Until Summer Ends Read online

Mont plucked a salmon canapé with cucumbers from the tray someone brought over. “Mmm, this is delicious.”

  “Yuri really pulled out all the stops for you,” Sophie said. “I’ve never seen this kind of sophisticated food at these brunches before.” She reached for her drink again.

  “You would if you’d attended more.” A dark-haired woman stepped into their space to make a triangle of conversation. He recognized the look of appreciation most women wore when they looked at him, and he glanced at Sophie. She didn’t seem to notice, but her expression had turned guarded.

  “Sophie hasn’t come since you-know-what.” The woman glanced at Sophie, her eyes sparking with mischief.

  Sophie froze, her fingers gripping the glass so hard Mont thought she’d break it. “Melissa,” she said through unmoving lips. “Have you met Mont? We’re working together this summer.”

  She did the air kiss thing, her fingers squeezing too tight on his bicep. At least she hadn’t tried to cop a feel somewhere more embarrassing. He stepped away as quickly as he could. “Melissa. Nice to meet you. How do you know Sophie?”

  “Sophie and I grew up together,” Melissa said, her red-painted lips stretching into a smile. “She started her taco stand, and I went to college for a couple of years.” She tipped back her drink, something obviously stronger than a Bloody Mary. “Wasn’t for me. I came home and worked for my daddy’s fishing company until I married Glen.”

  Mont was dying to ask what the you-know-what was that had stopped Sophie from attending these brunches, but he didn’t have to look much past Melissa to make a guess. Made up to the nines, she wore a faux-fur stole over her black cocktail dress. To Sunday brunch on someone’s back deck. The view was of a fence, and then someone else’s back deck. Not exactly red-carpet material.

  “What films have you been in?” she asked Mont, and Sophie’s gaze followed hers to his face.

  “I was in Surviving Russia,” he said. “Have you heard of it?”

  “No,” Melissa said. “What’s it about?”

  Mont considered telling her the truth, then decided that this brunch needed a little pick-me-up. “Well,” he started. “It was a documentary about this time I went backpacking in the tundra of northern Russia…”

  Two hours later, he leaned into Sophie’s window as she sat in the driver’s seat. “That was simply thrilling,” he said, imitating something Melissa had said at least forty thousand times.

  Sophie laughed, but it wasn’t the free-willed version he’d heard when he first arrived.

  “See you at four-thirty?”

  She smiled at him and confirmed, but there was something off about her attitude. At first, she’d laughed with the rest of the group as he relayed the mishaps he’d endured in the Arctic Circle—none of which had actually happened. But only a few minutes in, she cooled toward him considerably. Toward everyone.

  She’d stayed though. Ate the fancy salmon hors d’oeuvres. Participated with tight smiles. But she wasn’t engaged with her own friends. Mont found her puzzling, and as she pulled away from the house, he watched her go, wondering what made her tick. Or rather, what made her shut down.

  He still didn’t know what the you-know-what was, and he was certain he wouldn’t find out from Sophie.

  “You shouldn’t care,” he told himself as he slid into his sedan. “You’re here for the summer, not forever.” Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about Sophie. Rolling down the windows and blasting classic rock to drive her out of his mind, Mont pulled away from the house and headed to his apartment. He needed eight abs to show Lars, and tomato bruschetta and bacon-wrapped chestnuts probably weren’t his wisest dietary choices.

  After changing his clothes, he ran down Main Street, taking in the weathered signs, the racks of bicycles, and the few people strolling the sidewalks. Almost every shop was closed; only the tourist shops renting jet skis and scuba diving equipment and the diner, whose parking lot was filled with the lunchtime crowd, remained open.

  The slower pace of life in Redwood Bay pulled at him, the same way the lighthouse had. It seemed to say, Stay a while. It’s nice here.

  He ignored Lars’s warning about overdoing the running. He’d put in a fair amount of sit-ups and pull-ups too.

  As the miles passed, he thought about brunch. He’d been hesitant to go, unsure about mingling with locals. He’d stopped in Redwood Bay to enjoy a break from his real life, from maintaining relationships. From the disappointments of LA, from having to think about what his next career move should be.

  He was tired of trying to make a future for himself, but at the same time he couldn’t seem to walk away. He could go back to school, finish his law degree; he could get a job, buy a house, and settle into a life with a family. Mont wanted that someday. He did—maybe even here in Redwood Bay.

  He’d watched Yuri and her family. He’d seen Melissa melt when her three-month-old baby clutched her pinky finger. But something about living that life right now didn’t sit well in his gut.

  For a while there, when he was with Amber, he believed he could walk away from his dreams in LA. He probably would’ve done it to provide a more stable life for her, though she’d been his biggest supporter. But if she’d wanted something different, he would’ve left everything behind—if he hadn’t seen her revealing text on his roommate’s phone. Amber and Paul had moved out of state, somewhere Mont had blocked from his memory.

  He shoved Amber from his mind, focusing on taking in oxygen and releasing it. Sometimes breathing was easy, and sometimes it wasn’t. He knew that from personal experience. And something told him Sophie did too. Maybe that was why he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  “I was just going to call you.” Sophie wore a look of disapproval when Mont walked into the taco stand. He’d eaten nothing since brunch, and the smell of roasted red peppers, steak, and fresh flour tortillas made his stomach roar.

  “We did say four-thirty, right?”

  Mont glanced at the clock on the wall, because he didn’t wear a watch. “It’s four forty-two. You don’t open until five, right?”

  She was chopping onions. Very roughly chopping onions. A surge of adrenaline rushed through Mont. He was sure she was imagining his face as that onion.

  “But we agreed you’d be here at four-thirty.” Her glare could commit murder. Mont found it utterly terrifying—and an absolute turn-on.

  “Sorry,” he said, but the word didn’t have much apology behind it. It took him thirty seconds to tie on that stupid violet apron and pick up the pen. “Ready.” She didn’t pause in her work, and his frustration made the breath hiss from his mouth. “Guess I still have seventeen minutes to stand here and watch you work.” Not that he minded watching her, but that poor onion was now juice.

  Sophie spun toward him, fire blazing in her eyes and a sharp knife clutched in her hand. Mont probably should’ve felt afraid, but the same angry heat cascaded through him, along with a fair amount of desire. He wanted to kiss her until that fury faded into passion. Something told him it wouldn’t take long to accomplish.

  “If I didn’t need you—”

  “Well, you do,” he snapped, cutting her off. As her expression changed from anger to that of a caged animal, he regretted his words. “I’m sorry. I haven’t eaten since that blasted brunch.” He gave a weak chuckle. “I’m no good when I’m hungry.”

  Her eyebrows creased. “Why haven’t you eaten?”

  He patted his stomach. “I need eight defined abs for the audition.”

  She nodded, slowly lowered the knife, and turned her back on him. When she started cutting again, the rhythmic swoosh of her blade actually soothed Mont, and he released the breath that had his insides pulled tight.

  He still had four weeks until the audition. Surely he wouldn’t have to starve himself until then. Just until the pictures get taken, he told himself. And maybe Yuri could define his abs further in her post-processing.

  “Carne asada.” Sophie set a paper-wrapped burrito next to him.


  His mouth watered as he raised his eyes to hers. “For me?”

  “I believe you said you liked it.”

  Maybe she had recognized him from the stand on Friday. “Thank you,” he said, noticing she wore jeans—tight ones, at that—with a purple tank top that showed off her dainty breasts and defined arms. He’d been on enough sets to know her makeup had been refreshed since brunch.

  “Eleven minutes to eat it, and it’s coming out of your pay.” She pointed her knife at him in mock annoyance, one corner of her pretty mouth kicking up into a smirk.

  “You drive a hard bargain,” he said, unwrapping his burrito. “But I’d do anything for this burrito.”

  “Anything?” Sophie laughed. “It’s not that good.”

  “You seriously underestimate your skills.” Mont couldn’t wait another second. He bit into the burrito. “Mmm.”

  When he looked back up, he found her staring at him with her mouth slightly open. She blinked. Then blinked again.

  Mont finished chewing and swallowed. “Am I doing it wrong?”

  Her cheeks lit up and she spun back to the grill, muttering something he didn’t catch. He enjoyed the view as much as the food—nothing was as satisfying as making Sophie Newton blush.

  Chapter Seven

  Mont practically inhaled the burrito, which was oddly the hottest thing Sophie had seen in a long time. She’d opened the taco stand to elicit exactly the kind of reaction he’d had. She loved feeding her customers food they enjoyed, and watching Mont eat brought a satisfaction The Sandy Tortilla had always provided. OK, the satisfaction singing through her while watching him eat was a whole lot different than what she’d experienced before.

  Clint claimed he could help her find a life where she didn’t work one hundred hours a week, where she could still be satisfied. But Sophie wasn’t sure. He’d been talking marriage and children, moving to the city—or anywhere really—where he could get a job at a large law firm.

  “I’ll take care of you,” he’d said many times, especially when she expressed her concerns about what she would do in San Francisco or Las Vegas or Chicago. “You wouldn’t need to work.”

  As much as Sophie wanted a day off from time to time, she enjoyed her work. No, she craved the feeling of accomplishment she got from owning and operating a successful business—or semi-successful, but this summer had been busier than any of the eight previous.

  She couldn’t walk away because then her father would win. She’d told Clint about what her father had said—you’ll never make it without a trained chef and an accountant. Sorry, Soph, you’re just not that smart.

  But he still didn’t get it. He didn’t understand her need to prove to her dead father that she could make it on her own, that she was smart enough. Without a culinary degree. Without an accountant.

  She couldn’t give up The Sandy Tortilla, and Clint interpreted that to mean she could give him up.

  Sophie’s phone buzzed in her back pocket, and though she was set to open in five minutes, she checked it. She expected it to be Yuri or Melissa, thanking her for finally attending their Sunday brunch.

  Mom.

  She wiped her hands on her apron and fired off a quick response. Just about to open. I’ll call you tonight.

  Her mother lived a couple hours north, just across the border in Oregon. She’d call Polly before she did her mother, find out if there was anything going on she needed to know. Their mothers were sisters, though Polly’s mom had been living in San Diego for years now. Like the Sunday brunches and the visits to her friends, Sophie didn’t see her mother as often as she should.

  Annoyance swept through her. Her friends and family knew what the summer season meant for Sophie. It meant she could get by waiting tables for a few months in the winter. There would be plenty of time for visiting then.

  She swallowed the guilt, put her phone in her back pocket, and washed her hands. “Ready?” she asked Mont, but she didn’t wait for him to confirm before she opened the window and began dinner service.

  “So, that ends the trial period.” She handed Mont a wad of cash from the till, disappointed to see their partnership come to an end. She’d put out a few feelers to see if there was a teenager looking for a summer job, but with only a month left until school started, she’d had no luck. Jenna would be back to work the lunch shift tomorrow, and Monday evenings were the slowest of the week. Sophie’s gut writhed. She could potentially keep The Sandy Tortilla closed for a couple of nights, but it would make things harder come October.

  She’d mention it to Polly when she called. Now that the Hamilton wedding was over, maybe her cousin wouldn’t mind a few extra hours of work in the evenings.

  To hide her worry, she turned away from Mont and pulled out her ledger. Right now, she could afford to give Mont the amount they’d agreed on, but it was four times what she normally paid. She’d need to run the numbers before she’d know if she could continue paying him.

  You might have to, she thought. It would be better than closing for dinner service completely.

  “The photo shoot is Friday morning. Yuri said the light will be awesome about seven.” He paused in the doorway.

  She couldn’t bring herself to look up. She’d already embarrassed herself several times with her staring and reactions when he said things like shirtless and am I doing it wrong? Sophie had some dignity she’d like to keep.

  “We’re taking them at the lighthouse,” he continued. “If you want to come.”

  “OK,” she said noncommittally. “I’ll see how the week goes.”

  “OK,” he echoed. Again, he seemed to be waiting for her to say something else. Finally, he opened the door and left. She breathed out, truly able to set to work now that he was gone. He took up so much space in the tiny stand, leaving little room for Sophie to focus on much else.

  After she’d completed her paperwork and orders for the next day, Sophie locked the taco stand and headed for her car. Once inside, she dialed Polly.

  “How’d the wedding go?” she asked when Polly picked up.

  “Good, good.”

  “I didn’t see you at lunch.”

  “I fell asleep as soon as I got home,” she said. “Just got up, actually.” She yawned. “I don’t know how I’m going to sleep tonight.” With that yawn, she still sounded tired.

  “Listen, my mother called. Have you heard anything in the underground?” Sophie meant Polly’s brothers and sisters, most of whom lived up and down the West coast.

  “Hmm,” Polly said. “I haven’t heard anything.”

  “OK,” Sophie said as she pulled to a stop at a red light. “You wouldn’t want to work the dinner shift for me the next couple of nights, would you?” The lengthy pause that came through the line was all the answer Sophie needed. “It’s OK. I know how tired you are after a wedding. Forget I asked.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to,” Polly said. “It’s just that I met this guy at the wedding….”

  Sophie let out a surprised yelp. “A guy? And you went to the wedding?” She hit the gas when the light turned green, but maneuvered to the side of the road so she could concentrate on the conversation.

  “I was there setting up the centerpieces,” Polly said. “He was the best man. He said my arrangements were beautiful. I said he was beautiful.” She giggled. “I don’t know why I said that. I never have something witty to say.”

  “Wow,” Sophie said. “And he asked you out?”

  “Well, he lives in Seattle. Not really a fit, right? I mean, the eight-hour drive is a huge complication. But he said he’s here for the week, and he has a yacht. He asked me to come out on the ocean with him for a few days.”

  Sophie’s head spun with horrific possibilities. True, Polly had always been more adventurous than Sophie, but her nerves still tightened with fear for her cousin. “He could be an axe murderer,” Sophie said.

  Polly laughed. “He’s not, trust me.”

  “Why? Because he’s good-looking?”

&n
bsp; “And rich,” Polly added in a hushed tone before she laughed again. “Come on, Soph. Give me some credit. I had Will sniff him out.”

  Will, her oldest brother who worked in law enforcement in Sacramento. “And?” Sophie asked.

  “And he’s clean. Never been married. No kids. Owns his own consulting firm for fishermen. Based in Seattle. And very rich, plus very handsome.” Her tone held the whispers of infatuation. “Tripp already told me to do whatever I need so he’ll tell him how to improve his fishing company.”

  Sophie sighed. “Well, if you’re sure. But I want to know the name of his yacht, and his company, and him, and how to get in touch with you. If you don’t come back, I’ll make sure he goes to jail for a long time.”

  Polly laughed. “Tripp said the same thing.”

  Another pause came through the phone. “I love you, Soph. Sorry I can’t work for you this week.”

  Sophie watched as the first stars winked to life in the dark sky. “It’s OK. Send me all the information you have on him, OK?”

  After she hung up with Polly, Sophie wasn’t sure she had the energy to deal with her mother. She dialed her anyway, anticipating the guilt trip before it came.

  “Hey, Mom,” Sophie said when she answered.

  “Oh, Sophie,” she said. “I’m surprised you called tonight.”

  Sophie rolled her eyes as she pulled back onto the nearly deserted road. “I said I would.”

  “Yes, well, I just wanted to let you know that I received some mail here for you.”

  Sophie’s mind whirled. “Mail? Why would someone send something to you?” Her mother had left Redwood Bay five years ago when Sophie’s father passed away. She said the house held too many memories of him. Oregon had become a fresh start, with people who didn’t look at her with pity in their eyes.

  Sophie hadn’t wanted her mother to move, but she understood. Her parents hadn’t gotten along very well. It had been a relief to both Sophie and her mother when Dad died.

  “It’s from Clint,” her mother said, snapping Sophie out of her thoughts. “It’s quite a large package. Shall I open it?”