Page 69 of Cool for the Summer

Donovan’s eyes open wider at the accusation, if that’s what it is.

“Jack, honey, I think we should give them some privacy,” Pete says.

Cleo barks again.

“I think she needs exercise,” I say. “Maybe you two could take her for a walk?”

“No!” The word explodes out of Donovan like a bomb, and I can’t help jumping a little.

“Excuse me?” Why is he being so weird?

“Sorry, no, you and I should take her. For a walk. That’s a great idea.” He crosses the room for her lead, snaps it on Cleo, and then comes around the island to grab my elbow. “Please, take Cleo on a walk with me.”

I lose the ability to protest as he stares into my eyes with his bottomless blue ones. “Okay.” I don’t know why this is so important to him, or what he thinks he’s doing, but I can’t leave him hanging. Besides, Jack and Pete aren’t exactly helping.

I slide into my loafers, snag my hat and keys. “We’ll be back soon. Eat, uh, something,” I tell Jack before following Donovan outside.

Our summer might be over, but I can’t resist taking one more walk with him.

THIRTY-ONE

DONOVAN

“Which way doyou want to go?” Beck asks when we get to the road.

“This way,” I say, turning left with no hesitation. Cleo trots obediently at our sides, seemingly happy to be on her favorite route.

“Is everything okay? How did your audition go?” Beck’s making a monumental effort to sound normal and give me the time of day, which is just like him, even though I don’t miss the way his eyes are rimmed red and his cheeks are splotchy.

He was crying recently. And it kills me to know it was probably because of me.

“Jack’s pretty pissed at me,” I say, avoiding his question because if I start telling him about that, I’ll have to explain everything, and I’m not quite ready to do that.

“Sorry, when they got home I just sort of—” He looks away from me. “I fell apart for a minute, but I’m good. Really.”

I selfishly hope that’s not entirely true, but I don’t comment. Instead, I say, “Well, he cares about you, and I was an asshole, so he’s got a right.” I’m glad that Beck has someone willing to stand up for him.

“You weren’t an asshole.” Beck’s always way too easy on me. Again, my heart leaps with hope.

“We can debate that later,” I say. “I’m glad they’re home, though.”

“Me too. Even if it means the end of my Nancy Meyers kitchen era.” He smiles to show he’s joking. We’re now on Turner Street, and my palms are sweating. Time’s running out and I don’t know if I have the words for what I need to tell Beck.

There’s so much to tell.

“You’ll have another one,” I say.

“Maybe. I’ll be too busy with the shop for a while to worry about anything else.”

“Still on track for Labor Day?”

“Yeah, I think so. I hired a baker yesterday, who can also do front of the house things if I need her to.”

“That’s great.”

“Did Joan read your play yet?”

“She did.”

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