The benefit of looking like a stereotypical California girl was that people assumed she didn’t have a brain in her head and expected little. Which was handy when she wanted to be ignored, and annoying as hell the rest of the time.
She had big plans for her life, though she hadn’t told anyone about them. Telling invited scorn, doubt or ridicule. Or worse, polite encouragement that served as a front for total disbelief. Summer wanted to go to college—no, she was going to college. Full-time, not just taking one online class at a time the way she was doing now. And then she was going on to graduate school, in psychology. She’d be the first in her family to get an advanced degree. From there, Summer wanted to—was going to—become a therapist, to help kids who hadn’t grown up in a house with major identifiable drama for which there were already support networks in place, like alcoholism, drugs, physical abuse or mental illness. But for kids like herself, whose parents had just really sucked at child rearing.
But first...she had to be able to afford full-time college. She’d almost been there, had been planning to start in January, and then her car had died, and her flaky sister needed another loan to pay off credit-card debt, and Summer had had to use a chunk of her savings. A frustrating setback. She’d gotten a really nice scholarship from Cal Poly, and the administration had been great about helping her defer matriculation by a year, but she couldn’t keep putting it off.
Next fall, she’d make it there for sure.
The door opened. A kid came in, about her age, maybe a year or two older, wearing nearly round John Lennon sunglasses with smoky-gray frames. Very cool. A small shock of attraction hit her and she pushed the feeling away. Good-looking guys came into Slow Pour all the time. She should be used to it by now.
“Hey.” He ambled up to the counter, jeans and T-shirt hanging off his wiry frame. “Is Chris here?”
“Not until two.” She smiled pleasantly. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah, um...” He took off his sunglasses to reveal blue eyes framed by long black lashes; a silver ring pierced his right eyebrow. Heart-stopping eyes. Big-trouble eyes, the kind that made her feel stupidly flustered. Eyes that, now she thought about it, seemed oddly familiar. “I was looking for Chris.”
Uh. Hadn’t she just explained that Chris wasn’t here? “She’ll be here at two. I’m taking the morning shift today.”
“Yeah, um...yeah, okay. You said that. Sorry.”
“Did you want to leave her a message?”
“No, no. No, that’s okay.” He laughed nervously. His mouth was full and very sexy. “I’m being a dork, aren’t I?”
Summer lifted an eyebrow, not sure how strongly to agree with him. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m Luke.” He held out his hand. “Usually I’m very together. Very smooth. Probably the coolest guy you’ll ever meet.”
She couldn’t help a half smile. “Cool Hand Luke?”
“Sorry?”
“Never mind.” Obviously his parents didn’t watch TV incessantly. Hers practically never left their recliners. Her brother and sister had inherited the same disease. Summer had had it, too, until she reached high school and realized she was going to have to take responsibly for her own life if she wanted to live it differently. “I’m Summer. Did you want me to tell Chris you stopped by?”
“I was wondering if she wanted to come down to the beach with Zac and me. Do you—”
“You know Zac?” Summer adored Zac. If he was closer to her age, and if she had any chance with him, she’d fall madly in love. But he wasn’t, and she didn’t, so she kept her hormones under control.
“He’s my brother.”
“Right, of course.” No wonder those eyes looked familiar. Luke was considerably younger, thinner and darker than Zac, with a stronger nose, but the eyes were the same. This must be the brother Zac had flown to Connecticut to rescue from whatever mess he’d gotten himself into. “I should have guessed that.”
“Yeah, we’re like twins. Most people can’t even tell us apart. I’m surprised you didn’t think I was him when I walked in.”
That got a laugh. He was nervous, edgy, carrying around pain, she guessed. The signs were easy to recognize once you knew them. Her sister, Angela, was the same way. Hilarious, but in a way that made you uneasy to be around. “Can I get you some coffee?”
He glanced at his watch. “How about I come back at two and have a cup with you?”
Uh... Summer could handle this type of question easily from strangers—a quick, polite no, thanks—but she had a hard time saying no to Luke. “I’m not really supposed to date customers.”
“It’s not a date, and because Zac paid last time we were here, technically, I’m not a customer.” He shoved his fingers through his longish, ragged hair and shook it back into place. “No big deal. I’m new in town, don’t know anyone my age, just thought maybe...”
Summer bit her lip, taken aback by how much she wanted to accept. This kid had apparently been through some tough times and could use a friend. But she wasn’t sure how much trouble he’d gotten into, and she wasn’t wild about becoming part of his recovery.
“Never mind. Nice meeting you. Tell Chris I stopped by.” He tapped the counter and started walking away, trying to look cool but managing only to look too thin and fragile and rejected.
“Wait.” She gestured him back before she’d had time to think about what she was doing.
He turned, eyes hopeful. If he’d looked even remotely triumphant, she would have sent him out again, having realized he’d manipulated her. “Yeah?”
“What did you do? What did Zac have to rescue you from?”
“Only myself.” He looked younger when he smiled big like that. “I got into a bar fight. I was drinking too much, hanging with the wrong crowd. But I went to therapy and now I’m perfect.”
Summer laughed. “Yeah, congratulations on that.”
“Change your mind about coffee? I’m harmless. Just looking for a friend.”
Summer grinned. She had a thing for damaged guys, had dated a couple, attracted by their need, naively thinking she could help them. But she’d discovered that damaged guys made really poor partners. All their energy went into coping with just being themselves. “No, thanks. But I’ll see you around, I’m sure. Carmia’s a small place.”
“Yeah, maybe some other time.” He looked so sweet and hopeful she felt herself softening.
“Maybe.”
“Let me know when you’re ready. I’m a patient guy.”
She doubted that. But she did feel bad for him. She understood loneliness, how it could alter your perception of everything, from how you felt about yourself to how you felt about the weather. And she understood that impulse, when you felt adrift, to latch onto someone who was firmly anchored.
“See ya.” Luke backed up a few steps, putting
