Fifteenth Summer - By Michelle Dalton Page 0,46
chest, and headed back to the kitchen.
I flipped through the book until I found the perfect passage.
Nicole and Kai danced on the sand, and the gossamer moonbeams danced with them, I typed. When Nicole placed her slender fingers upon Kai’s chest, she felt that his heart beat in time with her own; it beat for her.
I bit my lip through a grin and hit send.
The chime of his reply came only a couple minutes later.
So, can I go ahead and get that number from you?
My hands shook a little as I typed my number into the reply box.
It only took a minute or two for the phone in the pocket of my khakis to start buzzing.
I felt happier than I had in a very long time. I was sure Josh would be able to tell through the phone when I answered.
But that was okay. I wanted him to.
I flipped the phone open.
“Hi,” I said. “It’s me.”
The funny thing about dating Josh was that it took us a while to go on an actual date.
Our obvious first choice—seeing the fireworks on the Fourth of July—got squelched by a massive thunderstorm.
For days after that we were both scheduled to work. So we did a lot of flitting back and forth between Mel & Mel’s and Dog Ear.
He was the first one to sit in my section, for instance, whenever I started my afternoon shift at the coffee shop.
The third time he showed up at precisely two p.m. and settled himself into my section’s corner booth, I laughed and said, “Oh, you again?”
“Can I help it if I really, really like pie?” Josh asked. “I get peckish at two p.m.”
“You did not just use the word ‘peckish,’ ” I said.
“I read it,” Josh said, holding up the book he’d brought with him. “It’s no Coconut Dreams, but . . .”
“Oh!” I said. “Allison Katzinger? I love her! But . . . wait a minute! Leaves of Trees? I’ve never heard of that one, and I’ve read all her books. Or at least I thought I had . . .”
“This is a galley of her book that’s about to come out,” Josh said. “She’s coming here in August and I’m doing the poster, so I thought I’d re—”
“Oh my God!” I said. I sat down across from him and grabbed the table. “Why didn’t you tell me you had the new Allison Katzinger? And she’s coming here? To Bluepointe?”
“Yeah,” Josh said with a shrug. “My mom arranged it. That’s her favorite part of having a bookstore.”
“So, is it good?” I asked Josh. “What am I saying? Of course it’s good. But is it devastatingly good? I mean, is it one of her funny ones or one of her tragic ones? I can never decide which kind I love more—”
“Listen,” Josh offered, “I’ll need it back, but if you want to read it, you could bor—”
Before he could finish his sentence, I’d reached across the table and snatched the book out of his hand.
“Really?” I blurted. “You know I’ll read it so fast. I can’t believe I have to wait six hours to start. I’m sooooo excited.”
“I’m beginning to think you just like me for my books,” Josh said.
“Just like you like me for my pie,” I said. I passed the book back to him and let my fingertips touch his for a quick, thrilling moment before I stood up. “Hold that for me? I’ll be right back.”
When I returned, I presented him with a slice of lemon meringue.
“Is this what you normally do?” Josh said, giving me a confused smile. “Choose pie flavors for your customers?”
“I know what you were going to order,” I said.
At the same time we both said, “Cherry.”
“But trust me on this?” I whispered, glancing over my shoulder to make sure neither of the Mels was within earshot. “You want to go with graham cracker crust for the next couple days. Melanie’s, erm, tinkering with the fruit pie crust.”
“Don’t tell me . . . ,” Josh groaned.
“Yup,” I whispered, “mayonnaise. I’m afraid to try it.”
Josh grinned as he took a big bite of his lemon pie.
“Mmm, good choice,” he said.
I felt a little zing. I loved that I knew Josh’s favorite pie flavor, just like he knew that I took my coffee with five creamers and two sugars (even if he did make fun of me for it).
He’d told me that he loathed his dictator-like high school art teacher and had learned most of his drawing techniques on YouTube.
And I’d