Midsummer Fling - Abby Knox
Chapter 1
Penny
Distractions and daydreams about spreading my beach towel on the white sands of a tropical beach somewhere are going to get me fired, but this work meeting is boring. It’s summertime; I have to get out of here.
Alas, my marketing paycheck contains hardly enough disposable cash for a palm-tree vacation, at least not on my own.
I could have joined my housemates, who at the moment are soaking up the Costa Rican sun by sharing one bland hotel room among the three of them, as I sit here listening to a presentation about market saturation. The costs of that trip, plus airfare, would have been manageable for my wallet. However, yet more time spent with housemates does not appeal to me at the moment; I’m aching for solitude alongside the sounds of crashing waves. Sun, sand, water, peace, and quiet. A grown-up vacation. I need to get away from the people I live with. I love them, but we all need a breather sometimes.
Besides, what if I met a nice fellow on the beach and wanted to bring him back to the room? Having vacation roommates would be inconvenient for hookups, to say the least.
My low-key search online for affordable rentals within a reasonable driving distance surprises me with a photo that floods me with a familiar ache. I am not prepared for what I see. The rustic cabin of my childhood summers jumps out at me. Scrolling under the conference table while my colleagues drone on about marketplace disrupters, I am looking at photos of the lakefront hideaway my parents rented every summer from when I was five years old until well into my teens.
As I swipe through, I start to believe in fate as well as time having the ability to stand still. The same dock where whatshisname gave me my first kiss, if that even counts as a first kiss. Jackie Sneedle said it didn’t count when I told her the story, but I hardly think the opinions of my fifth-grade frenemy ever matter when it comes to romance.
Biting my lip to hide a goofy smile, I keep scrolling through the listing photos on the sly. There was the raft anchored just off the lakeshore where I learned to dive. The fire pit where we made s’mores. The sidewalk where my sister and I drew butterflies with chalk.
My heart catches in my throat for a second because this further brings up an embarrassing memory of the boy who kissed me. I could not remember his name at first, but now I do. More clearly, I remember the color of his swim trunks. They had surfboards on them and I thought he was so mature even though he was a gangly 13-year-old and I was 10. I had written with chalk on that sidewalk something to the effect of “Penny hearts Joshua,” and my sister teased me relentlessly for the rest of our vacation. “Penny and Joshua, sitting in a tree.” She avoided a punch to the popsicle hole by the sheer luck of being two years my junior.
Teasing notwithstanding, the chalk scrawling got that boy’s attention, and he and I briefly became swimming buddies. He taught me how to do headstands in the water and later on, after vacation, we were pen pals for a few months until both of us became busy with school.
“Penelope, do you have anything to add?”
I’m slammed back into the fluorescent lighting of the boardroom where I’m supposed to be paying attention to the presentation. “Oh, yes,” I say, placing my phone facedown on the table.
I perform my best impression of a model employee until I can sneak off an email to the owner of the rustic lakeside resort. The website says it’s booked up all summer, but you never know what could happen.
The email reply comes within minutes: “You’re in luck. We just had a cancellation for a two-week reservation. It’s yours if you want it.”
I jump on it, and now I’m way more excited than I ever thought I would be over a vacation right here in the upper Midwest.
And there’s another reason to be excited and sentimental about it. Since my sweet mom passed away last year, this trip also could be a fitting tribute to her. From the cabin resort on the Great Lakes, I could take a day trip to that place where Dad never wanted to take my mom. I wonder if I’m allowed to do what I’m thinking of doing. Will I get in trouble with