring in my stomach. “You’ll see. We’re good together.”

The afternoon had been magical. At one point, I pinched myself to ensure I wasn’t hallucinating. Nick arrived at the cottage with a large thermos of hot spiced cider he’d made at home because Seabreeze Beans is closed on Sundays. Then we baked my Gramma’s favorite recipe, me wearing her old apron, him smudging my cheeks with flour before sharing cinnamon-sugar kisses while the cookies baked. I could have spent the rest of the day teasing him, sharing treats, and snuggling in his strong arms.

Nick hops down from the truck, jogging around the front to open my door for me. Once I’m safely on the ground, he keeps my hand in his, tugging me toward the truck bed.

“Since you were bringing cookies, I thought I shouldn’t show up empty handed,” he says, lifting out a fresh pine wreath.

I open my mouth to tell him my mother will love the thoughtful gesture, but my nieces and nephews pouring out of the front door distract me. They’re a mix between Spencer’s two nearly teenage girls and Sage’s three oldest boys—ranging from three to seven. Toddler fingers and sloppy kisses quickly cover my legs while my nieces giggle behind their hands. It wasn’t so long ago that they were unabashedly loving on me too. I reach out to drag them into the love fest as my mom comes down the front steps wearing her favorite nativity scene sweatshirt.

Once all the greetings and introductions are out of the way, we crowd into the cramped living room to decorate the tree. Dad has already thoroughly laced it with multicolor lights, so the littles put fabric and plastic ornaments on the bottom-most branches, while Nick and I take over placing my grandmother’s ornaments on the top half.

Just like when we were kids, my siblings shirk their tree-decorating responsibilities, preferring to huddle in the kitchen with Mom. I don’t mind because it gives me a chance to revel in each painted horse, or carved angel, or small train I hang from Gramma’s wooden ornament collection. Just seeing those decorations on the tree again makes an ache soothe in my chest. We work in comfortable silence with the exception of Nick humming whatever Christmas song Mom has playing.

Mom shoos everyone out of the kitchen, assuring us she can make pasta with jarred sauce and pre-made garlic bread by herself. While Nick is dragged outside to play with the kids, I check on Sage. I catch a glimpse of him through Simon’s bedroom window, two nephews hanging from Nick’s flannel-covered biceps, causing me to slam into the hall table I’ve deftly avoided my entire life. Quickly collecting myself, I find Sage nursing her three-month-old daughter in our old room, sitting cross-legged on her bed. Years slip away like soap suds as I flop belly-down on my bed, facing her like I always did.

“Former-rival-turned-love-interest,” she says, glancing up from her daughter’s sweet face. “Very TV drama series. I like it. For the record—which Spencer is undoubtedly scribbling in that little black notebook of his—Nick seems nice. Has Dad grilled him yet?”

I give my sister a dubious look. “This isn’t when Ryan wanted to marry you after high school and Dad made him sign a document agreeing to wait two additional years. I’m thirty. I doubt Dad cares who I date.”

She tuts. “You’re his last daughter. I bet we won’t even make it to dessert.”

A groan leaves my lips as I roll to stare at the popcorn ceiling. “I shouldn’t have brought him. Our relationship is exactly one day old, but Nick is very…persuasive.”

“I bet he is.”

Out of instinct, I toss a throw pillow across the room before remembering my infant niece. “Sorry!”

Fortunately, Sage saw it coming and shielded her baby like an unbothered mama-warrior. “It’s okay.” She gives me a serene yet mischievous smile. “You’ve got enough coming your way without me adding retaliation.”

At dinner, crammed around our large dining table with the kids sitting at a card table in the living room, Dad proves my sister right.

“So what do you do for a living, Nick?” My dad over-pronounces the K just like I used to. Did it always sound that harsh and threatening when I did it?

Sage shoots me a raised-eyebrow half-smile from across the table.

“I renovate houses, sir.”

“Ah. A real man’s man.” My dad nods, digging into his plate.

“Some might say that, but there are several talented women I work with as well. Construction and renovation is really for anyone who’s interested in it,” Nick says, relaxing in his chair.

The self-assuredness I used to hate looks like calm confidence now. I don’t know why I never noticed how sexy it is.

Sage mouths, “ Nice ,” before my father can chew his giant forkful of spaghetti.

“I’m trying to convince Summer to let me work on her grandmother’s cottage,” Nick continues, not missing a beat.

“Oh, I’d love to see that,” Mom tells him. “There are so many little things that need to be done, but we’ve never had the time or money.”

“I actually have some questions about—”

Nick’s response gets cut short when my nephew Logan sprints into the room, attempting to dodge Fischer’s handful of spaghetti noodles. Logan ducks under the table just in time for the ball of sauced pasta to barrel over the corner of the table, knocking down two wine glasses and drenching my reindeer blouse. Fortunately, my requisite stack of paper napkins—I’m a messy eater—save my jeans. Sage and Ryan rush to clean up the mess and get me a new plate of food while Mom tells me to grab a sweater from her closet.

After changing, I’m halfway down the hallway when I hear the inquisition isn’t over. Unsurprisingly, Nick is volleying answers like a tennis pro.

“So, what are your intentions with my daughter?”

Seriously, Dad? I’m a grown woman who can make her own choices. I’ve been taking care of myself long before I even left his house.

“I intend to make myself available and hope that Summer will want to continue spending time with me.” I hear the casual smile in Nick’s voice. “I respect that her time is at a premium since she’s so dedicated to the career she worked so hard for. You must be incredibly proud of her.”

Mom replies with a watery, “We really are.”

“The truth is”—Nick’s soft laugh feels like a caress down my spine—“I just hope Summer doesn’t figure out that she’s too good for me. Always has been, even in high school.”

“You knew each other in high school?” Spencer asks, obviously taking notes.

Another self-effacing chuckle. “I’m not surprised she didn’t tell you. I was terrible back then. Typical dumb boy who thought he knew everything but was completely clueless…”

I have every intention of living in this hallway and soaking up Nick’s confessions, but Tommy, the youngest of my nephews, yells from the other room, “Snow!”

The children act like they’ve been given an IV of caffeinated glucose, running around the dining table on their way to the backyard.

My dad grumbles, staring at his phone. “There’s nothing on the doppler. It’s not even supposed to rain until Thursday.”

Chairs scrape back, and I rejoin my family as we file out the back door into the modest backyard. The skeletal branches of the trio of hydrangea bushes along the far fence catch the first fat flakes.

“Snow in December.” I marvel, staring straight up into the gray sky as clusters descend around us.

It usually doesn’t snow until January, and even then, it’s a light dusting, no more than two to three inches. Fun snow, my mom used to call it. Enough to play in but not enough to hamstring a community that isn’t prepared for more precipitation.

The kids are spinning in circles or trying to collect the smattering of flakes off the deck stairs, attempting to make snowballs.

Nick walks over, arms extended to gesture to the unusual weather. “Will you look at this?”

“I know.” I laugh, watching my chaotic yet happy family enjoy the unexpected surprise. “It’s wonderful.”

It’s not until I see the male and female cardinal nestled just beyond the fence line, in the neighbor’s Leyland cypress, that a warm sparkling sensation floods my bloodstream. Gramma would be the only one who wouldn’t think I was crazy in feeling that those two are watching over us, just like my grandparents used to do.

Nick hugs me from behind, his breath warm over my ear. “I really like being here.”

I clear the emotion from my throat before asking, “With this crazy bunch?”

He nuzzles my temple, the movement sweet but intimate at the same time. “Yup. Except I want one thing changed.”

“You want full rein on the Christmas tree decorations? Not going to happen.”

Nick’s laugh seeps through my back, and I settle more firmly into him. “No. I feel fifty-fifty is fair on decorating. I was talking about my title.”

I turn my head to look at him. “Your title?”

“I should be upgraded to boyfriend.” It’s another one of those borderline arrogant things to say since we never formally discussed it, yet Nick makes the suggestion too tantalizing.

I focus back on my nieces, taking selfies in the falling flakes. “I suppose.”

His hum is accompanied by a quick kiss to the corner of my jaw. I’m suddenly sweltering in the thin sweatshirt I borrowed, struggling to maintain my haughty air of indifference.

“Since we’re in agreeance…” I roll my eyes before Nick’s thumb slides along my jaw, bringing my face back toward his. “You should know, when I come back next year, I plan on topping the tree. It’s only fair since you did it today.”

My heart kicks up to a staccato beat as I turn in his arms. “Presumptive to think you’ll be back next year.”

“How about, just this once”—his devilish smirk sizzles down to the bottoms of my feet—“you don’t fight me on this.”

My mouth parts slightly, but instead of arguing with Nick, I seal his lips with a snowy kiss.