Page 8 of No Place Like Home (Orlinda Valley #3)

Rowan

W e filled up on sandwiches at the Quick Shop, a small convenience store with the best sandwiches this side of the Mason-Dixon Line. When you’re stuck with limited choices in small-town America, the Quick Shop becomes a delicious option.

I relaxed as Summer drove us through town and toward the river.

She pulled onto what used to be Mr. Johnson’s road, formally named Johnson’s Path Lane.

It had been a pothole-filled driveway, but was now filled in with crushed gravel, sans potholes.

When we got to the crest of the hill, a large two-story brick house stood back along the tree line, a two car garage off to the side.

As we passed the house, I could see a fenced-in area with a small barn and what looked like a chicken coop. Chickens pecked around the yard.

“Just so you know,” Summer said, “the creek bed is now owned by Kai, and this is their house.”

“Damn. This is Kora and Kai’s place? ”

“Yep. They’re still working on the inside—paint and Kora’s touches—but it’s mostly done.” She pulled past the house and the road wound down toward the creek and a turn-around with ample parking. I grabbed the cooler of drinks from the trunk after we got out, then followed behind Summer.

“Wow, this is amazing,” I said. What used to be just a pebbled bank down to the river now had a sandy area with a brick firepit in the middle of it.

Five Adirondack chairs surrounded the firepit, facing the creek.

“Kai’s done an incredible job.” I sat in a chair and spread my legs out in front of me.

Summer did the same, placing the bags of food between us. She handed me a sandwich and bag of chips.

“Thanks,” I said, and we ate in silence.

It was peaceful here. The only sounds were birds chirping and the babble of the water as it ran through the river in front of us. Occasionally, I heard the sound of goats and the crow of a rooster. “Kora’s animals add a bit of country charm to the quiet of the river,” I said.

“I guess,” Summer agreed. “The goats are pains in the ass, though. They’re always escaping from their enclosure and tend to get all up in our shit.”

The sounds of crushing leaves issued from behind us. Summer turned. “Speak of the devils.”

The crushing of leaves became hooves on rocks, then soft swishing as they reached the sand. “Baa.”

“Watch your sandwiches. They will eat anything.”

Suddenly there were three goats in front of us, stretching their necks toward our food. Summer reached in her bag and took out some carrots. She threw them and the goats jumped away to get their snacks.

I laughed. Couldn’t help it. I’ve never been a big fan of goats—well, farm animals in general—but I grew up with them and was not surprised that Kora would have three.

She always loved coming over and helping Mom with ours.

I knew they had names. Kora always named all her animals.

When we were young, my father would buy a few head of cattle.

He always warned her not to name them, but she never listened and spent much of her high school years refusing to eat beef. “So, who do we have here?” I asked.

“Well, the black one is Baby Goat. And those two are Percy and Jackson. I can never tell which is which, but I don’t think they really care.”

“Kora named her goats after her favorite books like she always said she would.”

“Yep. Of course she did. Her chickens are named also. Edgar is the rooster she brought with her, and two of her hens are Allana and Poe. There are more literature names, but I don’t know them. I think she’s crazy. Just give me the eggs and forget the names.”

I laughed as I finished my sandwich. The goats had finished their snacks and were laying in the sun, looking relaxed. “So, Summertime, will I be meeting that guy you told me about on the phone?”

“Derrick?” She shook her head. “Hell no. That was one date. Honestly, I think I scared him a little.” She grabbed a bottle of water.

“You?” Again I chuckled, and again she gave me her fuck-you look, and I lost it. After I’d caught my breath, I smiled over at her. “I have not laughed this much in a while. Thanks, Summertime, for brightening my day.”

“Glad I could be of assistance,” she said in a snarky voice as she stretched out, laid her head back, and closed her eyes.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Her hair glistened in the sunlight, and she looked like an angel—which made me snort. Summer could be anything she wanted, but an angel she was not. She was naturally pretty, and when she relaxed and didn’t have a scowl on her face, she was more than that.

She was breathtaking.

She turned toward me and smiled—and I suddenly remembered to breathe again.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked.

“Of course.” I copied her. I stretched out and closed my eyes if for nothing else so I could block her beauty from my mind—not that I didn’t have every bit of her face etched in my memory. At least the rays of the sun felt good, and I focused on that.

“Why did you start calling me Summertime?”

I shrugged in answer to her question, though I knew exactly when I started calling her Summertime, and why. I remembered it like it was yesterday.

It was the summer before our sophomore year in high school.

We were hanging at the river—right here, just like we always did.

Summer wore a bikini—not quite the skimpy kind that would make me uncomfortable in the near future, but still a bikini—and the look of her newly forming breasts under the skimpy cloth, the way her ponytail shimmered under the summer sun, and the scent of the coconut and honeysuckle sun block she had me apply to her back, all became what I would think of whenever I thought of summertime.

Eventually, her carefree, take-no-shit attitude that always left me in awe of her would be what I compared all women to, and would keep me from being able to commit to anyone in any relationship.

No one ever measured up to my perception of the perfect woman, because Summer was who I based perfection on.

I considered my answer carefully. “You’ve always been Summertime to me.

I never wanted to forget what it was like when we hung out by the river the summer before our sophomore year.

You were finally out of your extreme goth phase you went through and smiled more, especially when it was just the two of us. ”

I opened my eyes, and our gazes met. My heart leaped and picked up speed.

“You were always happiest when we were here. The smile on your face and color of your skin was a perfect combination—perfectly Summertime.” I moved my sunglasses on top of my head so I could see her better.

Her hazel eyes were more golden today. They usually were when she was relaxed—happy. Our gazes held.

I watched as her tongue brushed lightly against her bottom lip, then she sucked in her top lip and bit down.

A familiar longing I hadn’t felt in a while rose up in my belly and caused the crotch of my shorts to tighten.

How I wished I could read her mind. What was she thinking?

What was she feeling? She was always good at hiding her emotions and feelings, while I always wore them like a badge for the entire world to see. “What?” I asked.

I could never tell what she was feeling, even now. She held her feelings deep within her, keeping them hostage, not sharing anything with anyone. She held my gaze a bit longer. My heart hammered in my chest.

She swallowed hard—I saw the movement in her throat.

“I’m thinking we need to take a walk in the river.

” She slipped off her shoes and pulled water shoes from her bag, throwing a pair at me.

“I found these in the closet. They’re probably Kai’s.

Put them on.” Then she jumped from her chair and waded into the river.