Page 24 of Be My Summer

“I can hel–”

“I’m fine, Sums. Go ahead about your day.”

It was obvious that Summer ran a tight ship in their home, bossing her father around in the hopes that it would buy her more time with him on earth. I gave her space to handle her business while I admired her handiwork. The colorful bed of flowers and big green plants full of life in front of their home was such a beautiful display of art.

I wasn’t sure how much time passed before she stepped out onto the porch. But, as she sealed the door, my irises followed the sound of her securing the lock. She was mesmerizing in cream. It reminded me of our time on the blankets the other day.

Summer approached me slowly, pushing her hair behind her ear. She smelled like something–something sweet and warm at once.

“Good evening, Saul.”

I didn’t have control of my limbs. I extended my right hand and pulled forward until Summer’s body was against mine. She fit perfectly. I drew in a breath of her air.

“Good evening, Summer.”

“More flowers.”

She buried her face into the tulips as she stepped backward, bringing her face back into full view.

“More flowers.” I nodded.

“Thank you. I’m going to sit them here if you don’t mind.”

She was across the porch in a haste, sitting the flowers inside of a bucket.

“There’s water inside. They should be fine until I return.”

“You’re the expert, Summer. I’m just the man who is growing fond of seeing you put your expertise to use.”

Chuckling, she smiled as she made her way back to me, lacing her fingers between mine. Hand-in-hand, we began our stride. Summer was headed for the truck.

“Not that way, Miss Summer.”

Confusion plagued her.

“This way.”

I tilted my head in the other direction.

“To the trolley.”

“The trolley?” She asked, lips peeling backward with wonder.

“To the trolley. Will that be a problem?”

“Not a problem at all.”

“Good then.”

Quietly, she nestled against my body, keeping my pace. We made the two short blocks to the trolley within eight minutes. I’d already asked three times if her feet were alright. She promised me she’d worn comfortable shoes. Still, I felt obligated to check in every couple of minutes.

“How are your feet?”

We stood near the ledge, awaiting the halting of the trolley. We’d made it to our stop a few seconds early, but were seemingly right on time. The stop was deserted. We were the only passengers prepared to step on when the wheels stopped rolling.

“They’re fine, Saul. I promise.”

With my assistance, Summer crossed over onto the cart without issue.