Until Summer Ends

by Elana Johnson

  He leaned forward, and she did the same even though she commanded her body to remain stiff and straight. His lips quirked into a sexy smile, and she couldn’t tear her gaze away from his strong—and surely capable—mouth.

  “And I’ll give away one secret per shift,” he whispered, almost like he knew classified information and didn’t want anyone to overhear. He smirked. “But don’t ask about my real name. If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

  He sat back in his chair, a chuckle floating from his throat, as she stared at him. She wasn’t sure if he was being serious or not, but one thing was certain: She was in very real danger, because of Mont’s agreement to help.

  Chapter Four

  “Priceless.” Mont laughed to himself as he stepped out of the shower. The look on Sophie’s face, first when he’d opened the door shirtless, and then when he said he couldn’t give her his real name, still brought him a smile.

  He didn’t divulge his real name to strangers—or to anyone really. He’d worked hard to leave his past in Kansas. Big-time actors didn’t come from poor families with last names no one could pronounce.

  The last person he’d told about his real name was Amber, and he didn’t need a repeat of that relationship… Even if Sophie did have the most kissable neck he’d ever seen, a nice chest she only covered with a spray-on tank top, and those toned, tight arms. If he wasn’t careful, he could find himself very distracted from the real reason he’d agreed to help her: money.

  She took herself so seriously, which made her easy to tease. If Mont was being honest with himself, he enjoyed riling her up. The way her eyes widened, the shape her mouth took, and the pulse that twitched in her throat.

  He thought about Sophie as he finished getting ready. He thought about her as he went to the health food grocer and picked up his usual whole-grain bagel with blackberry jam. He thought about her until he realized he’d been obsessing over what secret he could tell her that night after the taco stand closed.

  Frustrated that the woman had wormed her way under his skin in only five minutes, he distracted himself by watching YouTube videos and trying to make the exact right taco balloon hat. He’d spent a couple of years working the kid’s cancer wards in the LA hospitals, making animals, swords, and hats from balloons. Now, his balloon artistry paid the bills when his acting didn’t.

  Turned out, taco balloon hats were really hard to construct, and Mont ended up leaving for the beach balloon-less. Sophie didn’t seem like the type to appreciate an inflatable taco hat anyway.

  Mont ate lunch at The Sandy Tortilla, but Sophie didn’t recognize him when she handed over his carne asada burrito. Always ready to dress up and play someone else, Mont had worn a ball cap, sunglasses, and a pair of swimming trunks. With how hard she’d stared at his chest that morning, he was a little surprised she didn’t recognize him. Then again, she’d barely called out “carne asada burrito” before turning back to her grill. He liked her singular focus—but he wanted it on him.

  Watching her ladle salsa into a cardboard bowl, he understood that Sophie wasn’t a performer, at least not when it came to her food. He hoped she wasn’t one at all. She seemed so different from the actresses he’d known in LA. She didn’t have an agenda, like one woman he’d dated. She wouldn’t use him to advance her own career, like another wanna-be actress had. She was real. A strange sense of comfort already existed between them, like he didn’t have to be anyone but himself when he was with her.

  He sat at one of the rickety tables a few yards from her stand and bit into the burrito, unable to stifle his moan. Sophie had major skills in the kitchen. He wondered what other skills she might possess, and what he’d have to do to find out.

  His phone rang, cutting into his near-scandalous thoughts. He wiped his hand on his trunks before checking the screen.

  “Hey, Lars,” he said. “What’s up?”

  “What name are you going by today?” His agent’s deep voice buzzed through the phone. “Just trying to gauge the mood before I tell you why I’m calling.”

  Mont’s heart picked up its rhythm as he wandered away from the tables and farther down the beach. “Let’s go with Jack.” Mont liked the name Jack—always had. It felt strong, masculine, simple. The kind of name that could endure the lead role in a major action film.

  “OK, Jack,” Lars said. “I’ve got a gig for you, if you’re interested. I mean, I know you went up north to take a break, but this is worth coming back for.” Lars paused to breathe, and Mont took the half-second to process his words. Most talent agents spoke at the speed of light, something that had taken Mont a few months to get used to.

  “Are you sitting down?” Lars asked.

  Mont sat and nestled his toes into the sand. “Yep.”

  “OK, first, that kind of talk needs to go. No producer is going to call you back when you use the word ‘yep.’ Promise me you won’t use that—or any form of it—when you go audition for…the next James Bond film!”

  Mont forgot how to breathe. James Bond? His heart pounded as he stared at the ocean, but he didn’t see it. James Bond!

  He knew the audition wouldn’t be for the lead role of Double-Oh-Seven, but it was an action film, and a huge step in the right direction.

  “When’s the audition?” he asked, grateful his lungs worked without direct instruction from his brain. “What role?” He knew better than to ask his agent more than one question at a time, but he’d done it anyway. His thoughts raced, and the questions piled up.

  “Bad guy extraordinaire. Bond’s enemy for this film,” Lars said. “They sent over a spec sheet with height, weight, body type, even the number of abs they want. You haven’t been skipping the gym up there, have you?”

  Mont was suddenly very glad he hadn’t. “I ran five miles today.”

  “No more running,” Lars practically barked. “They want bulk, and I think you fit the bill perfectly. Not only that, Jack, but if you get the role, they’re shooting on location in Spain. You’ll get to travel, just like you’ve always wanted.” Lars sounded incredibly pleased with himself.

  “When’s the audition?” Mont asked again.

  “The last Friday of August,” Lars said. “So you’ve still got four weeks to make sure you have eight defined abs. I also need new portraits for the production company—they want to see you in as little clothing as possible. Get yourself a nice, skimpy Speedo, and get some new pictures taken, stat. They also need a signed commitment form to maintain your body weight and muscle type during the ten-month shoot, and the following year as promotional materials and interviews are done. I can email you that, and you can fax it back.”

  Lars continued telling Mont about the role, his voice ratcheting up with excitement every minute. Mont’s own enthusiasm grew, but he also knew to be realistic. He’d had similar opportunities before, and they’d never panned out.

  Still, he did fit this director’s pre-qualifications to audition, and it was easy to imagine himself as the gun-wielding bad guy that almost outsmarts Bond, James Bond. His career would be on a whole new level; he wouldn’t have to go begging for jobs. Producers and directors would come to him.

  As the fantasies paraded through his head, he lay back in the warm sand to perfect his tan, a wave of contentment spreading through him in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  “Do you know anyone who takes amazing pictures?” he asked Sophie that afternoon as soon as he stepped into her taco stand. The scent of her delicious cooking paled in comparison to the sight before him. Her entire body vibrated with the effort she put into shredding cheese.

  She glanced up briefly. “For?”

  “I need some new portraits for my portfolio.” He tried to play cool, but the corners of his lips wouldn’t stay flat. He wondered what she’d do if he mentioned the neon-blue Speedo he’d ordered online that afternoon.

  He could’ve sworn she scoffed, but she was much better at hiding her emotions than he was. “Portfolio? What are you? Some kind of actor?”

/>   “Yeah.” Lars would be proud Mont hadn’t used yep. He reached for the apron he’d worn last night and turned his back to her as he tied it on. She didn’t have to sound so condescending when she said actor, like it was a terrible thing to be. And he really couldn’t keep wearing this violet apron. It was emasculating.

  “Really?” she asked, her voice warming. “What have you been in? Anything I might have seen?”

  He glanced at her, but her focus on the shredder was singular. He’d never lost out to cheese, and as he turned back to the cash drawer, he felt like this might be a new low. “You work here all day and all night. Do you actually watch movies?”

  “Yes.” She sounded a bit huffy. “So, have I seen you before?”

  I doubt it, he thought, but decided to keep that to himself. “I’ve mostly done comedies, but I’m looking to break into action films.” He deliberately didn’t mention the names of the movies he’d been in. She wouldn’t know them. He barely did.

  “So what do you need the photographer for?”

  “I need some shirtless shots for—”

  A thunderous crash sounded behind him and he spun around. Sophie stood with the block of cheese in her right hand, but the grater had gone flying. The sound had come from the various kitchen utensils the grater collided with. A ladle fell from the counter as Mont stared into Sophie’s wide eyes.

  She flinched when the metal hit the floor, but the crash seemed to focus her attention. She cleared her throat. Mont didn’t miss the bright spots of pink on her cheeks. She couldn’t seem to look at him squarely, a fact which satisfied him greatly.

  “Anyway,” he said as he bent to help her gather the fallen utensils. “I need some new shots for a big audition that’s coming up.”

  She swallowed hard, her eyes flickering down to his covered chest. “Shirtless?”

  So he hadn’t imagined her stare-fest that morning.

  “Shirtless,” he confirmed, puffing out his pecs.

  “I might know someone,” she hedged.

  “You could come along,” he said, almost laughing the last word. “I’ve been told I have a great body.” He couldn’t contain the laughter any longer, and it burst from his mouth as loud as clanging metal.

  “You just keep telling yourself that,” she said as she stepped beside him and opened the window. The smirk she wore told him she thought she was really funny.

  “Ouch,” he said, chuckling. The line already stretched to the ocean, and he picked up his pen, wondering if he should’ve demanded more money for his weekend dinner shifts.

  “You said a little crazier.” He stared at all the people, sure Sophie wouldn’t finish serving until at least midnight. One sideways glance at her, though, and he decided he didn’t mind working late with her. Maybe he’d get to see her glisten a little. Or maybe she’d be so tired by the end of the night, he’d have to carry her home.

  He finally met her gaze, and she lifted her eyebrows. He’d been caught staring. Embarrassment raced through him, but he liked looking into her tea-colored eyes so much, he didn’t care.

  She rolled her eyes even as that telling blush stained her cheeks. “We’re open now, Monty.”

  Chapter Five

  I’ve been told I have a great body, sang through Sophie’s mind during the first hour of dinner service. Even so, she managed to get every dish precisely right, from the fish tacos without guacamole to the supreme nachos with extra jalapeños.

  She and Mont didn’t miss a beat. They’d perfected the dance required for maneuvering in the small space. She wished he wasn’t quite so good at, well, everything. Running, taking orders, chatting with her customers. Heck, even his balloon-making skills were flawless. She’d love to have him take a wrong step, bump into her, and wrap those strong arms around her to keep her from falling down.

  She huffed when she realized she was fantasizing about him. Fantasizing!

  Sophie Newton didn’t fantasize about men, period. Especially not men whose real names she didn’t even know.

  And yet his charming smile and a visual of his toned body paraded through her mind during the second hour of dinner service. As she cooked and they tossed orders back and forth, she eavesdropped on his one-liners.

  She found some of them downright gag-worthy.

  Can’t we taco about these burritos?

  I took this job just for the halibut.

  If you can think of a good fish pun, let minnow.

  She hated them all, but they somehow made him more attractive. Maybe she only thought so because her customers were smiling and laughing after hearing Mont’s ridiculous seafood puns. And the tip jar had never been so full. She usually took the tips, because she was the cook. But tonight, she’d give them all to Mont.

  She actually rolled her eyes a couple of times, but he didn’t notice because he filled the beach with his boisterous laugh as he charmed the people in line. Which annoyed her as much as she liked it. Which only frustrated her further.

  When she heard him say, “I had the carne asada burrito for lunch. Trust me, it is to die for,” she paused in the battering of the halibut. Mont had eaten at her taco stand for lunch? She personally handed her food to every customer, and she didn’t remember seeing him.

  Sophie narrowed her eyes at his back. Maybe he’d had someone grab him lunch. As soon as she’d thought it, she dismissed the possibility. Who did he know to run his errands? No, he’d probably dressed up, actor that he was. Still, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed him.

  Every nerve stood at attention when he was around, every sense was heightened. She hated that she was so focused on her work that she’d missed him. She couldn’t believe the disappointment zipping through her. It warred with the irritation that this man—this man she barely knew!—was pointing out her faults without even realizing it. With a soft huff, she turned back to her work.

  “Carne asada burrito, two fish tacos.” Mont stuck the order to the line, and Sophie repeated him, perhaps with a little bit too much sarcasm in her voice. He paused next to her, the weight of his gaze heavy on her face.

  “What?” she snapped, annoyed that his stare bothered her when he hadn’t even noticed hers.

  “Maybe you’ve been hovering over that grill for too long,” he said.

  “I do not hover over my grill.” Her fingers tightened around her tongs.

  “You sure?” He peered at her like he could take her temperature with only his eyes. “Sure seems like the heat is getting to you.”

  She put together a taco in less than eight seconds. “I’m not hot.”

  “I disagree.” Mont’s eyes glittered like gems, flooding Sophie’s body with a pronounced heat. She moved away in a show of serving the tacos, but what she really wanted to do was fan herself.

  “There are only a few people left in line,” he said. “Then you could close up. Get home early.”

  She stepped closer to him, rising up on her toes to more evenly match his height. It was no use. He had a good six inches on her. “How do you know what time I’m usually done?”

  He shrugged. “That’s what time we closed last night.”

  “I don’t close early.” Sophie took a breath as she sidled away from him. Big mistake. The strong, woodsy scent of his cologne mixed with his sweat made her head fog. Her chest boiled, and she couldn’t even identify why. Because he wouldn’t look at her when she wanted him to? Because he’d used the word hovering?

  It was a rude thing to say, she thought with a momentary flash of justification before she realized she’d overcooked the halibut. She dumped the too-dark fish in the garbage and started over.

  Fifteen minutes later, the line had officially died. Sophie usually stayed open for at least an hour after the tourists left, because the locals came down to the beach once it cleared out.

  “Look at that.” The awe in Mont’s voice caused her to pause in her scrubbing of the stainless steel backsplash. Sophie turned toward the window, nearly getting blinded by the red-orange light reflec
ting off the ocean.

  “Have you ever seen a sunset like that?” He gestured out the window like he didn’t know the sun went down each night.

  “It’s just a sunset,” Sophie said, an eye roll evident in her tone.

  “It is not just a sunset,” Mont argued. “Come here.” He moved to the side a bit, standing farther behind the till. “Come stand right here.”

  She did as he said, though she didn’t understand the compulsion to do what he wanted. Maybe the way his eyes sparked when he spoke of the sunset, like this one was special. Maybe because she felt a magnetic pull to him that was getting harder to resist.

  “Now lean down,” he said, lowering his shoulders toward the counter. “Just get level with the water.” His voice hushed. “Look at that. See the colored ripples? Gold, white, red, orange. Reminds me of the first time I saw the sun dip itself into the ocean.”

  He took a breath that Sophie felt in her chest. The glorious colors before her filled her with reverence. The world suddenly seemed so much bigger than it had a moment ago, the ocean impossibly wide.

  She breathed in with Mont, breathed out, feeling safer than she had in months, feeling like maybe, just maybe, everything in her life would turn out OK.

  With a start, she realized how awkward she must look, all bent over to get eye level with the ocean. Sadness bled through her when she realized she’d lived in Redwood Bay her entire life and never once stopped to consider the beauty of the sunset, at least not like she just had.

  She’d never felt insignificant, never considered traveling beyond the ocean, never wondered about the vastness of the universe. Sophie cleared her throat and straightened. A quick glance at Mont confirmed that he was still admiring the view, with a smile of utter contentment on his far-too-beautiful face.

  He looked at her and she expected his grin to drop. Instead, it widened. “Come on,” he said. “Close early and let’s walk down the beach a little ways.” He untied his apron and hung it on the nail by the door.