The Summer House: A gorgeous feel good romance that will have you hooked

by Jenny Hale

  She nodded, afraid to open her mouth for fear she’d blurt out how much what he’d said had affected her, how she couldn’t wait to see him either, and how thankful she was that he’d come into her life.

  “You up for a drive? It’s an hour and half, but I promise, it’s worth it.” He nodded toward her mug and stood up. “And I have snacks for the road.” He flashed a grin at her, erasing all her worry.

  Callie heard the humming start of an engine as Luke waited downstairs for her to get ready. She had on a bikini, which she hoped would work for surfing, and a tank top with a pair of shorts. She gawked at the incredible SUV she’d never seen him drive before that was parked in front of the house. It was jet black, and looked as though it was brand new. He leaned across the seat. There was a click and the passenger door opened. She put her foot on the silver step and hoisted herself up into the vehicle.

  “Where are we going?” she asked as she shut the door and fastened her seat belt.

  He smiled like he had the day he’d brought her coffee. “It’s a surprise. Somewhere away from possible reporters or people who drive me crazy.” He put the windows down and pulled onto the road. “It’s a great ride; let’s relax and enjoy it.”

  As he drove, Callie pulled her hair to the side to keep it from blowing into her face, the warm wind calming her. “I like your car,” she said, wondering how many he had.

  “I don’t usually drive this,” Luke said, glancing over at her and then back to the road. “It’s my father’s. He leaves it here for when he visits.” She noticed a slight tension in the way he said the word “father.” She didn’t think he’d meant the intonation, looking at his calm expression, but there was something lurking in that word.

  Callie hadn’t seen Luke’s father at the party, which surprised her. Surely he would’ve been at his grandson’s celebration? “Your dad couldn’t make it to Mitchell’s birthday party?” she asked.

  Luke shook his head, a slight annoyance visible in his eyes. “Nope. He was working. He said he couldn’t get away.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” She gazed out the window a minute, realizing how little people really knew about this family. The road stretched ahead of them—single lanes, sandy from the dunes that sat right at the edge of the road, the ocean crashing behind them.

  He pulled to a stop at a red light. “I’m glad, though. It would’ve put a lot of pressure on my mom. She feels the need to be peacekeeper between me and my father.”

  “You aren’t close with him?”

  He took in a breath and let it out, his grip on the wheel never loosening. “Well, he’s my dad. But he and I haven’t always seen eye to eye on things when it comes to our family business. I tried to do the right thing, show him how I can run it like he does, and I’m good at it, but he never trusts me.” The light turned green and Luke accelerated.

  “That’s too bad.” Callie thought about her own father, wondering if things would’ve been similar.

  “It is,” he agreed. “Let’s not talk about my family,” he said, clicking on the radio. “I don’t want to bore you with all the details.” He reached around behind his seat, rummaging in a grocery bag. He pulled out a smaller bag and held it up. “Popcorn?” Then he flashed that smile and she was so happy to see it again.

  Fifteen

  The road just came to an end.

  After all that driving, they’d made it to the town of Corolla and where the road stopped, the beach began. Luke pulled to the side and asked Callie to stay there. They couldn’t just park at the end of the road, could they?

  He went around the car, bending down on each side, and then he got back in. “I just had to let some air out of the tires,” he said. “We’re nearly there.” Then, to her surprise, he put the SUV in four-wheel drive and started driving on the sand. There weren’t a lot of people on the beach as he drove along the track made by other vehicles. A few trucks were parked, their tailgates open, beach chairs set out beside them. He maneuvered around a man throwing a Frisbee to his dog, the large, yellow lab springing into the air to catch it.

  “I’ve never been here before,” she told him. Callie leaned her elbow out the open window, taking in the wide shoreline and the smattering of cottages along the dunes. “How do they get here?” she asked, pointing to one of the cottages.

  “By beach,” he said, grinning over at her, clearly happy that he could show her something that interested her. “This is the main road.”

  “The beach?”

  “Yep. The only way to get out here is by truck. These cottages are quite expensive to make because all the materials have to be brought across the sand.”

  “Wow.”

  “I like it,” he said. “I like how secluded it is.” He held the wheel tightly as they bumped along the shore. They continued down the beach until the people dwindled and theirs was the only vehicle she could see. “But you know what I like best about it?”

  She watched him as he drove.

  “That.” He pointed down the shore and Callie gasped. Running toward her at full speed were two chocolate brown wild horses, their manes flapping in the wind, their strong leg muscles flexing as their hooves pushed against the sand.

  “They’re gorgeous,” she said, her eyes glued to them. Callie had heard about the wild horses of the Outer Banks, but she’d never seen one before.

  “They’re believed to be descendants of Spanish mustangs left by explorers,” he said. “Been here over five hundred years.”

  “Look!” She pointed to the dune where a foal was eating next to its mother. “They’re so beautiful.”

  Luke turned the SUV toward the ocean and put it in park. “My mom used to bring me here when I was a kid. Back then, hardly anyone knew this was out here. It was so remote.” He opened the door and got out. “I’m glad you like it,” he said as she exited on her side.

  He opened the back hatch and drew out a blue-and-white beach umbrella, anchoring it in the sand by the vehicle. Another horse walked around them, giving them a large distance, unfazed by the humans in its way. On either side of the umbrella pole, Luke set up two chairs facing the sea and placed a cooler in the center. Callie and Luke were completely secluded—just them and the horses. Callie didn’t sit. Instead, she looked out at the ocean, the breeze on her face.

  Luke stepped into her view slowly. “Before we surf, I’d like to make something for you,” he said, and she noticed an uncertainty in his eyes. He deliberated a second before continuing. “You’ve done more for me than anyone else has, and I don’t think you know you’re doing it, but it makes me want to spend time with you… do nice things for you.”

  “What did I do?” she asked, at a loss for what could have made him feel so utterly comfortable with her.

  Callie thought back to all those snapshots she’d seen in the press—him on boats, photos of him holding doors open at elite restaurants for beautiful women, his model-like stance as he leaned against a wall at an airport awaiting the arrival of one of his famous friends. This person in front of her now was not that face. He was a real, live, breathing soul; he was sharing even more of himself with her, and she couldn’t wait to hear what he had to say.

  “You didn’t want anything from me.”

  “What?”

  “When I tried to kiss you when we first met, you didn’t let me.”

  “Nope.”

  “You were right. You were the first girl who hasn’t let me. Most of the girls I’ve dated wanted something—a trip somewhere, a nice meal, something. I always thought I had to give it to them. But you make me feel like you want to be with me. Just me.”

  “I’m so sorry I let those articles affect my thinking,” she said.

  “It’s what they want people to think. That’s what sells.”

  He walked around and reached into the back of the SUV, pulling out a small easel and a canvas. He set it up in the sand, pressing the easel down to secure it from getting blown away and clipping the back of the canvas to it. He had a small cadd
y with paints of every color, an assortment of brushes, and a jug of water for rinsing the brushes.

  “I want to paint something for you now. But first!” he said, with a dramatic flair that made her giggle. “Have a seat. Relax.”

  Another horse walked by as Luke opened the cooler and pulled out a plastic champagne glass. Then he uncorked a bottle and poured some into the flute, along with some orange juice, the liquids fizzing and popping. He handed it to her as she took a seat.

  Two horses were now standing at the break in the waves, the spray shooting up around their hooves. “Paint that,” she said, pointing to it, the thrill of the moment causing her to forget everything else. She took a drink of her mimosa.

  Luke pulled his cell phone from his pocket and snapped a photo. He cupped his hands around the screen, his hair blowing against his forehead in an irresistible way. “In case they move,” he said, holding up the phone. By his smile, it was clear that he was delighted by the challenge.

  Setting his phone on the easel, he opened a few shades of brown paint, then the black, the green, the blue. He dipped his brush in and, as if it were as easy as breathing, he started to paint in quick, sketchy strokes. She watched the movement of his back, the muscles in his arms as she took another crisp drink of her ice-cold mimosa. She kicked her shoes off and dug her feet under the warm sand. The horses’ tails lifted up as if they were posing for their portrait. They were so still, like they knew.

  Luke moved a bit to the side to get a different angle, and she noticed the small smear of paint on his hand. There was something electrifying about the gentle movements of his masculine hands while he created this gorgeous picture from nothing. It was as intoxicating as the drink in her hand. His face was set in concentration, his lips resting together gently. She wondered what it would feel like to have those lips on her.

  She couldn’t take her eyes off Luke or the painting, and the more he painted, the more she realized how incredibly talented he was.

  “So, you’ve taken trips to the Outer Banks as a kid, but you’ve never seen the horses?”

  “No,” she said, the glass cool in her hand and the wind in her hair. “We stayed in cottages along the beaches further south. My favorite memory was getting ice cream after a really hot day at the beach. I still remember how my lips would feel like fire after so many hours in the sun and the ice cream was so cold… We’d sit out on wooden benches with all the other vacationers and I was so small, my feet would swing above the deck. I’d have to lick around the cone to eat it faster than the summer heat could melt it.” She took a sip of her drink, still thinking. “I haven’t thought about those days in years.”

  “I know that feeling well,” he said, taking his eyes off the canvas long enough to acknowledge her. “Growing up here was a little different. The small things like ice cream aren’t isolated memories because they’re lumped in with all the other day-to-day things we did. But I do remember making homemade chocolate one summer with my mom. We got it everywhere, trying to take it off the stove before it burned. It sloshed in the pot, spilling over, but we couldn’t catch it because it was hot.” He was laughing while painting, his face irresistible in that moment. “We let it cool and then ran our fingers through it like finger paint. I still remember licking it off. It was the best chocolate I’d tasted.”

  One of the horses moved, moseying on down the beach, and Luke kept painting from memory. When he got to the detail on the mane, he pulled out his cell phone and stretched the image with his two fingers, cupping his other hand around the screen again to shield it from the glare. Then he painted some more.

  He spent a little time stepping back to look at it and then adding details but, every time, the painting was so amazing that she’d thought he was finished. Then he would put in a small highlight and the tiny change would blow her away. She was transfixed.

  Finally, he turned around. His hands were covered in paint. “Finished,” he said, with the most genuine smile. “Your painting.” He waved his hand and presented it to her like a game show host.

  Callie set her flute down on the cooler and walked over to get a better look. She shook her head, words escaping her right then. “Thank you,” she finally said. She’d never had anyone give her a gift like that. “I love it.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” he said. “I’ve never painted for anyone before.”

  “Not even your family?”

  He shook his head.

  “Why not?”

  “Whenever I tried to, my father always steered me toward something else.”

  Why would his father push him away from talent like this?

  “I don’t think he meant any harm; he just sees things differently from me.” He looked up at the sky. “I’ve never been like him. Over the years, when Dad would preach to me the importance of carrying on the family business, of taking the necessary courses at school and watching everything he did to learn how to do it ‘right,’ he never could understand why I didn’t see the urgency in it. He hated my art classes. He said they were a waste of time when my path was already plowed by his hard work. He’s passionate about his business. He worries constantly that I won’t share that passion. And I think the thought of the business crumbling is more than he can bear. He’s always seen our differences as a threat instead of what they are: just differences. I’m nothing like him. But I can’t change that about myself.”

  “And you shouldn’t.”

  “I’ve spent my whole life trying to live up to what my father wanted me to be, competing with Aiden. Dad loves him—Aiden’s successful in his own business and I think he would like nothing more than to have the opportunity I have with my father’s company. I worry that I’ve fallen short in my dad’s eyes.” Luke fell quiet and Callie let the silence hang between them. He added, “Aiden has that same drive for business. He built his architectural firm into a huge success, working all hours. I haven’t stopped hearing about it.”

  Callie moved in front of him, looking up at his face, the hurt showing despite his effort to hide it.

  “He wanted to offer Aiden the business. My mother stopped him. She told him that the papers would have a field day with it and my name would be destroyed. I’d never live it down and it would be devastating for the family and for any future career I had.”

  Callie noticed that he hadn’t said that his mother denied that Aiden would be the better choice. She’d only danced around the issue by mentioning the bad press.

  “It was enough, and my dad relented and told her I could take over.”

  “I’m so sorry, Luke.”

  “I’m going to prove him wrong,” he said. “When I get the company, I’m going to keep the business running and ensure its success.”

  “I don’t doubt that you will. You’re amazing.”

  “You are a breath of fresh air,” he said, the spray kicking up over the sand behind them. He took a step closer to her, his eyes locked with hers. It was as if he wanted to kiss her, and she wanted nothing more than to feel his lips on hers. But he didn’t.

  “We’ll leave the painting out while we surf—the wind will dry it quickly so you’ll be able to take it home.” He held up his paint-splattered hands. “I’m going down to the water for a second. Come with me?”

  Callie steadied herself, knowing that he was putting on the brakes for her, but wishing there was something she could’ve done to let him know it was okay. Despite the paint, Callie took his hand as they walked. Luke was clearly surprised, but he didn’t let go. He looked into her eyes, affection bubbling up in his gaze. He felt comfortable with her, and now, she felt pressure not to let him down. It scared her to death. She could just walk away except there was this one hitch: She was happy whenever she was with him and she couldn’t get enough of him.

  “Your toes should always touch the back of the board,” Luke said, paddling beside Callie as they bobbed over a wave together. She’d only realized that Luke had brought her the board with the gaillardia when he’d unfastened it from the
top of the SUV. He smiled fondly at her, slowing down, as she paddled with everything she had to keep up with him.

  “Put your hands by your chest and push up when the wave comes,” he said as a small one headed their way. He brought one foot forward and stood up on the board, the wave rippling under him and dissipating. “Like that.” He turned around as the water thundered behind him. “Here’s one.” He got back down onto his belly and pushed toward it and Callie followed, the rush of it filling her.

  Luke put his hands on his board so Callie did too. Then he got on his knees. She followed. With a quick movement, he planted his feet and was standing just as the wave swept her off her board, toppling her onto the sand beneath. The water felt like a million icy bubbles on her skin, chilling her sun-warmed face immediately. The rush of the tide as it pulled on her body was a welcome exercise for her stiff muscles, sore from working so much over the past few days. She came up for air and felt a hand grab hers. With her free hand, she wiped the salty water from her eyes before opening them.

  “You okay?” Luke asked. His chest was wet, showing off his physique and Callie had to make herself focus on his face. She was keenly aware that he was still holding her hand.

  “Yes,” she said with a smile as she pulled out of his grip and bobbed over a wave before it broke on the shore.

  “I’ll put my board up and come out with you on yours.” Before she could say anything he paddled to shore, took the surfboard under his arm, and jogged onto the beach while she bobbed around in the water.

  When he got back out to her, she turned around to face him, but he redirected her toward the waves. “Keep your head on a swivel or a wave will wipe us both out.” He leaned down onto her board, and she scooted forward. “Stay where you are. I’ll paddle us out.”