“Yeah,” I call out, thankful for the jerk back to reality.
Summer has licked off all the icing from the cupcake. I finally feel like I can exhale. She tosses the rest of it in the trashbefore turning to walk toward the parking lot. I fall into step behind her, keeping a safe distance.
“I’m coming by the house after this,” I tell her.
She sighs. “I figured.”
I’m glad she left the bungalow today. Aside from teaching yoga on the beach, I have no idea what she does with her time. I’m itching to figure out if she broke up with the loser boyfriend from California because as far as I know, he hasn’t even been out to visit her for a weekend. The condition I implemented for her living there was that he wasn’t allowed to move in, but I never said he couldn’t visit. The thought crossed my mind to insist he never be allowed to set foot on the property, but I couldn’t think of a valid reason to establish it.
I’m not stalking her, but I do have access to the security camera on the front and back porches, which just so happens to show the front door to the studio she lives in. She has access to the cameras, too, but I’m pretty sure she forgot about them being installed for security purposes at the site back before anyone was living there.
She’s never had anyone over. She’s never out past dark. It appears she only leaves to go to work, the grocery store, and to get an occasional iced matcha. Maybe this is how she’s always operated, even while living in California. My ability to check in on her from my office, apartment, and the treadmill has become a slightly unhealthy habit. One morning, I got the terrifying fear that there might be a way for her to see how often I looked at the camera feed, but then she started stretching on her yoga matin a bikinion the back porch, and I lost all train of thought.
It’d better have been before any contractors were there.
I squash the overprotective caveman thought before it continues to flourish in my chest and cause me to do something stupid, like tell her to put some fucking clothes on next time she does an outdoor workout. The last thing I need is for her to figure out how many hours a day I watch that feed.
She’s made it to her car, which is parked a few spaces down from Cheri’s Jeep with the paddleboard strapped to the top. I busy myself with undoing the straps and feign indifference to her leaving. It’s been this way since we met. I pretend to hate her, but despising me is the easiest thing in the world for her.
I hear the engine of her Land Rover come to life. She drives off without a goodbye, but I’m already looking forward to seeing her again later.
thirteen years earlier
Meeting my dad’s girlfriend and her daughter feels like burying my mother all over again. She’s been in the ground for years. Him replacing her is like spitting on her grave.
“Why do they have to live here? The girl and I have to share a bathroom? That’s archaic.”
My father is straightening up the living room. When he took down the family photo that was on the mantel a week ago, I knew something was up.
“Son, your mother would be happy that we’re moving on. She told me as much. It wasn’t an easy conversation, but she asked me to find someone. At the time, I couldn’t fathom it. She said it wasn’t just for me, and she was right. We’ve been a couple of bachelors for years now. You need to learn how to live with women, how to be sensitive to them. You lost your mother too young.”
A knock at the door interrupts us. I cross my arms over my chest. I’m an inch taller than my dad already. He pats me on the shoulder and moves to the front door.
“I’m trusting you to act like the perfect gentlemen I raised you to be.”
He opens the door, revealing a stunning woman with honey-blond hair, wearing a pink floral dress that reaches her ankles. She flashes a knockout smile up at him, and for a brief moment, I get it. He pulls her inside and hugs her tightly, bending down to wrap his arms fully around her. He picks her up, spinning her inside the house.Laughter escapes her, and she’s breathless when he finally sets her down inside. She turns to me, bright-eyed.
“You must be Dayton. I’m Clara.” She smiles, stretching her hand out to me.
I shake it. “Nice to meet you,” is all I say.
“You’re just a year older than Summer. Honey, come meet your new stepbrother.” Clara takes her place beside me and gestures for her daughter to come over.
I look up, my eyes landing on a mini version of Clara. She’s only fifteen, but she’s already just as stunning as her mother. Her honey-blond hair is in two braids over shoulders. She’s dressed in travel clothes—black leggings and a sky-blue hoodie. Without a stitch of makeup on, her skin is flawless. Freckles dot her nose.
She nods at me, not smiling. “Hey.”
I nod back. An awkward silence follows the exchange. Summer peers around the house, clearly as uninterested in being here as I am at having her here. Clara and my dad whisper to each other for a few seconds before my dad speaks up.
“I was thinking we could all get dinner tonight at Iggy’s Grill,” Dad says.
“I have plans.” I turn to leave.
“Yes, you do. Plans for a family dinner. At Iggy’s,” he returns.
He’s got that glint in his eyes, the one that tells me I’ll regret it if I continue arguing with him.
I grit my teeth as he turns, his arm around Clara’s shoulders, and suddenly, I can’t wait for the next two years to be over.
