Page 50 of Summer’s Echo

Echo

Since moving to California, one thing I’d always missed about the Midwest was winter.

Maybe I was one of the few who actually loved the crisp, biting air filling my lungs; the way the chill clung to my skin long after stepping inside, especially in December, when every home and storefront glowed with festive lights and decorations, turning the city into something almost magical.

But the real treat? Snow. Whenever we were lucky enough to get it, the whole world changed.

A fresh, quiet blanket covered the streets, rooftops, and trees, softening the edges of everything.

And for a little while, the city slowed down, wrapped in a peaceful kind of stillness.

Winter in Los Angeles was a complete contradiction.

The sun shone boldly, the sky a brilliant blue.

The air carried a hint of crispness—just enough to remind you it was December, but never enough to bite.

The city hummed with the energy of the holidays, palm trees wrapped in twinkling lights, fake snow dusting storefronts.

And then there was the scent—a mix of ocean breeze and cinnamon spilling from local bakeries and coffee shops. A strange blend, but somehow it worked.

I pulled into my garage a little after seven, too drained to even stop for food.

Tonight would be a delivery night. Stripping out of my clothes, I stepped into the shower, letting the steam clear my head.

Craving didn’t even begin to describe what I felt for Summer.

I yearned for her. Not just sexually, though don’t get me wrong, I was more than ready to bury myself inside of her.

But it was more than that. I needed her touch.

The sound of her voice. I hadn’t realized how much she calmed me until she was gone.

Tonight, my plan was simple: eat, then call Summer.

And if she didn’t answer? I had a voice text ready to go, demanding answers.

Who am I kidding? If I were being honest, the message wasn’t about closure, it was about holding on.

About forcing a response, anything to keep this thing between us from slipping further into the silence.

I wanted answers, but more than that, I wanted proof that she was still on the other side of this, still tethered to me in some way.

And if she wasn’t? If she let the call ring out, ignored my words, made it clear that I was the only one still trying, then I’d have no choice but to walk away.

I’d done it before—lived without her, moved on, survived—so I could do it again, right?

Lying ass nigga. Hell no, you can’t do it again. Even the thought of sending the message made my stomach churn. I wasn’t ready for what came next if she didn’t respond.

My phone chimed. For half a second, I let myself hope it was her, but I knew better.

It was just the app letting me know that Marco was two minutes away with my food.

I ran a hand over my jaw before sliding into gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt.

I poured myself a glass of whiskey, the ice clinking as I walked over to the living room, rapping softly along to Kendrick Lamar playing through the surround sound.

I could already taste the mushroom chicken and vegetable lo mein from my favorite Chinese spot, and after the day I’d had, I needed something warm and familiar.

But Marco needed to hurry the hell up because I was starving.

Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, I downed it in a few gulps as I headed to the front door.

I was going to need hydration because I planned to have a few glasses of whiskey tonight.

Peeking through the frosted window, I saw the glow of headlights pull into the driveway.

Finally. I didn’t even wait for him to knock, I walked out to meet him, handed him a tip, thanked him, and was about to head inside when a blue car with an Uber sign in the windshield made a U-turn and pulled up in front of my house. I frowned.

Who the hell is that in an Uber?

For a second, I was ready to curse out whoever thought now was the time to play games coming to my house unannounced. But then, my expression eased, my breath hitched. I blinked—once, then again—making sure my imagination wasn’t fucking with me. Because it was her .

A brown peep-toe boot hit the pavement, followed by a long leg wrapped in fitted jeans.

Then came the deep orange sweater, a plaid cape draped over her shoulders, tortoiseshell glasses sitting high on her nose.

The streetlight hit the wavy tresses of the new bobbed haircut as she pushed a few stray hairs behind her ear.

And suddenly the food in my hands was forgotten.

She smiled at the driver as he pulled two large suitcases from the trunk.

I couldn’t move. I was too busy taking her in.

And she looked exactly as I remembered. Exactly as I’d dreamed about every damn night since I’d boarded that plane.

Then, her gaze lifted, landing on me. She froze, realization dawning as I stood there.

And in that moment, I saw it—the slight catch in her breath, the way her lips parted just so, the hesitation laced with something that felt like hope.

I leaned against the doorframe, ignoring the mouthwatering scent of food teasing my nose.

My focus stayed on her, my voice smooth but tinged with something else.

“You lost, Sunshine? You sure you’re in the right place?” I asked, fighting the urge to run and scoop her into my arms.

She smirked, but there was something beneath it—an edge of nervous energy she couldn’t quite mask.

“You’ve always enjoyed getting on my nerves,” she teased, but she still hadn’t moved.

She stood at the end of the driveway, her purse hanging from her shoulder, hands gripping the suitcase handles.

Waiting. Waiting for me to say something.

To invite her in, I guessed. But she required no invitation.

As far as I was concerned, she was already home.

I moved toward her slowly, deliberately, dissolving the space between us. Hopefully putting her at ease.

“You traveled all this way just to talk shit? Or do you actually have something to say to me?” I bit my lip, stepping right into her space.

She shrugged, her confidence faltering just a little. Then, shyly she said, “It’s been a minute. I didn’t know if you’d still want me here.”

Shaking my head, I briefly shifted my focus down the street then back to her.

“ Hmm. Considering I told you exactly where I’d be when you were ready—where I’ve wanted you to be all along—you shouldn’t have any doubts.

” I moved in closer, desiring to mesh our bodies into one.

“Have I given you reason to doubt me, Sun?” I said against her lips.

She quivered, wanting me, but she held back. Instead, she shrugged again, tossing up her hands like she was surrendering. Here I am. Take me or leave me. I was ready to take her. Forever. I swallowed hard, trying to ground myself, but my voice came out rough anyway.

“Are the loose ends tied?” She nodded. “What took you so long?”

She looked past me—almost through me—before her focus returned.

“I needed to be sure. I didn’t want to come to you broken, full of regrets and second thoughts. I didn’t want to bring you a half-hearted version of myself, Echo. I wanted to be ready…for you. For this.”

I bit my lip, fighting like hell to keep my emotions in check.

She leaned into me, desperate, pulled by something unseen.

We were still outside. Neighbors coming home.

Dogs being walked. The world continued moving around us.

But in this moment? Nothing existed. I wanted to cradle her in my arms. Devour her.

But I wouldn’t. Not yet. She’d taken her time to make sure she was ready—for me, for this.

So I couldn’t rush it. Wouldn’t. I needed to move with the same patience, the same thoughtfulness.

Summer brushed her lips against mine. Just barely.

Just enough. Then, she wrapped me in an embrace so warm, so full of love, it was as if she had read my heart before I even spoke.

“If you haven’t figured it out yet, this is me…being pressure,” she teased, and my damn dick lurched. She was using my words, and I loved that shit. Then she said, “E, I’m here, and I’m ready.”

The world tilted, and my fucking lungs stopped working.

I gripped her face firmly, my free hand clutching her jaw as I searched her eyes, needing to be sure, needing to see if there was any apprehension—any trace of indecision.

There was none. A slow burn settled in my chest, heavy with the weight of everything it had taken for us to get here.

I fought against the lump in my throat, telling myself I wasn’t about to cry.

But damn, it was close. Summer Sierra Knight.

My Sun. She was standing in front of me asking to be mine.

I didn’t know if I should kiss her senseless or make her say it again just so I could hear the words over and over. Instead, I needed reassurance.

“You sure about that, Sunshine?”

Her dimples sank into her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around me again. Those pretty brown eyes carried a smoldering fire, glowing with certainty and intent. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Fuck it. My self-control was non-existent after hearing her confession.

I cupped her face, nearly dropping the damn food in my hand.

Without a second thought, I tossed the bag onto her suitcase, my fingers tracing over her cheeks, memorizing every curve, every detail.

This was the face I wanted etched into my memory forever.

The one stricken with love and happiness.

And then, I crashed my mouth into hers. A slow, deep, and consuming connection.

A kiss full of everything said and unsaid.

Weeks—shit, years—of wondering, longing, anticipating, all of it was wrapped up in the way our mouths moved, in the way our tongues tangled.

Our bodies melted into each other—grasping, squeezing, holding on like letting go wasn’t an option.

Right there, in front of my house, for the whole damn world to see.

And Summer clung to me like she needed proof I was real. Like she needed to be claimed. Reluctantly, we pulled back, but barely. Our foreheads stayed pressed together, breaths mingled, lips hovering in that charged space between restraint and surrender.

“So…does this mean I’m staying?” she asked.

A slow, leisurely smirk pulled at my lips. If I didn’t have to grab her suitcases, I would’ve scooped her up right then. Instead, I clutched her ass, pulling her flush against me, burying my face into the curve of her neck. I dragged my lips up to her ear, kissing there before speaking.

“Do you really have to ask? The real question is how long are you staying?”

We held each other’s attention, knowing her answer would set the course for whatever came next. “For as long as you’ll have me,” she said.

I bit my lip. “That’s what I thought…. You’re staying forever.”

She didn’t let go, refusing to release me, just as I refused to release her.

With one arm still wrapped around her, I grabbed the luggage handles while she secured the food.

We walked inside clumsily, bumping into each other as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Because it was. This was who we had always been.

Who we were. I kicked the door closed behind us, and just like that, she was home.