She does her smile-stifling lip-chew again as she continues to wind.
“This isn’t nowhere. There are trees and hills and a river down over there.” She nods at the window over the kitchen sink. “And town is only forty-five minutes away.”
“Forty-five minutes? Food must be cold by the time it arrives.”
“No one delivers out here.” She tilts her head and looks at me like I’m an amusing new game. “That’s weird to you, isn’t it?” She winds faster. “Let me guess, you live in a penthouse in the city with everything available within minutes of a call from your assistant.”
“Well, it’s not quite like that.” I raise an eyebrow. “Sometimes my driver makes the call.”
Her mouth drops open, but then her fiery blue eyes meet mine and she realizes I’m teasing. She can’t help herself—those pink lips break into a wide smile, and a small laugh sneaks out. Her fair skin flushes, and she turns back to the radio.
“Here.” I extend my hand. “I’ll take a turn with the winding.”
She steps away and sets it on the counter.
“I got it, thanks. Anyway, that’s probably enough to give it a try.”
She flicks a switch, and a man’s voice bursts out.
“Whoa.” She turns down the volume. “Grandpa was a bit hard of hearing, and he was probably the last person to use it. But at least he left it tuned in.”
The voice continues at a more tolerable level.
“…much worse than predicted. Power lines are down in some northern areas, leaving hundreds of homes without electricity. In Overdale County, we have reports of at least one cell tower down and that many roads are impassable. Due to the unexpected speed and strength of this storm, road crews are working at capacity and the county has issued a driving ban and a stay-at-home order for the next twenty-four hours…”
The radio runs out of power, and Summer looks from it to me. She’s not smiling any more. But her face gets pinker.
“Let me guess,” I say. “We’re in Overdale County?”
She nods.
4
SUMMER
Owen slams his fist on the counter. “Fuck.”
He runs both hands through his designer haircut. It probably costs a fortune to look that casually scruffy.
I hope he’s not a petulant child underneath all the flirty, teasey, waist-grabby loveliness. My stomach’s barely stopped doing somersaults from his hands on my skin. But if he’s one of those wealthy business types who gets pissed off when they don’t get their own way, I’ll be over it pretty quickly.
I fold my arms across my chest. “Where is it you’re trying to get to?”
“Oh, God. I don’t know.” He lets out a long breath full of despair as he half closes his eyes and shakes his head, then picks up his phone which strains at full stretch on the charger cable.
He taps and scrolls. “Blythewell.”
His eyes lift from the screen to me, his brow pinching in a combination of bafflement and pleading that makes me melt around the edges and want to help him.
“Oh, that’s only about an hour away.”
“Well, I might as well still be in San Fran-fucking-cisco as an hour away. Makes no difference if I can’t get there.”
He bends over, rests his elbows on the counter, and drops his forehead on his hands. It forces his rear end to stick out toward me. Turns out, it looks even better indoors than it did on the front porch.
“What’s in Blythewell that’s so important?”
Is he meeting a woman there?
