Page 49 of Rebel Summer

Trouble.

He didn’t mean it how it sounded. I had seen Dax text in the shop plenty of times before. Usually with his hands full carrying batteries or tools or placing motors while tapping on his phone one-handed. There couldn’t be much thought into his communication, so the way my stomach dipped and rolled like a drop on a rollercoaster at his last two words was troubling. To say the least.

“With a smile like that, you must be talking to some cute guy,” Marco said, trying to peer over my shoulder at the phone.

“Hey!” I jumped and pushed him away.

“Who is it?” He laughed at my reaction. “Hopefully somebody different than earlier.”

I slid the phone in my back pocket while I attempted to stave off the sudden rush of blood to my cheeks. “None of your business.”

He held up a large bag brimming with burgers and fries in one hand and a large Coke in the other.

“‘Cause this looks like more food than one person could eat.”

I shrugged, slipping on my purse before taking the bag. “I think you’re grossly underestimating how much I can eat. Did you put in extra fries?”

“And sautéed peppers on both burgers. If it’s a date, you owe me details.”

“Not a date,” I said, sneaking a fry. “But thanks.”

I beelined it out of there, but not before Marco called out one more thing. “I know where you go after the cafe. Remember that!”

With my arms full of greasy food, I entered the lobby of Dax’s shop. I skittered my way past the small conglomeration of Legos, casually glancing down at my pathetic construction, when I stopped short. The small ball of Legos definitely looked different than it did when I left last night. Setting my bags and drink on the floor, I grabbed the guidebook and opened it.

I burst through Dax’s garage door, holding the burgers and Coke in one arm and the guidebook in another. “Alright, fess up! I was not on page fifty-two when I left! You can’t—” I stopped short when three heads flung in my direction at my brazen entrance.

My eyes first went to Dax, wearing his standard black tank top and jeans and standing next to a golf cart with the seat up and a large battery in his hand. A man and woman in their late fifties, dressed like tourists, stood nearby.

“Sorry. I didn’t know anyone was here,” I said, immediately feeling out of place.

“Books, do you know my parents? Mark and Trudy Miller. Mom and Dad, this is Ivy Brooks.” He nodded toward the woman wearing knee-length white shorts and a coral blouse with blonde hair cut in a stylish bob. Was this a joke? She looked like she was on her way to dancing lessons at the resort. Cheerful and bright with such a…sunny disposition. My eyes darted curiously to take in the man with his khaki shorts and sea-green shirt covered in palm trees, like he was ready to hit the golf course at any moment.

“The senator’s daughter?” Trudy’s delicate eyebrows arched curiously.

“That’s me.” I set the bag and drink on the counter before moving to shake their hands.

“Oh. You’re here…to fix the Lego car?” Trudy asked, her gaze sweeping over the cafe take-out bag and back to me.

Dax sauntered over, poking through the bag of fried foods. “Is this all for me?”

“Half of it’s mine. I didn’t eat lunch.”

“Oh, well, we can go so you two can eat your dinner,” Trudy said, glancing between us.

I pretended to look busy leafing through the calendar to clock in while Dax wrapped things up with his parents. I thought about taking my food and leaving, but his parents stood in front of the bag from the restaurant, and I didn’t want to interrupt again.

Dax never stopped moving while talking with his parents. His hands traveled in and out of his pockets before he’d fold his arms across his chest, just to repeat it all over again. He was never unkind. He just seemed…uncomfortable. Like he was forcing himself to chat with them.

“So you’re coming to my birthday barbecue, then?” Trudy asked, a hopeful lilt in her voice as she looked up at her son.

“Trent’s coming?”

“Yes, he’ll be here after the Fourth,” she answered.

Dax hesitated, and I watched in confusion. If I had parents that sweet, I’d be using every excuse in the book to spend time with them.

“It is my birthday,” Trudy reminded her son, with a teasing jab to his ribs.

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