Page 50 of These Summer Storms

Instead, she was filled with quiet dread that if Saoirse didn’t come back—if she happened to glance at her phone, for instance—Alice would be returned to the uncomfortable thoughts that had consumed her in the darkness. She didn’t like being alone with her thoughts. She didn’t like dwelling on Griffin and how she’d stayed with him for so long, and why. Pride. Rebellion. A desire for the antithesis of this place. These people.

She didn’t like dwelling on them, either. On how they had let her go. On the way her mother had kept her firmly at arm’s length. And of course, on her father, who’d controlled her, pushed her, and grown more and more infuriated every time she resisted. And then…finally, when she’d given him a good enough reason, he’d pushed her out.

She didn’t like dwelling on the time she’d been gone. Time she’d never get back. Much like the time she was stuck in this fucking pantry.

After what felt like an eternity, a knock sounded on the door, strong and sure. “Alice?” The voice came from close enough that it seemed as though the person speaking could see through the door and knew exactly where her left ear was. It was low and quiet and smooth and very annoying.

She grumbled, “Yes.”

“I found Jack,” Saoirse announced, sounding as though she’d returned to her texts.

“Great,” Alice said, false brightness in her voice.

A pause, and then Jack said, “You’re stuck in the pantry.”

“Am I? I hadn’t noticed.”

The overhead light flicked on, and Alice flinched at the brightness. God. She was still wearing Jack’s clothes.So embarrassing.

The doorknob rattled. “Hmm.” She imagined his disapproval on the other side, as though there’d never in his life been a door that hadn’t opened at his whim. Jack Dean: Master of Doors. “Stand back, please.”

Her brows shot up. “What are you going to do, break it down?”

“I’m not an action hero.”

An image flashed of his body, laid out on the bed at the QuahogQuay, the gold light from the streetlamp outside casting shadows across the ridges of his torso. The thick cords of his thighs. It wasn’tnotthe body of an action hero.

“Alice?” he prompted. For the best.

She cleared her throat and stepped back. “Can’t wait to see how you Tony Stark this thing in.”

A pause, then, distracted, “Tony Starkdefinitelycan’t break down a door without the suit.”

“Don’t discount the adrenaline boost that comes with allowing yourself to feel a feeling.” Silence. “You probably don’t do that, though. Feel feelings.”

“Do you think annoyance would work? I could probably muster that one up.”

She scowled at the door. “I think if either of us has a lock on annoyance this morning, it should be me.”

“Okay, then you try breaking down the door,” he said, casually, the words punctuated by a rhythmic tapping.

Alice ignored him. “Saoirse—can you go get Charlie?” There was a reason why Charlie and Lorraine lived on the island—someone in the place had to have practical life skills (Charlie couldn’t bang down a door, either, but that was irrelevant).

“We don’t need Charlie.” Jack’s irritation was as clear as if he were inside the pantry with her. More tapping. When it stopped, Saoirse said, “Cool!”

The tapping resumed. And then, with a softthump,the whole door tipped toward her, into the pantry, just far enough for him to catch it in his hands. He set it against the shelving just inside and looked to her. “No feelings necessary; just a hammer.”

“My father would have been proud.”

Jack nodded at the sack in her hand. “No less proud than he would have been to find you in here eating licorice.”

“Breakfast of champions.” She tucked the bag up on the shelf and collected her suitcase. She pushed past him and looked to her niece, still scrolling her phone in a red tank top, ripped shorts, and high blondpony. “Thanks for the help, Saoirse. Maybe next time you could find someone a little more…generous.”

“Have I not been generous enough with you?” A pointed pause, as his words landed, along with the memory of the night at the Quahog Quay, when he was very generous. Deliciously generous.

Alice ignored the hot wash across her cheeks. “I meant generous of spirit. Why are you even here? In the main house?”

Saoirse answered for him, crossing to the fruit bowl on the counter, blissfully unaware of the subtext in the room. “He was looking for you.”

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