Until Summer Ends Page 4

  She glanced back at her flattop, which waited for her to make Polly’s burrito. If she closed early then took her time delivering the food, no one would know the difference.

  “When’s the last time you put your feet in the ocean?” he asked from the doorway when she still hadn’t moved.

  Equal parts of humiliation, anger, and sadness shot through her. “I’ve walked along the beach before.”

  “Of course you have.” Mont stretched his hand toward her, inviting her to take his fingers and hold on. She swallowed, surprised she was actually considering it.

  “But when was the last time?” He raised his eyebrows. “I think it’s been a while.”

  “So what if it has?” She folded her arms and thought of all she had to do before she could go home. Supply orders, food requests, balancing the books—and Friday night meant a necessary deep clean of the stand’s floor. “I don’t have time to stroll down the beach. Some of us—”

  “Yes, you do,” he interrupted. “I’ll come back and count the money for you. Or scrub out your fridge, or whatever.”

  “I was going to take my cousin dinner,” she defended.

  “Do this first.” He stepped out of the taco stand, leaving her alone to decide.

  She watched him walk toward the water’s edge, wanting to go with him simply so she didn’t have to be alone. It certainly wasn’t because he was hotness personified.

  Sophie thought of her lonely house, her lonely taco stand, her entire lonely existence. And here was Mont, willing to fill some of her time with his. Taking a chance, she snatched at the tie on her apron and slammed it on the counter. She quickly closed the window, locked the door, and ran through the sand after Mont.

  “Did you run on the beach this morning?” she asked when she caught him. She couldn’t seem to find her footing. She hadn’t been kidding when she’d told him her feet could barely walk.

  “No,” he said. “I’m a paved surface kind of guy.”

  Sophie didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t realize runners might prefer one surface to another. To her, running was torture, something she would only do if a large dog were chasing her. And maybe not even then.

  “I like the main street,” he said. “The diner, the grocery store, the florist. The buildings remind me of something off a movie set. Quaint.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Redwood Bay is charming. I like it here.”

  “I’m glad,” Sophie said, pride for her hometown swelling in her chest. She loved Redwood Bay too. “My cousin, Polly, owns the flower shop. She has a big wedding this weekend. That’s why I’m taking her dinner.”

  “That’s nice of you.” He graced her with one of his pulse-pounding smiles and her heart rate doubled.

  “My cousins are the only family I have left.” Sophie wanted to bite back the words as soon as they left her mouth. Why had she told him that, like they were two people sharing each other’s lives? She cleared her throat and asked, “What movies have you been in?”

  “Nothing you’ve heard of,” he said, evading her again. “Small stuff. Independent productions or regional interest films. Nothing up here.”

  She wasn’t sure, but she thought his voice cooled when talking about his acting career.

  “What do you need the new portraits for?”

  He slowed as he reached the waves coming over the sand. Mont let the water come to his toes before stepping back. He dropped to the ground and started unlacing his shoes. “Want to walk in the water?”

  She would never even consider walking in the ocean barefoot; she had no time for such frivolities. Yet there she stood, wanting with everything in her to do exactly what he’d suggested. How had this man turned her inside out in a single day?

  He stood and held his shoes loosely in one hand. “Or not.” He took a step back, and she really didn’t want to watch him walk away from her—even if the view was breathtaking. He wore his gray shorts low on his hips, a blue T-shirt barely covering the waistband.

  “Wait.” She dropped and removed her shoes, and as she went to stand, he extended his hand to help her up. She took it, again marveling at the warmth and strength she could take from him through this simple touch.

  He held on for one, two, three heartbeats, his gaze studying their entwined hands. The pull toward him intensified, turning electric the longer he held on. Mont cleared his throat and released her fingers, a ruddy flush climbing his neck.

  Sophie turned away, her smile unpredictable and unexpected. He set off down the beach, and she kept pace with him, the water gloriously cool against her bare feet. The golden sunset painted the landscape, casting Mont in flattering light. Like he needed the additional help to look absolutely gorgeous.

  “Should we sit?” He veered away from the shoreline and found a soft spot of dry sand. He settled down, face heavenward, that dangerous grin daring her to join him.

  She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how strongly he affected her. Sophie sat next to him, maybe a little closer than propriety allowed. Close enough to breathe in his spectacular scent. Close enough to touch. And if she were truly interested—which she was not—close enough to kiss.

  Again, she marveled how Montgomery Winters had strolled into her life and turned it around. She’d never left her taco stand and walked down the beach. Hadn’t even considered it. But as she sat in companionable silence with him, a thread of happiness moved through her.

  “A friend of mine is a great portrait photographer,” she said as the sun sank into the water. “She’ll give you a good deal too.”

  It seemed like a long time before Mont spoke. “Great. My agent said I need to be wearing as little clothing as possible. Said to order a Speedo.”

  Her stomach—or was it lower?—seized at the possibility of seeing him “wearing as little clothing as possible.”

  Again, he seemed to have X-ray vision or mind-reading powers, because he gave her a playful smirk that did nothing to cool the heat pooling in regions she’d forgotten she even had.

  She answered his smirk with yet another eye roll, but secretly, she couldn’t wait to see him model for his portfolio pictures.

  Sophie knocked on the front window of her cousin’s floral shop. “Polly?” She cupped her hands around her eyes to see through the glass better. She detected movement and stepped back from the door as Polly unlocked it.

  “Bless you.” She embraced Sophie before taking the paper-wrapped burrito. “I haven’t left all day.”

  She looked as fresh as ever. Her dark hair had been swept into an elegant bun on top of her head, and her dark eyes smiled as she turned and led the way to the workroom behind the counter.

  Sophie’s arms pimpled when she entered the refrigerated space. No wonder Polly was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved sweater.

  “Jeez, Pols, it’s freezing in here.”

  “The flowers can’t take the heat.” She returned to the corsage she’d been sculpting. “This is my last one for the night.” She sighed and rolled her shoulders.

  “You should go see Julia,” she said, referring to the masseuse who had a part-time operation going out of her house. In the summer, she brought her table onto her patio, which faced the beach. The magic of her strong fingers and the sound of the ocean soothed Sophie with just a mere thought. “She works the knots out of my body after a long weekend.”

  Polly shot a grin over her shoulder as Sophie found a stool and sat down at the workbench. “I already have an appointment on Monday.”

  “Oh, good.” She watched her cousin work for a few minutes. “Feels nice, though, right? Working hard? Succeeding?”

  Polly didn’t glance up. “Yeah, I love weddings. Wish I could find someone for myself, but yeah…” Her voice trailed off, and Sophie heard the unsaid words in the resulting silence.

  “Summer season,” they said together. They both chuckled, and a rush of affection for her cousin moved through Sophie.

  “Tripp says he’s been slammed with tours,” Polly sai
d, wrinkling her nose when the flower didn’t cooperate with what she wanted.

  “I bet he’s happy about that,” Sophie said wryly. She didn’t get out to the docks to see Tripp much. After her father had died, Tripp had taken over his boat construction business and, well, Sophie had loved going down to the waterfront to watch her father work. She’d loved the inaugural launches of the boats her dad built.

  But he didn’t have the vision Tripp did, and her cousin had turned the once-struggling business of making fishing boats into so much more. Sophie loved Tripp, but she didn’t like seeing what her father could’ve done if only he’d stayed away from the liquor cabinet.

  “He hates it,” Polly confirmed. “He’d rather build the ships than take tourists out on them.” So had Sophie’s father, which was why he’d never expanded the business into anything more than boat construction.

  “Or fish,” Sophie added. She’d never met a man who loved fishing more than Tripp.

  Polly rolled her eyes. “I would love to find a man in Redwood Bay who doesn’t think about fishing all the time.”

  Sophie thought of Mont, who she doubted had ever held a fishing pole. She jumped off the stool. “Well, I’m beat. Long day after that walk on the beach, and tomorrow’s Saturday. You need—”

  “Walk on the beach?” Polly paused in her work and met Sophie’s eye. “Since when do you walk on the beach?”

  “It’s happened before.” Sophie cursed herself.

  Polly returned to the corsage, but not before Sophie saw the look of doubt in her eyes. She hated that Polly was right—Sophie did not walk on the beach, on a Friday night, after work.

  “You need dinner tomorrow too?” she asked at the same time Polly asked, “Who’d you walk with?”

  Sophie’s eyes widened as Polly looked up again. “Uh—well, he—just someone who’s helping me with the orders for a few nights.” She forced a laugh. “He’s a romantic. Wanted to watch the sunset, like it was special or something.”

  And it had been special, especially when he’d held her hand. She shoved the memories away, because Polly had a way of reading things on Sophie’s face. It was annoying, really.

  Polly’s eyebrows settled back into place, and she finished the corsage. “I’ll be done early in the afternoon tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll stop by the stand for lunch.”

  “Great.” Blaine would be working then, so Polly wouldn’t get to meet Mont. Sophie didn’t want to explain anything because she couldn’t. So she’d walked down the beach with Mont. Walking wasn’t a crime.

  Her phone rang as she left, the screen showing Yuri’s face. She’d called on the way over and left a message about Mont needing pictures done. She answered, but barely said hello before her friend went off, talking so fast Sophie could barely string the words together.

  “Yuri, he just needs a few shots for his portfolio,” Sophie said as she pulled into her driveway. She’d promised Mont she’d contact Yuri and pass along his phone number. The fact that she now had his number made her giddy. “He doesn’t need a whole makeup session beforehand. He’s a man.”

  “Men care about how they look,” Yuri said. “Especially actors. I’ll call him. You have his number?”

  Sophie gave it to her, and Yuri pressed her about how they needed to get together more often. Sophie agreed, but Yuri had a family—a husband and three kids. Spending time with her always reminded Sophie of what she didn’t have.

  The Sandy Tortilla provided the perfect excuse for anything she didn’t feel like attending—which was everything. Sophie had lost count of how many times she’d said, “I can’t. I have to work.”

  Too many, she told herself now. Mont would never use work as an excuse. The man strolled down the beach on a whim. Sophie had enjoyed the adventure of it all, especially the part where Mont gazed at her in the fading, golden light like she was beautiful, desirable. Maybe he’d had something in his eye. Sophie knew her grease-caked tank top, her hair flying in the wind, and her scent like oil and beef didn’t exactly paint the picture of beauty.

  She turned her attention back to Yuri, who mentioned a brunch on Sunday morning. “You should come. Bring this Mont guy. I can check out his stature; start planning which lens I’ll use to get the full effect of his abs.”

  Sophie scoffed. “You already know which lens you’ll use.”

  “Even so,” Yuri said. “You haven’t been to brunch in forever.”

  “That’s because we don’t live in the Hamptons,” Sophie said. She warred with herself, knowing she’d withdrawn from her friends, but unable to bring herself to commit to going. “I’ll consider it.”

  The silence on the other end of the line confirmed what Sophie suspected: She’d hurt her friends by ignoring their calls. She regretted it, but they didn’t understand how uncomfortable she felt around them. “I’m not inviting Mont.” She wanted to, but no. Everything seemed to come easy to him. She would not add herself to that list. Just because he’d held her hand for a few seconds did not mean he was interested. She’d told herself this for a solid half hour after he’d gone home and she’d stayed to make Polly’s burrito. She silently repeated it again now.

  “That’s fine.” Yuri sounded relieved. “Melissa will be thrilled to see you. She said you haven’t been over to see the baby once.”

  “It’s the summer season. You know how it is.”

  “I know how it was last summer,” Yuri said. “And you managed to make it to brunch every week.”

  Sophie didn’t know how to respond. It seemed like Yuri and Melissa had forgotten how awkward it was to be single. Like they’d moved on with their lives, entered a new stage, and just expected Sophie to come with them.

  But she hadn’t.

  “I’ve gotta go,” she told Yuri. “I’ll try to be there. But it is a good day to be making burritos, so I’ll want to be on the beach by noon.” She was giving herself a way out, and she knew it. Yuri probably did too.

  “See you Sunday,” Yuri said. “And thanks for the recommendation for Mr. Speedo.”

  Sophie laughed then said good-bye, hung up, and spent the rest of the evening with the TV on. Her one-track mind substituted Mont’s face and body onto every male actor.

  Chapter Six

  Mont found Sophie on the back deck, lounging on the railing near an Asian woman. He flashed a smile in her direction—the one he’d discovered could elicit a blush from her.

  “You did not invite him to brunch.” Sophie’s hissed words met his ears as he stepped closer.

  The Asian woman bearing the brunt of Sophie’s glare swept away from her and toward him. “Let me get a good look at you,” she said, her voice much too loud for such a tiny body. He assumed she was Yuri, the photographer Sophie had set him up with. He towered over her but she managed to flit her fingertips over his shoulders, biceps, chest, and even down to his belt.

  “Whoa, there,” he said, glancing around like this woman’s body-builder husband would materialize and ruin his face, which would also destroy any chance Mont had at getting the villainous role.

  “An eighty-five millimeter will work nicely,” Yuri said, pulling him into the group gathered on the deck. “Everyone, this is Montgomery Winters. He’s here from LA for the summer. He is an act-tor.” She pronounced his occupation with an air of importance, like actors from LA were uncommon.

  He smiled at everyone, shook hands with the men, gave air kisses to the women, and hoped Sophie wouldn’t diminish him to a puddle with the intensity of her stare. Since she was the only one whose name he could remember, he found himself migrating toward her.

  “Rough crowd,” he said, hoping for a smile or a laugh. She simply frowned and raised her Bloody Mary to her lips. She looked different, and he spent his share of seconds trying to figure out why.

  “You look stunning,” he said, finally realizing that she was wearing makeup. Her eyes looked deeper and darker, more mysterious. He wanted to dive into them, explore her life, discover everything they hid.

 
; He expected her to give him some snarky comment as she had in the past. But those blooms of pink appeared on her cheeks and she lowered her chin. “Thank you.” She gestured to the pencil skirt stretched tight across her knees. “I don’t always wear yoga pants either.”

  He laughed, though at the sight of that skirt he suddenly needed something a lot stiffer than the cocktails being served. “Yeah, the skirt is fantastic.” He closed his eyes, wishing he hadn’t said something so trite. What? Was she supposed to wear heels to chop green peppers? And it wasn’t like he minded the tight pants she wore. He’d stared at her curves so much he’d practically memorized them.

  He’d gone down to the beach yesterday near lunchtime, this time in his surfer gear, and had tried her fish tacos. A man had been working the line, handing orders to Sophie, laughing with her. She’d seemed much more relaxed around him, more like a normal person. Again, she hadn’t recognized Mont, so maybe she was as hyper-focused working with him as she was with Mont.

  He certainly hoped so. Mont didn’t want competition when it came to Sophie. He wasn’t sure why he gravitated toward her stand—in flimsy disguises, no less—to watch her work. He cleared his throat, as if that could chase the fantasies he’d been having about Sophie from his mind.

  “So Yuri called me yesterday,” Mont said. “And I think I may have said four words: beach, shirtless, portfolio, and actor.”

  Sophie laughed, a real laugh that bounced with genuine happiness. Mont grinned at her, surprised and pleased he’d solicited such a reaction.

  “Yeah, Yuri is an acquired taste.”

  “You’ve been friends with her a long time?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Sophie said. “She moved here a few years before she got married, and though she’s a bit older than me, we were instant friends. I worked for her a couple of winters when my taco stand was still new.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Office manager. She used to have a photography studio. Now she just does on-location shoots, mostly with families and graduating seniors in Redwood Bay.”