She opens her mouth to speak, but I keep going. This mysterious need to correct her wrong impression of me persists.
“And if I can get this investor, we can give kids who’d otherwise have no access to technology a chance to learn how to use it, and maybe change their futures. Most investors only want you to use their cash to make them more cash.”
Summer lifts her gaze to meet mine. Her mouth turns up at the corners, and the slight smile softens her eyes. The warmth behind those baby blues ignites a glow in my chest.
Seeing her mellow eases some of the tension in my shoulders. I gesture to the room around us. “I guess what I’m saying is, just because you want to sit in a cabin miles from anywhere and knit all day doesn’t mean anyone who makes a different choice is wrong.”
She drops her head into her hands, as if I’d said the worst thing she could imagine. I seem to have instantly destroyed my good work. My heart plummets.
Her voice is muffled between her fingers. “Well, wherever you came from”—she drops her hands and looks up at me with sadness in her eyes—“you seem to have lost some of your manners along the way.”
She stands up and half-heartedly points at the rest of the bedding on the chair. “There’s another sheet and a couple of blankets.”
I nod as she continues. “You can use the powder room over there.”She gestures toward the door next to the closet from where she retrieved the emergency radio.
“Oh, and the fire will burn out soon. You might get chilly down here without it.” Well, at least she’s still concerned for my welfare. “If you want to keep it going there’re more logs in the shed out front.”
She looks from the fire to me and raises her eyebrows as her adorable lips crinkle into a stifled smile. A quiver runs through me at the thought of what teasing comment might be on the way.
“If you don’t bring some in, you’ll have to restart it from scratch. And given the pillowcase-stuffing skills I’ve just witnessed, I don’t rate your chances with kindling and a box of matches. You’ll either freeze to death or we’ll all go up in smoke.”
She clearly thinks I’m an incompetent fool with no life skills. If only she knew I’d had to develop more of them than she could imagine and way younger than anyone should have to.
Summer bends down and pats the dog to get her attention.
“Come on, Elsa. Time to brave the weather for a pee.”The dog stands up, stretches, and shakes. Summer rubs one of her scruffy ears. “Then you and I can tuck up for the night.”
They trot off, toward the back door.
“Thank you,” I say after them.
I know Elsa can’t hear me. But I’m sure Summer can.
They both keep walking away.
6
SUMMER
Iopen my eyes and stretch. The cold morning light peeps around the edge of the bedroom curtains, and I remember the stranger asleep on my sofa. A sexy, rich Californian who’s pissed off with the weather. Presumably because he can’t control it. In my experience, wealthy people who can’t control things with their money tend to have a tantrum like a two-year-old who’s been told a plate of gummy bears does not constitute dinner.
I roll over to the edge of the bed and reach down to stroke Elsa, who’s fast asleep in her usual spot, stretched out on the floor beside me. Since I’ve had her, I’ve realized how empty my life was before. I never knew it was possible to feel like this about a dog. This not-so-little creature enriches my life beyond measure, shows me what unconditional love is, and makes me laugh every day. She’s become my whole world.
“Oh, Elsa. It’s a good thing he’s leaving.” She opens her eyes at my touch and does one hard wag against the rug that covers the pine floor. “What are we going to do with the spoiled-but-hot man downstairs?”
She lifts her leg for me to tickle her belly. Not a helpful response, but totally adorable.
I slide off the bed, pad over to the window, and pull back one of the drapes. It’s still snowing. Not as badly, and it’s not as windy, but Lordy, it’s deep out there. Still way too bad to drive in.
My bedroom looks over the front yard. There are the remains of footprints from the house to the woodshed. And there’s an arc in the snow where the shed door has been opened. I guess Mr. California Sunshine braved the elements to get logs.
I hop into my go-to sweatpants, then change my mind and replace them with snug-fitting jeans that make my backside look awesome. I shouldn’t seem like I’ve made too much of an effort, though. I grab my favorite battered, old, UC Berkeley sweatshirt and pull it over the T-shirt I slept in.
I run my bare foot along Elsa’s side to encourage her to get up, and catch myself in the mirror. My hair looks like I stuck a finger in a power outlet. Blonde curls poke out at weird angles. I guess it’s always that way when I get up, but I never usually think about it. Running my hands through it doesn’t help restore order. I pause with my fingers stuck in a knot.
“What am I doing, Elsa? He’s nobody. And he’ll be gone soon. It doesn’t matter what the hell my ass or my hair looks like.”
She stands up, yawns, performs a perfect downward dog, and has a good shake. Her hair fixes that easily.
