Kiss Me in the Summer - Barbara Dunlop Page 0,67

far enough to focus on my face.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“He’s a good dog.”

Josh loosened his hold and eased away from me. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here.”

He smiled. Then he unexpectedly gave me a quick kiss before pivoting away, taking a different door into the kitchen.

Light flared up inside the kitchen, flooding out through the doorway and the windows.

I sat down on a little sofa next to Butch’s chair and gazed into the flickering orange flames. My lips tingled, and my mind sang with the memory of Josh’s embrace.

Then my phone rang.

I checked the screen and saw it was Cecily. I didn’t want to break the moment. I wanted to be here, mind and body, in Rutter’s Point. I didn’t want my New York City life reaching out to me right now. I wasn’t sure I wanted my New York City life reaching out to me ever again.

I shook off the feeling and answered, trying to muster some enthusiasm. It wasn’t Cecily’s fault she was interrupting.

“Hey there,” I said, not quite pulling off the enthusiasm I’d hoped.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Did you hear already?”

“Hear what?” I looked at Josh through the window, watching his movement in the kitchen.

“Hear that Laatz and Wallingsford started a whisper campaign.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, not wanting the Rutter’s Point magic to evaporate. “Against me?” I already knew the answer.

“Both you and Elizabeth.”

“Why? Why did they need to do that?”

“They’re embarrassed that Elizabeth quit. They didn’t count on her having support in the legal community.”

“They’re fighting back,” I guessed, feeling disheartened.

“They had to make you both sound bad, like the LeFroy thing was the last straw.”

“Why? Why’d they have to do that? I was going away quietly.”

Butch looked up at the sound of my voice. He gazed at me for a second then hopped down from the chair to put his head in my lap.

“You shouldn’t go away quietly,” Cecily said. “They’re wrong, and you’re right, and you should fight them.”

She was right. But I didn’t feel like fighting against the sharks of Manhattan. I wanted hot chocolate. I wanted to stay right here where it was warm and cozy and calm.

I scratched Butch between his ears.

“I’m knee deep in doggie adoptions,” I said.

Cecily sounded puzzled. “You’re what?”

“The doggy adoptions. The summer festival. It’s all going very well.” I almost invited her to visit.

It would be fun for Cecily to see Rutter’s Point. I wanted to tell her about Josh adopting Butch, how happy it had made me. But I knew she wouldn’t understand. There was too much context, and it was too complicated to explain over the phone.

“I’m going to talk to Elizabeth,” Cecily said. “She’ll fight with you.”

“I don’t want to make things worse.” I hated that I’d messed up Elizabeth’s career as well as my own.

“Snap out of it, Laila,” Cecily said. “They can’t get away with this.”

“Fighting them will only make it worse.” I knew there were other options. New York was a big city. They couldn’t whisper to everyone.

Inside the kitchen, Josh lifted the mugs of hot chocolate and turned for the door.

“It won’t make it worse.”

“Cecily—”

“I’ve got another call,” she said.

“Don’t do anything without talking to me.”

“No worries. Talk later. Bye.” She ended the call just as Josh came out on the deck.

“You got a call?” he asked as he set the mugs down on the table and sat down next to me.

There was another little sofa out here, and three empty chairs, but I was glad to have him close.

“It was Cecily,” I said.

“Oh?” He picked up one of the mugs and handed it to me.

I thought about saying something blithe and chipper about Cecily and New York, keeping it light and inconsequential. But I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to share my feelings with him.

He looked at me more closely. “What is it?”

“Laatz and Wallingsford are trying to undermine my reputation.”

He frowned. “Can they get away with that?”

“If they’re not overt . . . If we can’t prove they’re lying . . . If I don’t bother fighting it . . .”

“You don’t want to fight it?” He seemed to study my expression.

“I don’t know.”

For some reason, he smiled.

“What?”

“Two weeks ago, you’d have been lacing up the gloves.”

“I would not.”

He raised his brows. He was probably right.

“It’s the hot chocolate,” I said. I reached for my mug and took a sip. “Oh, man, that’s good.”

“It’s you,” he said.

I pretended to misunderstand. “No, it’s really good hot chocolate. You