Jeff looked up at the clock. “You've still got time.”
“But I don't have another dress. Or shoes. I don't usually spend this kind of money on an outfit for one night.”
“Summer, you're an artist.” Jeff said it slowly, as if she were a first grader who couldn't get the days of the week right.
“And ...” she prompted.
“I don't know why you decided to change your look when you came to Consequence,” he said. “I mean, you look like a Bohemian Firestar on some of that stuff on YouTube. But actually,” he interrupted himself, “all the IT guys really like your Scully look, too. But my point is, you could go home and change into an old drop cloth, and you'll be the belle of the ball. And you can borrow the Uggs for the evening, too.”
“Stomping around in men's boots, wrapped in a paint-smeared sheet?” The New Summer had to crush such an outlandish idea. Before she started thinking it sounded cool.
“And do something crazy with your hair,” he suggested. “You'll win over Oprah-Paris in a heartbeat.”
“You are a nut from Brazil,” she said.
“Maybe,” Jeff agreed. Then he looked right at her. “But this party, it's not about the dress or the shoes. It's about you, Summer Hodiak. And how driven and talented you are.”
Summer felt tears welling up again. How could he say that? After all her hard work to change her scruffy, rebellious image, Jeff didn't even see her new look as part of her, but as something quite separate, like a costume. Had The New Summer been a transparent charade from the start?
“Woof!”
Summer's head whipped toward the sound. “Starbuck!”
Dr. Applegate led the dog out from the back. “I thought you might like to sit with her until her family arrives.”
“Oh, Starbuck!” Summer rushed to the dog and gently picked her up, careful not to jostle the leg with the hot pink bandage.
Jeff pressed his forehead to Starbuck's. “Thanks,” he said to Dr. Applegate.
Jeff and Summer settled back on the bench with Starbuck panting happily between them.
“This is gonna hurt like hell,” Summer said quietly. “Letting her go.”
“But you don't regret it, do you? Meeting her in the first place?”
“No!” Summer shook her head. “No. I'd do it all again. A lost dog on the loose? It only takes one car, on one street. And this weather … I saw her and I had to act.”
Starbuck yawned and rested her head on Summer's lap.
“Good girl,” she murmured. She ruffled the dog's silky ears. “It was one of those moments,” she said to Jeff. “Know what I mean? A moment when you can take action and change something, make a difference. And if you wait, the chance might be gone forever.”
She looked up from Starbuck and saw Jeff looking right at her. His hazel eyes were unreadable, but whatever he was thinking, it made Summer catch her breath.
“Summer,” he said quietly. “Do you—”
A screech of brakes outside had them both looking up. An SUV had just pulled in. An entire family poured out faster than clowns at a circus.
“This is it,” Summer said, kissing Starbuck and blinking rapidly.
“Yeah,” Jeff agreed, picking up his phone. “Starbuck's going home.” He hit the record button just as the family burst through the doors, a girl of about thirteen leading the charge.
“STARBUCK!”
The dog scrambled off Summer's lap, shredding the dress as she went. The family and dog converged into one big heap and everybody started talking to Starbuck at once.
“Are you okay, girl?”
“You're so skinny. And your leg!”
“We were so scared. We never stopped looking, not for a second.”
“We didn't mean to lose you. We love you!”
And then it was just mostly barking and crying and laughing and talking to the vet.
“Summer Hodiak?” The mom looked up from the dog and right at Summer. “Summer Hodiak? I'm Romy MacFarlane. They said you found her?”
The entire family looked toward Summer, their force field pulling her into their circle. And everyone started talking at once again, even Starbuck.
“Woof, woof!”
“Thank you!”
“We were putting up the lights and the gate was open—”
“You found her! You really found her!”
Then Romy's distressed voice rose above all the others. “Oh, my God. Your dress. It's New Year's Eve—you were going out. And you stopped to help Starbuck? Your beautiful dress. And the vet bill. Chuck—”
“No! You don't owe me anything,” Summer rushed to say. “Really. You got Starbuck back tonight. You have her to love forever. Let me do this for her. Please. And I don't care about the dress. Really.” Laughter bubbled up through what she was saying. “I really don't. It's a souvenir from my best New Year's Eve ever.”
In the ensuing commotion of tears and gratitude, Summer didn't hear the tone that told her she'd just gotten a text. But Jeff did, and he glanced at Summer's phone where it sat next to him on the bench. He looked back to the reunion scene before it registered.
What he'd seen in that one quick glance.
As Summer's phone had scrolled the text across the top of the screen, Jeff had noticed a few words.
… you have the nerve … Noly.
Jeff looked at Summer's phone again.
Less than a minute later, he was putting down his own phone as Summer and the MacFarlane family came towards him.
“This is Jeff Tracy,” Summer introduced. “This is Romy and Chuck MacFarlane, and their kids, Mary and Alan.”
“You look like that guy who sings Fireflies,” Mary said, her eyes huge and shining. “And you came to Summer's rescue.”
“And Starbuck's,” Alan added.
“My absolute pleasure,” Jeff told them. “What an awesome way to ring in the New Year.”
“We better get on the road,” Romy said, looking up at the wall clock. “It's getting late.”
Summer looked at Starbuck, who was leaning against Mary's leg. “You've got the meds and instructions?”
Chuck held them up in confirmation.
“Well, I guess that's it then.” Summer looked down at Starbuck. “It's been an honor.”
Jeff bent to Starbuck and kissed her on the head. He kept his lips pressed to her fur for a long moment before he straightened up and ruffled the dog's ears. “See ya, Starbuck.”
“Starbuck,” Summer cried, and threw her arms around the dog. “Don't forget to call. And write. Be good.”
Starbuck licked her face, and Summer never wanted to let go. But she had to.
Summer and Jeff watched through the double glass doors as the family drove away. Neither one looked at the other. They turned back inside to get their stuff.
“Huh,” Summer said, noticing she'd gotten a text. “What?!” she squawked. As she read, her eyebrows slammed fiercely downward.
It made no sense. None at all. She scrolled up her screen and saw that Noly Parker had left a first message, a few minutes earlier. Now Summer really didn't understand. First, Noly is angry because Summer “blew her off” when she'd “found something better to do.” Better to do? Who would even know what she was doing?
Kyle would.
What was he saying about her at the Silversmith Party?
But then the second message.
Noly: Summer, I am so sorry - I can really get going when I get my bitch on. I got some bad intel. You are a hero. I can't think of anyone I'd rather give my money to. Be at my office on Wilshire on the 5th at 10 am and we'll get started on the Watts project.
It couldn't be true. It made no sense. But Noly had to be serious—she'd texted Summer using whole sentences, and Noly only did that when she meant business.
But what had happened? She must have gotten her bad intel from Kyle. But then ... what? Kyle had experienced a miraculous change of heart and told the truth, casting Summer in a more flattering light? As a hero?
; Her phone buzzed as another text from Noly came through.
Noly: And after watching that video, I am totally going 2 adopt a friend for my little Minka!
Video? Minka? Noly was going to adopt another Maltese?
Summer's head snapped up and she found Jeff watching her intently, looking like he was holding his breath.
“Jeff? Jeff? What did you do?”
“What's happening?” he asked instead. “Good or bad?”
“Jeff!” Summer cried. “I asked you first!”
“Okay. Okay. A text came through when you were with everybody. From Noly, and it was bad. I got her number off your phone and texted her the video of Starbuck's family reunion. And I wrote, “This is why Summer's late. She found a lost dog on the way to the party.”
Summer just stared at him, her eyes growing as round as planets.
“It was one of those moments, Summer. At least for me.” Jeff took a deep breath. “Noly was mad at you, and at a party. Any second she could put her phone away and not look at it for the rest of the night. If I didn't act right then, when I had the chance to make a difference, I … Please, just tell me what happened.”
“It worked,” Summer said quietly, almost as if she were just realizing it. She nodded slowly, trying to catch her suddenly short breath. “You were trying to help me, and it worked. She's giving me the green light. It really worked. IT WORKED!”
Summer threw herself at him, hugging him hard. She felt how solid his lean frame was under the Doctor Who T-shirt. He was warm and in her arms and felt so good. And he was hugging her back.
But then he pushed her away, holding her at arm's length. “Summer Hodiak, you kicked butt tonight.”
“Thanks to you!”
He bowed. “A pleasure, m'lady. An old Honda, grandma's quilts, and a cell phone. My weapons of choice.”
“Well, I don't have a scarf or hanky or anything to toss to you, so I guess I'll just feed you instead. If you want to come home with me,” she offered, “I'll cook for you.” But then she took a step back. “I mean, unless you just want to get home. I mean, to your home. You don't—”
“Summer,” he interrupted. “I'm starved. Let's go.”
“How's this for starters?” Summer led Jeff into her hallway of a kitchen. “I can put on a pot of coffee, and then we can get changed and warm up.” She turned to face him. “Or do you want hot chocolate?”
“Uh,” Jeff looked around the kitchen as if he'd never been in one before. “Both? I mean, can we mix them together?”
Summer's eyes brightened. “Perfect.”
She turned to the coffee pot and took filters from the cupboard just above. “And I can cook you up a swordfish steak. My parents sent me some for Christmas.”
“No, thanks.”
Summer glanced at him. “Oh. You don't like fish?”
“I'm a vegetarian.”
Summer's brows shot up as her mouth opened in a big smile. “Cool! Me, too. I make killer mac and cheese.”
“Great.” Jeff leaned against the counter and watched her fill the coffee pot with water. “You're a vegetarian, but your parents sent you fish?”
“They don't think fish counts.”
Jeff laughed. “Summer, you need to let your hair down.”
Summer turned to him, splaying her two open palms over the sticky mess on her head. “I do?”
“Definitely.” He reached forward, and slid one long pin out of her hair. Then he slid out the other pin. He stepped back, looking at her.
Summer stuck her hands into her hair and messed it up even more until the gooey mass shifted down toward her shoulders. “Okay,” she said, “now what?”
Jeff laughed again, throwing his hands up in the air. “Just shout it out. 'I'm Summer Hodiak and I don't eat cows or chickens or pigs or fishes or … or shrimp!”
“Or tomatoes,” she called out. “I hate tomatoes.”
“'Or tomatoes!'”
When they both stopped laughing, Summer leaned her butt against the counter and folded her arms. “I try,” she told him. “You know? I have all these rational, logical thoughts lined up in my head. But then, when they start talking to me, my family ... Suddenly I just feel like a stupid twelve year-old. I can't say anything coherent.” She looked at him then. “Know what I mean?”
“Uh … yeah.”
“Your family's like that, too?”
“Nah,” he said. “My family's cool.”
“Then who can't you talk to?”
He looked at Summer, then blinked. “Women.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Duh.”
“Women?”
“Yeah,” he assured her, turning to tidy up her trail, shutting cupboard doors and swiping away errant coffee grounds. “I'll know exactly what smart, charming thing to say, but then I'll walk up to her and say something lame like, 'Yeah, I have that one in tangerine.'”
Summer laughed. “You have what that's tangerine?'”
“When I was in college, there was this awesomely cute girl checking out an iBook in the campus store, so I go up to her. But all I manage to say is, 'Yeah, I have that one in tangerine.'”
“Well … I wasn't exactly Don Juan in college either,” Summer offered.
“Yeah, but ten years later, I'm not much better.”
“Not true.” Summer reached into the fridge for the milk. “You've never had any trouble talking to me.” She turned back to look at him, setting the milk on the counter. “Not at Consequence, not tonight. Never.”
“That's different.”
“Why?”
“You talk to me like a normal person,” he answered. “You have from the beginning.”
Summer scrunched her face. “I do what?”
“The first day we met,” he explained, “I walked into your office. You jumped up from your desk and said, 'You must be the man who's here to help me.' Summer, nobody ever refers to me like that.”
“As someone who helps them?”
“As a man,” he countered. “You came up to me and said, 'I'm Summer Hodiak.' And do you remember what I said?”
“Uh … You shook my hand and said, 'Jeff Tracy'?”
“Exactly! And everyday since, you've called me Jeff. Not 'IT Guy,' not 'Kid From the Basement,' not 'Computer Guy.' You're different, Summer, because you just jumped right in and started treating me like a person, not like a technogeek or a fanboy, both of which I am. But it doesn't seem to faze you. So, I never had to worry about approaching you. You were always just, like, 'Hi, here I am.'”
Summer's face fell. “But I'm trying to be more aloof than that, more composed. Rein myself in.”
“Why? Don't you like talking to me?”
“Of course I do! It's just ...”
“Summer, if you'd reined yourself in tonight, you wouldn't have gone racing into the rain in a thousand dollar dress to save an injured pit bull.”
She looked at him.
He took a step closer to her. “Do you really want to put away the woman who did that?”
Summer took a deep breath. Then another. Then another. She shook her head. “No.” Her breath quickened. “No, I don't. No!” She ripped off the sweatshirt and tossed it to Jeff. “I'm going to take a shower and wash this disgusting hairspray off my head! Can you start the macaroni? It's in the cupboard next to the fridge.”
Later, after consecutive hot showers and tag-team meal preparation, the two of them sat all warm and toasty, wearing Summer's flannel pajama pants and cotton T-shirts. They arranged their picnic on the living room floor and stretched their toes toward the real wood fire that crackled in the fireplace.
Summer took a sip of her coffee-cocoa. “I'm impressed that you can make a fire.”
“It's not that hard when you're an Earthling.” He took a bite of mac and cheese and his eyes almost popped out of his head. “Wow! Summer, this is fantastic.”
“To my mac and cheese!” She held out her mug to clink with Jeff's.
“And to my fire.” They clinked again.
�
�And to The New Year,” Summer added.
“Hey,” Jeff said, “Why don't you make a resolution. Something you really want to do, but you've been holding back.”
“I want ...” Summer could feel the excitement churning her up. “I want … to wear jeans to work!” She looked at him and laughed. “I mean, I'm a director. I can wear what I want, right? There's no dress code. Consequence is way too crunchy granola for that.”
“Steve Jobs wore jeans everyday,” Jeff added, “and he changed life as we know it.”
“And I want to go to Ireland,” she blurted. “To see The Cliffs of Moher!”
“Sounds spectacular.”
“What about you? What leaps do you want to take?”
“Me? I'm going to bite the bullet,” he decided. “From now on, when I like a woman, I'm going to ask her out. No excuses, no missed opportunities. I'm just going to do it.”
“Sounds good.”
“And I'm going to adopt a dog,” he said, as if suddenly realizing it. “But I live in an apartment, so I should get an old dog, who's not bouncing off the walls. And I work all day, so he'll need a friend. So I'll adopt two old dogs.”
“And I'll get two big cats,” Summer chimed in. “Sometimes I can go on a painting bender all weekend and forget what day it is or that I need to eat. Not so good for a dog. But at least the cats will have a litter box and water and I can put dry food out all day.”
“Maybe we could go adopting together,” Jeff suggested.
“Absolutely,” Summer agreed.
“Wait,” Jeff said. “No, that's not really what I want. I mean, no, I mean, yes, I want to adopt the dogs, but—”
A flurry of noise drifted into the apartment. Horns, music, cheers. Summer looked at the digital clock on the DVD player. “Midnight,” she said softly.
Jeff held up his mug of chocolatey coffee. “To keeping resolutions and living life to the fullest.”
“To keeping resolutions,” she agreed. “And to Starbuck. And to us.” They tapped their mugs together again.
Jeff put down his cup and turned to face Summer. “I said that in the New Year, I'd ask out a woman if I liked her, so—Summer Hodiak,” he said, on a quick intake of breath, “will you go out with me?”
All Summer on a Date: Three Romantic Comedy Short Stories Page 3
