Page 33 of Paging Dr. Summers

Honestly, I felt pretty stupid, like this whole endeavor was pointless. But then my mom’s voice echoed in my mind, her wishes stamped on the bucket list, urging me forward. For her, I pedaled up the long drive leading to an estate that seemed to be plucked from a dream. The pristine lakefront property unfolded before me like a painting, with massively tall pine trees standing guard around the enormous cozy-looking cabin. I had always thought of cabins as small and quaint, but this was a masterpiece, a paradox both grand and intimate.

The sun cast its rays upon the water, making it shimmer like liquid gold, while a gentle breeze whispered through the pines, carrying with it the scent of nature’s finest offerings. As I paused to take it all in, I couldn’t help but feel a tug at my heart—like something was calling me there. Weird.

I stopped and parked my bike, staring at the beautiful home before me, a little afraid to approach the front door. But, afraid I would look more suspicious if I just kept standing there, I grabbed a tin of cookies from the bike’s basket and tiptoed across the cobblestone path to the front entrance.

With trepidation, I rang the camera doorbell. Like an idiot, I waved. It was the nerves. Something about this place had me buzzing.

It didn’t take long for the door to open. To my ever-loving surprise, I knew the lovely woman before me.

“Lola.” I grinned so wide, my cheeks hurt. Oddly, I had thought about her so much over the last few days, I’d almost gone back to the Strawberry Festival to see if I could talk to her again. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I knew her from somewhere. And I was hoping her dad would be back in town. I would jump at the chance to talk to him, seeing as he loved the Roxannes.

“Brooke,” she said, seeming as delighted as I felt. “What are you doing here?”

I was glad she remembered me. “Funny story. You know how I told you about my mom? Well, she gave me a bucket list to fulfill this summer while I’m in Aspen Lake. One of the things on it was to make cookies for all my neighbors, which is super vague. So when I sayneighbor, I mean I live like a mile away from you.” I held up the tin. “So, here are some triple-chocolate cookies.”

Lola laughed. “That’s so fun. And guess what? Those are my dad’s favorite cookies. He’s going to bestoked. You should come in and meet him and my mamá. They just got back into town. I haven’t even had the chance to tell him I met the daughter of a member of his favorite band.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.” Okay, I totally did. I wanted to meet her dad and talk all things Roxannes with him.

“Of course. Actually, I’ve been thinking about you. I can’t shake the feeling that we’ve met before.” Lola waved me in.

“Me too,” I said, my voice barely a whisper as I stepped into the grand house. The sheer scale of it left me breathless. Floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the entire open and airy space in natural light.Someone had obviously carefully chosen each piece of furniture and every accessory to create an atmosphere of elegance.

It was like walking into the pages of an interior design magazine, where perfection was not just an aspiration but a reality. I couldn’t help but marvel. Especially since Mom and I had mostly lived in apartments or condos.

“Your house is beautiful.”

“This is where I grew up,” she said proudly. “I’m just home for the summer. I’m finishing up my MBA at Wharton.”

I wasn’t sure where or what Wharton was, but it sounded fancy and expensive. “That’s great.”

“Come on back.”

I followed her, still holding on to the cookies and afraid to touch anything in the immaculate house. I was so glad I’d worn a cute romper instead of my normal T-shirt and cutoff attire. This just didn’t feel like a house you were casual in.

As we walked into the great room, a large family portrait caught my eye above the fireplace. It showcased the beautiful family perfectly posed and holding hands on a white sandy beach. Lola and her mother practically looked like twin goddesses in long, flowy gowns. Her father was a tall, stately man with a kind, familiar face. I wasn’t sure what was so familiar about it. It was something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. What was with this family?

“Mamá! Papi! We have a guest,” Lola called out.

“Oh, here.” I handed her the cookies, feeling nervous. I don’t know why, but I didn’t want to give them to her elegant parents. They would probably react like most of the people I’d delivered them to today—with skeptical, sour looks.

Lola took the tin and peeked into it. “These look incredible.”

“My next-door neighbor gave me some great baking lessons.”

“Logan?” Lola trilled.

“Not him.” It caught me off guard that she remembered his name. “It’s actually his sister, Eden Russo.”

“TheEden Russo? From A Dance in the Kitchen?” Lola lit up.

“Yes, her.”

“Oh. My. Gosh. I love her. Her husband is such a cabrón,” Lola’s Mexican accent came out.

“I don’t know what that means, but yes,” I agreed. Eden’s ex-husband was awful.

“Who is a cabrón, mija?” The most refined woman I’d ever met came waltzing down the hall with her husband. She had styled her black hair in a sleek chignon and wore a cream satin blouse paired with neatly cut slacks. She radiated motherly warmth, yet there was a fierceness to her that clearly warned against crossing her. I was so mesmerized by her aura that I almost didn’t notice Mr. Harrington falling back from his wife’s side. He froze just a few feet away from me, his tan face paling at the sight of me.

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