All Summer on a Date: Three Romantic Comedy Short Stories
by Geralyn Corcillo
All Summer on a Date: Three Romantic Comedy Short Stories
Published by Blackbird Press at KDP
Copyright 2015 Corcillo Literary Trust
ISBN: 978-1-62678-011-8
Cover by Sue Traynor
http://suetraynor.com
“All Summer on a Date” first appeared in 2012 in the anthology Romancing the Pages at KDP
“Miss Understanding in the Ballroom with the Wrench” first appeared in 2014 in the anthology Cupid on the Loose! at KDP
"Jane Austen Meets the New York Giants" originally appeared in the anthology The Right Words at the Right Time: Volume 2: Your Turn! by Marlo Thomas and Friends (Atria Books, 2006). Used with permission.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, situations, and events are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events or locales or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
Table of Contents
All Summer on a Date
Miss Understanding in the Ballroom with the Wrench
Jane Austen Meets the New York Giants
About the Author
All Summer on a Date
“What are you going to wear?”
“Lily ...” Summer took a deep breath. “I was telling you about The Catch—”
“Got it,” Lily said, cutting into Summer's story. “Some football thing, then he asked you out. Now, what are you wearing?”
Summer stretched her neck, easing out the kinks. But at least this time, she had the right answer. “It's so perfect.” She preened, looking at her reflection in the long oval mirror. “Sleek, down to my ankles, with a slit up the side. Not exactly black, but—”
“Send me a picture.”
Summer looked at herself, all decked out in the dress. She couldn't send a picture. Not this instant. Not with her hair all twisted up into tiny pigtails so that later she'd have rakishly lilting curls. And her feet! Lily would never let her hear the end of it. True, Summer had no intention of wearing the thigh-high black boot that was snaking up her right leg. Even though it was raining enough to launch the ark. No, tonight she would wear the five inch strappy stiletto that graced her left foot. She'd just tried the boot for fun, to see if it would give her a sexy sorceress look.
“Summer, if you—”
“Hang on,” she said, dashing over to her computer. “There. I just emailed you the pic from the website. What do you think?”
The low whistle echoing through the phone made Summer clench her fist in victory.
“Nice,” Lily said. “Sexy, but not too slutty. And the color—sophisticated. What size did you have to get?”
“Eight.”
Pause. “Eight?”
“I go running every morning!”
“What about shoes?”
Summer quickly ducked her feet under the chair, even though she wasn't video-chatting with Lily. “Killer shoes,” she said quickly. “I'm sending you that pic, too.”
This time, there was no whistle. “Summer.” Lily sounded as if a missile were headed right for her. “Can you even walk in heels that high?”
Summer tightened her jaw. “I wear heels almost every day now.”
“O … kay … ay.” Lily stretched the word out to three syllables, each one lathered with skepticism.
Summer let it slide, deciding not to mention how much she'd practiced. She could walk in heels now, and that was all that counted. Lily didn't know it, but Summer pulled off looking poised and chic on a daily basis at the magazine. And she did it so flawlessly that no one ever seemed to question how the heck a paint-splattered rabble-rouser like Summer Hodiak had gotten that way. Thank goodness nobody at Consequence knew Lily.
“And Summer?”
“Yeah?”
“Tonight's a big deal, so please, just keep your mouth shut. You finally have a date with a keeper. Don't scare him off.”
“How can I keep my mouth completely shut?” Summer kicked off the one high heel she'd been wearing and rubbed her foot. “It's our first date. I have to talk a little. That's the point of a first date.”
“It's New Year's Eve. Just let him do all the talking, and the night will take care of itself. Whenever you open that mouth of yours, men run, career opportunities disappear, and Mom asks me to have another baby.”
“I just—”
“I know. You just fight for what's right, change the world with your art, yada, yada, yada. You and Michael Moore would get along like gangbusters if you would just move to Michigan.”
“I hate being cold.”
“Focus, Summer! What kind of car does Kyle drive? And what color?”
Summer dropped her foot. “How would I know?”
“Because you work with him at the magazine!” Lily huffed out a huge sigh. “Were you raised in a barn?”
“You're my sister, for Pete's sake! I was raised with you.”
“Which is why I don't understand how you can be so clueless. Summer, try to match his car. Your dress, your jewels, your handbag. Subtly make it clear that you fit into his life, and you'll be engaged by Easter.”
“It's our first—”
“Gotta go. Dean's home with the girls. Just try to be posh, and you'll have the power to make this your best year yet. Love ya. Bye!”
Summer tossed the phone aside and slipped off the dress. Wearing just the one boot, she flopped back onto her unmade bed.
Best year yet? What about the year she'd gotten arrested and put in the same police car as Martin Sheen? That had been a pretty cool year. They had all been pretty cool years before—
Before—
Summer shut her eyes tight.
No, she had to face it. She had to. It was time to move on with her life.
Summer opened her eyes. Before last year, when Arturo died.
She could still smell the paints and feel the warm sun beating down on her as she'd looked over just in time to see him drop. It had all been so stupid! So senseless! No damn health insurance, no medication for years. Summer hadn't know a thing about it until it was game over. And Arturo had loved life so damn much. He'd been as passionate as ever—they'd just started the project in Guatemala, he'd just found Gary ...
Summer clenched her teeth, rapidly blinking away tears. Arturo was gone and she couldn't bring him back. But at least she had learned one last lesson from him. Summer vowed not to end up stranded and helpless, dead far too soon, all for lack of a safety net. So, she'd taken steps. She'd molted into The New Summer.
The New Summer had a good job. The New Summer wore all the right clothes from all the right places. The New Summer made her monthly payments on time.
She was toeing the line and reaping the benefits. Didn't her date to kick off The New Year prove that she'd turned a corner? Prove that her New Life was coming together, the personal and the professional converging deftly, smooth as porcelain? After all, as The New Summer, she'd gotten the chance to go head to head with the impossibly gorgeous marketing director. And she'd won.
Jackpot.
“You do realize that this is just for one issue.” Two days earlier, Kyle had followed Summer into her office, insisting on making his point. “It doesn't mean we go with your ideas from now on.”
Summer had sailed across the room, smiling at the IT guy working at her computer. “Hi, Jeff,” she'd said to him, just before she'd turned on a dime to face Kyle. Leaning her butt against her desk, she'd effect
ively kept the marauding Kyle Hunter, God's Gift to Marketing, from surging any further into her territory.
“Kyle, you're the marketing director and I'm the art director. We're equals. Neither one of us makes the final decisions.” Summer had picked up some mail off her desk and started rifling through it. “Callie's the editor, and she calls the shots. This time, she liked my concept better.” Summer had looked up then. “Why are we still talking about this?”
Kyle had opened his mouth, then closed it, working the muscles in that chiseled jaw of his. “I just want to make it clear,” he'd said, standing at his full six feet plus, “that you don't know everything.”
“I concur.” Summer had tossed aside the mail. “But I know a lot.” She'd kept her voice light, brushing him aside with a smile. “Now get out of my office.”
“I'm sure you do know a lot,” he'd conceded, raising his brows in pure nonchalance. “Like who caught The Catch.”
Summer had blinked up at him. Was he actually quizzing her? About the NFL? To one-up her?
“If you don't know ...” Kyle hadn't even tried to hide his smug grin.
“Dwight Clark.”
Summer's softly spoken answer had made Kyle's mouth drop open, pulling the arrogance right out of his features.
She'd let out a soft trill of laughter. “Now seriously, go away.” With a flick of her wrist, she'd shooed him out.
Summer had turned to find the IT guy shaking his head as he smiled. His fingers had been flying over the computer keys, his eyes never leaving the screen in front of him.
“What?” she'd asked.
“He never would have asked you that if he knew your password.”
Summer had laughed. “You mean my old password.”
“LTversusJaws. You clearly know your football. And you must be a Giants fan because Jaworski never won those battles.”
Just then, Kyle had poked his head back in the door. “Listen, Summer.” And the guy had looked almost boyish. “I'm going to the Silversmith Party downtown on New Year's Eve, and I understand you're going, too.”
“Yes, I am.”
Something in the way he'd been looking at her made Summer's heart ratchet up, like when Mitch from physics used to turn around to ask to use her calculator.
“Want to go together?” Kyle had proposed it so off-the-cuff, like it was obviously a perfect idea.
Summer had given him a casual shrug. “Sure.”
“Great,” he'd said, smiling for real. “I'll call you later today.”
Summer Hodiak hugged her pillow, still hardly able to believe how she'd landed the most stellar date of her thirty-one years. The New Summer knew what she was doing, it seemed. Kyle Hunter hit on all points: breathtaking hottie, spiffy dresser, impressive job, nine-to-five lifestyle, much used gym membership, and most of all, class.
She pulled her bunched up comforter across her as the sky outside grew darker. The New Summer was finally up to the challenge of dating the kind of guy who read GQ—who lived the GQ kind of life. Rolling onto her side, she noticed the time on her old-fashioned alarm clock.
“Ahh!” Summer bolted into sitting position and began unlacing her boot.
Kyle and his pumpkin coach would soon be on their way.
An hour and a half later, Summer froze as she adjusted a sparkly black pin in her hair. She heard the knock again. It was definitely not her imagination.
He was here.
She lowered her arms and took a deep breath. Then another. Then she turned and slowly, languidly even, made her way to the front door. If only she could remember to channel Marlene Dietrich all night!
“Kyle.” Summer kept her hint of a smile in check as she ushered him in. She tightened her abs as she swung her long black rain cape around her shoulders.
“Wait,” Kyle said, his voice softer than it ever was at the office. “I want to see that dress of yours.”
“This old thing?” But Summer let the cape slide off her shoulders.
Kyle took his time looking her over. “Ve-ry nice,” he crooned, drawing out the first word.
He'd looked all the way down to her shoes and back, Summer was pretty sure. Too bad Lily couldn't be here to witness the A+ she was getting for her ensemble.
“And your hair,” he added, smiling so that his eyes crinkled. “Wilder than you wear it at Consequence. I like that.”
“Me, too,” Summer agreed, inwardly praying he did not touch her hair!
Summer Hodiak had actually put hairspray in her hair. That gunk in her hair! To make sure the mussiness stayed just so. But if Kyle touched it, now, after he'd just commented on its sexy state of dishevelment, she would be exposed as a fraud. A complete charlatan!
But maybe later, when it was a little less sticky ...
Summer smiled easily as she swished back into her hooded cape. But secretly, she hoped she was getting it right. Being The New Summer was complicated. There seemed to be a lot of timing involved. Not to mention that the freewheeling iconoclast in her felt stifled by all the underwire and nylon. But who was she to complain? The New Summer, constricted as she was, had landed a New Year's Eve Date to beat the band.“Let's go,” she suggested, gliding to the door.
“After you.” On the way out, Kyle tipped his head to flash Summer a crooked smile, reminding her of George Clooney.
Oh, yeah. This was definitely worth all the hairspray and underwire.
Once Summer settled back into the dark, low-slung seat of Kyle's car, she allowed herself to relax. She breathed easily as she watched Kyle navigate through the night rain. “I didn't know you drove a Porsche.”
“I usually drive the Lexus to work,” he replied. “You know, my hybrid SUV.”
“Right,” Summer said. But really, she had no idea. Why did everyone expect her to notice cars? And what would Lily's rules be about making conversation from here? Summer had the distinct feeling that gas consumption, foreign oil, and outsourced jobs were off the table.
“Kyle, you're a bad boy,” she decided to say with a wicked little laugh. “You drive a hybrid to Consequence—a magazine more hippie liberal than the Greenpeace newsletter—but when school's out ...” She lowered her voice conspiratorially, “it's the Porsche.”
“Can you blame me?”
Instead of answering, because she was pretty sure she better not, Summer just smiled and gazed out the window. She watched the wet street reflect the glow from the holiday lights strung along the deserted boulevard. The white lights, especially, looked—
Summer saw a figure flash into the street. “WATCH OUT!”
Kyle slammed on the brakes and wrenched the wheel, skidding though a puddle into the curb. Before the car could even bounce back from the impact, Summer was vaulting out the door.
“Summer!” Kyle leaned across the front seat, snagging closed the door she'd left gaping open. He lowered the window on her side of the car. “Summer!”
“I think he's hurt!” she called, running along the flooded sidewalk, pulling up her cavernous hood against the driving rain. “I've got to find him!”
Summer peered at all the darkened buildings, pulling up short when she saw him. Easy to miss, but she had seen his reflecting eyes in the faint glow of the streetlight.
Summer looked at the beaded bag still clutched in her icy hand and pulled out her phone. Tapping the flashlight app, she aimed the LED to get a better look.
“Hey, there,” Summer whispered.
The slick black dog ducked his head away from the beam. But it wasn't a he. The dog was a girl, and a pretty young one by the look of the big white paws she hadn't yet grown into. Summer noticed the dog was leaning awkwardly against the door of a closed computer repair shop. As she got closer, the dog hunkered down under the shop's tiny awning.“It's okay, girl. I promise. I'm here to help.”
The dog was in bad shape. Shaking, soaked, and so skinny Summer could see her ribs. All of them.
“It's okay,” she cooed softly. She shoved her phone and clutch into the pockets of her cap
e and held out both hands toward the dog. “It's okay.”
The dog inched forward.
“Yes, girl,” she encouraged softly. “C'mon.” She squatted, drenching the hem of her dress. “Come on, girl.”
The dog took a full step toward Summer, whose stomach lurched as she noticed the dog's limp. One more faltering step and the dog dove her head into Summer's outstretched hand.
“Yes, my girl,” she murmured, “yes.” She ruffled her hand gently over the dog's wet head. “Kyle,” Summer called. “She's hurt! We have to get her to—”
But Kyle was there behind her, standing under his umbrella. “Summer, that's a pit bull!”
Summer pulled the dog closer. “I know.”
“A pit bull!”
“Will you stop saying that like it's a curse? She's a dog.”
“I'm calling Animal Control.” Kyle felt around in his coat for his phone.
Summer picked up the dog and moved so they were both under the tiny awning. “An injured dog brought in on a holiday weekend? They wouldn't let her live to see morning. Too much work.”
“My phone must be in the car. Look, Summer. Have you forgotten where we're going tonight?”
Summer just looked at him as she stroked the dog's head.
“We're off the clock,” Kyle blurted. “We don't have to try to save the world every minute of our lives.”
“Kyle.” She could feel a steely calm work through her. “I am going to help this dog.”
“That's it? You're ditching me for a dog?”
Summer mouth dropped open. Ditching him? “Is that how you see it?” Summer looked at him standing there, under his umbrella, so debonair in his immaculate black overcoat. Of course that was how he saw it. Of course it was. “Yes, Kyle. I'm choosing this dog over you. I'll call a cab. Happy New Year.”
When Kyle's taillights disappeared into the night, the wind changed with a vicious gust. Rain slanted under the awning and pelted Summer, making the dog jolt and whine.
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