Until Summer Ends

by Elana Johnson

  His feet had eaten up the blocks to the beach, and he stepped out of his shoes to walk in the sand. The last time he did this, Sophie had been next to him. He’d sensed her reluctance, but she’d come.

  He wished she was with him now. The sunset had been romantic, but the moon hung in the sky like a masterful painting. A kiss under this moon would make an impression he’d never forget.

  Staring up at the sky full of stars, Mont finally felt the last of his adrenaline fade. One audition, two. It didn’t matter. Nothing was guaranteed. Lars sounded excited about the possibilities, but Mont had heard it all before.

  No, he was better off remaining grounded. Realistic. When he kept this focus, the disappointments didn’t hit as hard, and the temptation to get raging drunk stayed dormant. Mont had learned to quell the urge to drink until he couldn’t think, but it was still a battle he had to fight from time to time.

  Hundreds of actors—many with more action experience than he—would be auditioning. And Mont understood that some auditions went up on paper only. The director already knew whom he wanted and whom he’d hire, but some clause in some lengthy contract somewhere specified that open auditions must be held.

  Lars had assured him that wasn’t the case in either of Mont’s upcoming auditions. Right now, Mont didn’t care. Auditioning felt like forward movement, something he hadn’t had in a long time.

  Mont watched the stars, imagining himself up there with millions of people looking at him, admiring him. Moments like this brought clarity to his often jumbled thoughts.

  He knew he wasn’t ready to give up on his acting dreams—not yet. He’d considered it mere hours ago, had let the anxiety and hopelessness crowd their way into his mood. He worked hard to keep them at bay, and he disliked the weakness he saw in himself when he thought about quitting.

  Because everyone else could see it too. After auditioning, he’d been informed of several weaknesses he didn’t even know he had.

  Laughs too loud.

  Makes too many jokes.

  Not tall enough.

  His smile is too happy.

  His mouth is too big.

  Nose too small.

  Shoulders too wide.

  Shoulders not wide enough.

  Directors really were the pickiest people on the planet.

  Mont turned to leave the beach. He liked laughing loud. He was glad his smile made him look happy. And nothing was better than a great pun, which reminded him that he needed some new material for the taco stand, especially if Sophie found his corny jokes endearing. The tips she gave him weren’t bad either.

  He headed home, keeping one eye on the radiance of the moon. The only thing that would’ve improved his mood was if Sophie were walking beside him.

  The next morning Mont found the details for the second audition in his inbox. Lars had sent everything he needed, including the flight schedules out of Del Norte County Regional Airport.

  Mont read the character description and got more excited with each passing minute. This part might actually be better suited to him than the villain in the James Bond movie.

  Gregory Watkins: A local firefighter spends his evenings playing his flight simulator and killing bad guys on his Xbox. When he is unwittingly integrated into the drug ring in downtown Chicago on a simple rescue job, Greg must use his virtual skills in real life.

  “A normal guy turned hero,” Mont mused. Everything he wanted in a part. He flipped through the first fifteen pages of the script. The writing seemed tight, and Greg was even the funny man in the firehouse.

  He transferred the files he needed onto a thumb drive and headed to the CopyTec. After printing the intent to audition form, the release form, and the director’s instructions for how to have a successful audition, Mont drove three blocks to the post office.

  He filled out and signed the appropriate forms and mailed them to Lars, who would get them to the production company. He also dropped another check to his mother. She hadn’t called, but he knew it was only because his first installment of money hadn’t arrived yet.

  He prepared himself to ignore her calls for a couple of days. And when he did answer, he would steadfastly refuse to allow her to send any money back.

  Once he returned to his studio, Mont pulled up the flight schedule. The audition would be in LA, unlike the James Bond part which required Mont to fly to Spain. Lars took care of those costs, and he took his reimbursement from any money Mont made on the roles he landed.

  He hadn’t made Lars much money over the past five years. But his agent had stuck with him, and Mont yearned for a big role, with a fat paycheck, as much for himself as he did for Lars.

  Mont’s flight from Redwood Bay to LA had been scheduled for Sunday night. He didn’t exactly know the busiest nights at the taco stand, but he figured Sunday wouldn’t be the worst night to miss. Plus, he could give Sophie notice now—she had six weeks to find a replacement for a couple of nights.

  More than a couple of nights, Mont thought. Because he wouldn’t be finished with auditions until the following Sunday. But this role sounded like it was written just for him. He couldn’t miss it to take orders at a beachside taco stand.

  Still, he felt guilty leaving Sophie for a week. Though if it were any other job, he’d simply take time off. He suspected his overwhelming guilt came because he wanted to be more than Sophie’s summer employee.

  He changed his clothes and tied on his running shoes. He couldn’t reason through his feelings, but he could try to run from them.

  His feet took him to the beach, of all places. He hated running on the sand, so he stuck to the highway, which ran right past The Sandy Tortilla. Because of his late night walking under the full moon, and his morning filled with printing and mailing, he’d arrived at the opening of the lunch rush.

  The short line was quickly served, so Mont stepped up to say hello. He wasn’t surprised to see the same man he’d seen the previous weekend working with Sophie.

  “What’ll it be, man?” he asked.

  “Oh, I was just—” Mont cut off when Sophie turned. “Hey, Sophie.” He lifted his hand in a half-hearted wave, suddenly feeling very stupid. She hadn’t returned his texts; they hadn’t spoken since he’d kissed her and left. Maybe this guy kissed her after his shifts too. A claw tore at Mont’s chest with the thought.

  “Hey.” Sophie swiped the back of her hand across her forehead.

  A few seconds of silence made Mont shift in the sand.

  “So,” the man said. “I’m Blaine Townsend.” He stuck his hand out the window for Mont to shake.

  “Montgomery Winters,” Mont said. “Most people call me Monty.”

  Blaine’s green eyes narrowed. “Do they?” He shook his head. “I don’t think they do.”

  Mont smiled, a strange understanding passing between them. “You’re right. They don’t.”

  “So, Mont.” Blaine gestured to Sophie. “How do you know Sophie?”

  “I—” Mont started, but Sophie blurted, “He works for me. Evening shift.” Her eyes darted to Blaine and then back to Mont. He couldn’t quite tell, because she stood in the shady shack and he was squinting through the sun, but Mont thought she was blushing.

  “I help at the shack in the evenings,” Mont said. “I don’t really work for her. It’s a temporary arrangement of togetherness.”

  “Hey, I get it.” Blaine stuck his pencil behind his ear. “She ropes me into working for her every chance she gets. She’s like a drill sergeant.”

  Mont laughed, the last threads of jealousy disappearing. Blaine clearly wasn’t into Sophie. “How long have you known the sergeant?”

  Blaine leaned against the counter, half facing Mont and half facing Sophie. He focused on her as he spoke. “Pretty much forever. She’s been bossing me around since fourth grade.”

  “I do not boss you around.” Sophie’s blush looked more like an angry flush now. No matter what, it got Mont’s blood racing.

  Blaine made a show of pulling out his phone. H
e tapped a couple of times. “She texted me last night, and I quote, ‘I need you at the stand this weekend. I know you’ll be here because of that thing with Lucy, which I don’t appreciate, by the way.’”

  Mont watched Sophie as she fumed. He didn’t know what “that thing” was between Blaine and Lucy, but Sophie’s anger sent his pulse vibrating. The desire to kiss her rushed through him.

  “I knew you’d be coming home,” Sophie said. “He comes home every weekend.” She spoke to Mont now. “He has a thing for Lucy; asks her out every weekend.” She lasered in on Blaine. “Can’t take a hint.”

  Blaine’s smile didn’t waver. He tucked his phone in his pocket and thumped his chest with his fist. “Ouch. I don’t deny it. I have it bad for Lucy Bingham. Stubborn woman won’t leave the diner in the hands of someone else.” His eyes widened as he turned to Mont. “Remind you of anyone?”

  Mont felt the charge in the air shift. He stepped back and held up his hands. “I was just saying hello.” He looked at Sophie, who was practically seething. “I texted you last night too. Maybe when you get a minute, we can talk.”

  Blaine glanced down the beach, which was largely vacant. “It’s early still. She has time now. Right, Soph?”

  Sophie looked very much like she did not have time. She made a face at Blaine, untied her apron, and joined Mont on the beach.

  They paced away from the stand as Mont wondered why she’d had time to text Blaine, but not him. Though she could’ve texted Blaine before bed. Mont had texted at almost midnight.

  He exhaled. Blaine wasn’t interested in Sophie; he’d just admitted to being into Lucy.

  “I have another audition for a lead role. It’s a really great opportunity.” He took a deep breath. He did not need to justify himself, or give her a million reasons why he needed a week off. “I have to fly to LA on September ninth. I won’t be back until the seventeenth.”

  “Auditions take that long?” Sophie shaded her eyes as she looked up at Mont. He suppressed the desire to kiss her so she’d know he was the only one she should touch after she finished a shift.

  “This one does. It’s a lead role.” He didn’t like the anxious glint in her expression. “It’s not for six more weeks. Surely you can find someone to cover the evening shift by then.”

  Sophie stopped walking. “I’ll make it work. Thanks for letting me know.” She turned to go back to the stand, but Mont caught her arm and slid his fingers down to hers.

  “I can help you find someone.”

  Sophie finally softened, a small smile forming on her face. “No, it’s all right. Honest. I’ll find someone, or I’ll just close. Jenna will be back in school, so she could take the hours in the evening. Or….”

  Mont wanted her to finish that sentence, but he didn’t press her. “How long do you usually stay open?”

  “Mid-October, but really, if I close for a week, I won’t die.” She got a glazed look in her eye, but it disappeared when she blinked. “Thanks for letting me know. We’re still on for tonight, right?”

  “Did you get my texts last night?”

  Sophie didn’t have to answer for Mont to know she had. She toed the sand, her eyes on the mound she made. “Yeah. Sorry I didn’t answer this morning.”

  “Why didn’t you answer?” She hadn’t pulled her hand away from his, which reassured Mont that she wasn’t upset about the kiss.

  “I just—”

  “There you are,” someone interrupted. “I can’t believe I didn’t find you in the shack.”

  Mont turned to find a dark-haired, dark-eyed man striding toward them. His bronzed skin looked like he’d spent hours in a tanning bed. He stood as tall as Mont, with wide shoulders and a frown riding his eyebrows. He wore a black business suit, making him look completely out of place on the beach.

  “Sophie—” The man cut off when he saw Mont’s fingers entwined with hers. She quickly pulled her hand back, her eyes wide and, if Mont didn’t know better, afraid.

  “Montgomery Winters.” Mont stepped in front of Sophie and stretched his hand out to this intruder, feeling standoffish and protective.

  The man ignored his hand, his eyes never leaving Sophie. “Clint. Soph, I need to talk to you.” He reached for Sophie, took her arm, and led her away.

  She glanced back once, though Mont didn’t know what she expected him to do. He squinted after them as they made their way down to the ocean. She didn’t struggle or yank her arm away from Clint, though he gripped her like he owned her. He leaned down and spoke into her ear, but she didn’t turn right or left, didn’t stiffen or relax, nothing.

  She seemed like a robot, going through the motions of walking and breathing.

  Confusion and anger doused Mont as he retraced his steps to the taco shack, where Blaine fiddled on his phone. “Hey,” Mont said. “Who’s that guy?” He pointed out toward the surf, where Clint and Sophie stood.

  “Oh, no,” Blaine practically moaned. “That’s Clint Palmer. Sophie’s ex-fiancé.”

  The animal in his chest roared. He couldn’t stand the thought of Sophie even kissing another man. And marrying someone else? Definitely not an option.

  He wanted her to be his, and he couldn’t have this Clint character butting in. He took a couple of steps back down the beach and stopped. What was he going to do? Run after her and wrench her away from the suit?

  She’d dropped his hand. She’d gone willingly. Jealousy bunched his muscles, and he took off running. Maybe he’d misread things between them.

  Doesn’t matter, he told himself as he found his rhythm. I’m not here long enough for anything to even happen.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nausea swirled through Sophie at the sight of Clint. Then fury. By the time he’d grabbed her, the numbness had settled in. Flashes of their breakup crossed her mind, but she shoved them away.

  He kept talking, but she kept her focus on Mont. First as he semi-stomped back to her taco stand. Then as he pointed at her, then as his broad shoulders fell, and finally as he hit the ground running.

  What had Blaine told him? Why did he run away, right when she needed him to stay?

  “Clint,” Sophie said, finally breaking through the fog surrounding her. He didn’t even pause in his tirade. “Clint!” Her voice cracked like a whip, and he stopped. Finally.

  “I have to go,” she said.

  Clint grabbed her arm before she could leave. “You can’t go. Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?”

  Sophie wrested her arm out of his grip. “No, I haven’t. And I don’t care.” She watched as Mont disappeared around the bend in the road, toward the lighthouse. Now she’d have to drive to catch him. She volleyed her gaze to The Sandy Tortilla, where a family had just arrived.

  “Who was that guy?” Too much curiosity rode in Clint’s voice.

  “No one.” Sophie fumbled for her phone, but typing and walking in the sand was beyond her texting capabilities. She stumbled, dropped her phone, and ended up reaching for Clint to steady herself.

  “He looked like a tourist.” Clint cocked his head then dropped his gaze to her fingers, where Mont had been holding her hand. His fingers were strong, sure, absolute perfection between hers. All she’d been able to think about was how they’d feel in her hair, on her back, exploring other areas.

  “How can you possibly know that?” Sophie rolled her eyes as she broke the contact between them. “You barely looked at him.”

  “I know all the locals.”

  “You’ve been gone for nine months,” Sophie practically spat. “Surely there might be one or two people who didn’t ask for your permission to move here.” She stomped away from him.

  “I’ve been calling you!” he called after her. “I need something from your place.”

  I’ve blocked your number, she thought as she waved that she’d heard him. Whatever he needed, he could get later, when it was convenient for her. She was done bending to Clint’s every whim.

  Blaine breathed a loud sigh of relief when she en
tered the taco shack. She washed up, and spent the next twenty minutes filling orders. At least Blaine didn’t say anything. She already knew he’d be right. She needed to move on, start dating someone else. And she knew who he’d suggest.

  As soon as she got a break, she texted Mont. Can you come back to the shack about 2? We can take a walk down the beach.

  She almost added, I don’t like Clint. I like you. Can we kiss and make up?

  The thought of kissing him made her lips tingle.

  He didn’t answer before her next rush. In fact, she didn’t feel her phone buzz at all during the entire lunch service. It was a good thing the shrimp were already dead, especially with the way she threw them down on the grill.

  At least she now knew how it felt to send a text and get no response. She didn’t like it, not one little bit.

  Blaine finished wiping the counter, much the same way Mont usually did. He didn’t look nearly as sexy, and Blaine didn’t make Sophie’s breath catch when he glanced at her, but she was grateful for him.

  “Thanks, Blaine,” she said. “I’m not really bossy, am I?”

  Blaine laughed, and again, Sophie wished it was Mont’s boisterous, booming sound. “No, Soph. You’re not. Besides, even if you were, it’s an endearing quality.” Sophie buried her face in his chest as he enveloped her in a hug. “You better not let that pathetic excuse for a man come crawling back.”

  “I’m not,” she assured him, stepping out of his arms and straightening her hair.

  “Should I come back later?”

  Sophie jumped at the sound of Mont’s voice, surprised she hadn’t been able to sense his presence the way she usually did. He stood in the open doorway of the stand, his eyebrows raised. “Seems cozy.” His dry tone brought heat to her face.

  “No, no,” she said quickly. “It’s not like that. Me and Blaine grew up together. He’s like my brother; helped me start this place and everything.”

  “I know,” Mont said, but he wasn’t smiling, and his voice carried no hint of teasing. “But maybe it is like that with you and your ex.”