Finding Summer - Suzanne Halliday Page 0,201

lighter until checking the compartment under the bowl to make sure there wasn’t an old propane cylinder attached. He was relieved to find the compartment empty.

Remembering at the last second to take the liquor bottles out of his pocket, he set them on a small folding table. Opening the cigar case, he quickly chose and cut one of the Nicaraguan-made coronas. Flipping open the lighter, he lit the flame and held it near the end of the cigar without touching the leaves. Rotating until it was evenly lit, he put it to his lips and gently blew the smoke out rather than draw it in. There were a ton of technical reasons he did this, but the only one that mattered was he’d been taught to blow first and suck second.

Sucking gently, he filled his mouth with the tasty smoke. He let the mouthful linger before slowly blowing it away. Smoking a cigar was an act of relaxation and not something to be rushed. Taking his time, he puffed slowly and let the calming ritual permeate his senses. Blowing smoke rings at the moon and watching the ash tip lengthen were exactly what he needed.

The quiet and smoke went a long way to managing his tension. Knowing Summer was so close did things to every part of him. He was operating at maximum and wasn’t sure how long he could keep it up without cracking.

He wanted her so bad it caused his whole body to ache with longing. Sex was only a part of it. His need to have her close, to hear her outrageous giggle and watch her stick every landing, was rearranging how he viewed the world.

And then there was the baby. His daughter. A daughter unwittingly named after his mother. There was no possible way Summer knew his mother’s name, so the unusual choice of Arianne Leigh was another sign from the universe.

Filling his mouth with smoke, Arnie found his thoughts growing heavy. Not only was Summer his to protect but there was also a three-month-old to consider. He was only okay with them as bait to lure Giselle into the open if he was absolutely certain he could manage the situation if it got ugly.

Was he certain?

Glancing at the night sky through a cloud of smoke, he checked in with his conscience and asked the big questions. What was he capable of and how far would he go to protect his family?

There was no internal debate. His priorities were in order.

A wisp of air blew past his face. He inhaled the sweet scents from the night-blooming landscaping. The soft notes of a song also hung on the night breeze. Mesmerized by the beauty of the starry sky, he didn’t narrow his focus at first, but the song called to him, and before long, he was listening intently.

His mind fluttered like pages in a book as he searched for a point of reference. Who was singing? Puffing the cigar, he closed his eyes, absorbed the pungent smoke, and caught the lyrics a second before it dawned on him.

Bruno Mars. “Talking to the Moon.” Izzy requested it at Jon and Lorelai’s wedding reception. He remembered wondering if the ongoing, messy saga of Felicity Toy and Neal Barber was going through a rough patch—hence the song request.

Taking another puff, he set the cigar on the edge of the table and stood. Where exactly was the music coming from? The way the neighborhoods in this part of the Valley were laid out, the block walls surrounding the yards made it tough to pinpoint.

The house on the right was dark and quiet. The house behind had a yappy dog earlier but all was quiet now.

He walked to the wall separating where he stood from Summer’s backyard. The closer he got, the more his body vibrated. Outdoor floodlights were visible but nothing more.

Was Summer in her yard? Listening to music?

His eyes darted everywhere. If he wanted to see over the wall, he needed something to stand on.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. The crappy lawn chairs and rickety table were accidents waiting to happen.

The Bruno Mars song ended. Holding his breath, Arnie strained to hear what played next. Summer’s love of classic rock got him grinning when an oldie but goodie filled the air. This time, it was the apropos, “Dancing in the Moonlight.” He knew the song but couldn’t remember the artist.

A soft giggle stole his breath, his ability to think, and his heart.

Fuck! He had to see over the damn wall.

Dashing inside, he