Chapter 17

Ian

I woke from a fitful slumber to some ingrate pounding on my back door. Grousing from little sleep, I reluctantly hauled my ass out of bed and downstairs to let Rick and Dee in.

Rick gave me a once-over. "Man, we've been pounding for ten minutes."

I groaned in response. Mornings sucked. Morning people sucked harder.

Rick followed me upstairs, leaving Dee mumbling something about breakfast.

I sat on the side of my bed and rubbed the grit out of my eyes.

"You look like crap. I'm driving today." Rick lifted his eyebrows as if I'd explain my dismal state.

"I didn't sleep well."

"What's the matter with you? It's Fourth of July week. Vacay. Seasmoke. Beach, sun, sand."

"I kissed Summer last night."

Rick froze like a comical cartoon and dropped beside me on the bed.

"I told her we'd talk about it at Seasmoke. She high-tailed it out of here faster than a blink." I lay back on the bed, covering my face with my arm. My chest felt ready to explode all over my bedroom walls from the building pressure.

"What are you going to do?"

As if I had any idea. "Shooting myself seems like a viable option."

Rick half-laughed, the sound coming out more like a squawk. "Look, you couldn't keep going on the way you were. Consider it progress."

Progress. Fifteen years and I'd worked up to kissing her. At my pace, we'd be eighty by the time I made it to third base.

Rick patted my knee and left, so I gradually got up. Summer's nightgown was draped over the back of a chair by the window. It still had the remnant scent of rain from her drenching walk over. It was dry now. I picked it up with a shaking hand and fisted it between my palms. I closed my eyes to the possibility of losing her and sucked in a harsh breath.

She'd responded to me last night. Hell, she'd initiated the kiss. Whatever torture I was putting on myself, she was equally doing it to herself. But if she didn't feel the pull between us, then last night would not have gone as far as it had. She would've stopped me immediately.

I dropped the nightgown on the chair and picked up my travel bag. Calmer, I headed downstairs. We dumped everything in Rick's car and closed up the house.

Rick, as if reading my mind, said, "Come on. It's time."

I paused by the car door, remembering what had initiated last night in the first place. "We need to stop somewhere before hitting the road."

Summer

There was a cross between hope and dread that my mother would make an appearance at the hearing. I didn't know if she'd gone back to Texas or if she was still around. She hadn't tried to make contact with me again since the day she'd shown up at my house. Tim didn't think she'd come. I was trying not to think at all.

The judge, a seventy-five-year-old southern Baptist with no tolerance for nonsense, calmly read over the stack of papers in his hand. He'd been doing so for twenty minutes.

"Is Ms. Quinn here, Mr. Thompson?" The judge looked at my mother's attorney.

Mr. Thompson stood. "No, Your Honor. She had other obligations, but directed me to file this motion."

"I see. And the other Ms. Quinn is contesting that the house on Willows Creek is rightfully hers?"

Tim Avery stood. "Yes, Your Honor. It was willed to her by her father four years ago at his death, unaware the deed hadn't been changed."

The judge sighed. "Unusual predicament. I'm setting a hearing for August twenty-sixth to determine my findings. In the mean time, I suggest all parties try to get together with counsel to work this out. If not, I'll see you all on the twenty-sixth. And, Mr. Thompson? Tell your client her presence is required."

Mr. Thompson bowed his head. "Yes, Your honor."

"What just happened?" I whispered to Tim.

"Absolutely nothing." His lips pursed as he shoved papers into a briefcase. "We need to meet with your mother and her lawyer. I'll call you soon."

"I'm leaving tomorrow for Myrtle."

"It'll be at least two weeks before we can arrange something anyway. Try not to-"

"Worry," I interrupted. "I know." As if that were possible.

I lifted my purse from the chair and turned to leave. Ian, Dee, and Rick sat in the back row waiting for me. I stilled in surprise, my eyes welling in gratitude. God, I loved them so hard.

Drawing a steadying breath, I shoved the emotion down. "I didn't see you come in."

Rick's normally pale complexion was flushed red and he had his hands balled into fists at his sides. Angrier than I'd ever seen him. "Why didn't you tell me all this was going on?"

"Yeah, okay. I'm sorry. There was nothing to report yet and I didn't want to worry you."

His features softened. "We worry anyway." He pulled me in for a bone-cracking hug and kissed the top of my head. "I love you."

I swallowed around the lump in my throat. "Me, too." I checked my watch to focus on something else. "I have my board meeting in an hour and you're supposed to be at Seasmoke by now."

Ian's quiet presence sent a flitter of unease through me. Last night had been put on my mind's back burner in order to get through the hearing. But now, with him standing in front of me, his touch and kiss and words from the night before had my face heating and my breath short. I chanced a peek at him, but his gaze was glued to my mother's attorney. He wanted to talk at Seasmoke, and now wasn't the time or place to get into what happened.

Leaning in, I gave Dee a hug, and shooed my friends toward the door with the promise I'd see them tomorrow. I had somewhere I needed to be, so Ian would have to wait.

I drove across town, dreading these damn board meetings as much as a root canal. But, such as a root canal, they were necessary. For the kids. For the hope of someday making a difference. And to have to deal with this after the hearing was overkill on my nerves.

Once at the school, I waited at the conference table for the meeting to begin, toes curling in my shoes as last night slammed into me. We'd crossed the line in his bedroom, Ian and I. It was one thing to suspect his behavior lately leaned toward...more than friendship. I could deny what was happening or tell myself I was reading too much into things. But it was something else entirely to have it all but confirmed.

I couldn't wrap my head around it. The whole thing seemed like a dream, like someone else's movie playing before my eyes. I'd known him my whole life, had watched him grow from a boy to a man, and the person with me last night had not been my best friend. He'd kissed all sense out of me, had looked at me with gutting sincerity and leashed passion. As if suddenly unsure of himself, when he'd always had enough confidence for the both of us, he'd touched me, held me gently with shaking hands like the moment was the epitome of importance. An embodiment of everything.

Like...he'd been waiting forever.

Somehow, I knew it would be like that if we ever kissed, if we ever crossed that line. Through the years, I'd appreciated-recognized, even-his handsome face, his deadly smile, his yummy body. He exuded sex and naughty vibes, carried himself with a mix of assurance and swagger. But I'd mentally kept him in the don't-go-there zone. I'd been able to stop myself from fantasizing or doing anything that could kill him and me. We were too important just as we were to screw up what we had.

But I had no idea it'd be like that. No amount of preparation or imagination would ever have prepared me for how Ian would level me. Undo me. It had never been like that for me before. Powerful. Emotional. Fierce. Tender. The contradictions were reeling.

As far back as I could remember, I'd always wanted the fairy tale. I was a dreamer, a visionary, and even though a part of me knew I romanticized aspects of love, I wished for it just the same. I'd been losing some of that idealism lately, and it was showing in my paintings. I was beginning to think romance didn't exist. Nowhere in my fantasies had I allowed these feelings to come from Ian-my best friend, the solitary person holding me up most days.

No. That should have come from someone like Matt-the solid, handsome boyfriend who brought me daisies and who had just asked me for a committed relationship. Guilt swam in my stomach and tightened my throat. Not even twenty-four hours after I'd agreed to consider all in with Matt, and I'd kissed another man.

I blinked and snapped to when voices sounded around me. I hadn't even realized the meeting had begun. This was too important to not pay attention.

The seven idiots who served on the committee with me understood normal people as much as they did the inner cities they'd never visited or the hospitals their kids hadn't been admitted to. As of now, they were bickering over the football uniforms and whether or not to send the marching band to Savanna for a competition. Up next, they would start to slam the art program.

Alfred Mason piped up first. "If we cut one of the Advanced Painting classes from the curriculum, we'd have the money."

And here we go.

I stood. "The football team got new uniforms two years ago. They can wait until next year." I raised my hand to silence the coach, Jason Miserly, before he could protest. "You didn't even win the division last year." There were muttered chuckles. "The band deserves to go to Georgia for that competition, as they missed it last year. Make them raise half of the money at a bake sale or selling candy bars. That will free up spending."

Alfred continued to protest. "But the art classes need to be cut. The school needs repairs-"

I silenced him with a deadly glare. "My classes will not be cut. The money you save from the uniforms, reusing the Algebra books, and making the band raise half the money will cover the repainting and other needed repairs."

Elizabeth Johnson, the high school principal, nodded. "I agree. If you look at the numbers, they add up."

"And what about the drain that Saturday class has on the budget? Why don't you increase the fee?" Coach crossed his arms, still butt sore at my jab.

"Your son is nine-years-old, Jason?" I made sure every word dripped with icy distain. "I just visited Jon Melbourne in the hospital. Ten-year-old Jon Melbourne, who won't live to turn eleven. Him, along with eight of my other students in that class, are terminal or have been. The low cost of that class is what allows the parents to keep coming. Art therapy gives the kids hope and friendship. They have enough worries struggling to survive and paying medical bills."

Coach waffled and raised his hand as if waiting to be called on. "Miss Quinn, we're not saying-"

"My Charlotte benefit covers the supplies of that class. Parents pay tuition. The only cost to you is the energy bill. Furthermore, students who are involved in art and music excel in other areas such as math and science. Think about that, Jason. Like your older son, who was failing Geometry until Elizabeth made him take piano lessons and get tutored after school or be dropped from the team."

Coach had no comeback for that, but Elizabeth smirked.

I sat and attempted to slow my heart rate by taking a few deep breaths. "You might not feel my classes are important, but they are to the parents and the kids. Some of the seniors last year went on to college with scholarships in the arts."

Elizabeth let that statement stand on merit for a few moments before speaking. "Summer is correct. I believe we have our fall budget. Is there anything else?"

I drove home, still seething. Lately, I had been thinking about pulling the Saturday class from the curriculum and doing it elsewhere. Taking it out of the school board's hands altogether. Maybe I could buy out a space by Ian's store and open a place of my own. I could sell my paintings and have private classes for the kids.

But I didn't know a thing about running a business. Yet Ian did. Rick could help, too, being an accountant. I wouldn't charge for the special needs class, just for summer workshops and crafts with other students.

I slowed the car on Main Street, eyeing the open storefront I'd spotted last week. Three doors down from Ian's shop there was a place for sale. It had been a coffee shop until the owners had bought a new building to expand. It was a decent size, square-shaped, with a storeroom in back. Ideally located right on the main strip on 49. I could leave the ugly black marble tile as it was and paint the walls a bright color. Yellow? The windows were enormous, letting in the natural early morning light to accommodate a painting class. My father's life insurance money wasn't much, but it was enough to get me started. The house was mortgage free, having been paid off even before Daddy died. Teaching paid the bills. I could do it.

Maybe. I'd talk to my friends about it this week. For now, it was just one of those fantasies rolling about in my head. Like the paintings I needed to get done. Inspiration hit me, and I struggled to maintain the thread.

Later that evening, I finished the painting of my river birches, incredibly pleased with how it came out. The fireflies looked like fairies winking to each other in a silent language at dusk. After, I packed my bags for the beach.

I was about to call it a night when my cell rang. Ian. I blew out a breath and answered.

Silence greeted me, then he cleared his throat. "It's me."

"What's up?" I slapped my forehead, cringing at my ridiculous response.

There was a prolonged silence, and just as I was about to question if we'd been cut off, he sighed. "Summer." A chill raced up my spine at the way he said my name. Low, husky. Authoritative.

When he said nothing else, I panicked. This wasn't like us. We didn't have lapses in conversations or stalled breaks. I hated that things were off between us. "It was just a kiss."

"Don't, Summer. Don't turn it into nothing." He paused again, as if gathering himself. I could hear the ocean through the earpiece, a lulling roar despite the riot inside my head, and I pictured him on the beach, staring at the water under the stars. "Just needed to hear your voice. We'll talk tomorrow."