Until Summer Ends

  UNTIL SUMMER ENDS

  a Redwood Bay romance

  by Elana Johnson

  Cleis Press

  Copyright © 2016 by Elana Johnson.

  All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, television or online reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the Publisher.

  Published in the United States by Cleis Press, an imprint of Start Midnight, LLC, 101 Hudson Street, Thirty-Seventh Floor, Jersey City, New Jersey 07302.

  Printed in the United States.

  Cover design: Scott Idleman/Blink

  Cover photograph: iStock Photo

  First Edition.

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-62778-185-5

  Chapter One

  Sophie Newton had seen enough newlyweds to overdose on sweetness without even getting a taste of sugar.

  “Carne asada quesadillas,” she called out the window of her beachside taco stand, The Sandy Tortilla. She pasted on a fake smile when a woman stepped forward, her wedding ring blinding Sophie with its obvious brand-new sparkle.

  Her stomach lurched like she’d swallowed a spoonful of sucrose laced with fructose, followed by a chaser of glucose. It was a miracle she wasn’t diabetic after nearly ten years of business here in the small town—but big tourist attraction—of Redwood Bay.

  She returned to the orders hanging above her grill, focusing on tossing the chicken onto the flattop, slathering cilantro spread on the tortilla, and crisping up the chips.

  With her utmost concentration on her cooking, she didn’t have room to obsess over her ex-fiancé, Clint.

  “Chicken verde,” she called, and a teenage girl stepped up. At least she wasn’t in her early twenties with a huge rock on her finger.

  Sophie glanced down at her left hand, where, until recently, she had worn a gold band with a single diamond. Clint hadn’t wanted to set a date, something that frustrated Sophie. She liked deadlines, and lists, and meeting goals. Without a date for the wedding, she couldn’t plan the event.

  Which is just fine now that there is no wedding, she told herself as she dropped an order of taquitos into the fryer.

  “We’ll need more chips,” Jenna said over her shoulder as she put up yet another order.

  “On it.”

  Jenna had one year of high school left and needed money for college. Sophie was more than happy to help her—she was tan and blonde, which attracted customers. Even better, Jenna was never late.

  Sophie ran the beachside taco stand from mid-April until mid-October. She’d been making ends meet by waitressing in the off-season. The Food Network had featured her taco stand at the beginning of the summer as a must-stop for northern California. Tourists visiting the Redwood National Forest had started dropping by to try the fresh food at The Sandy Tortilla, and with the increased income, Sophie was hoping she wouldn’t have to deliver hamburgers and milkshakes this winter.

  A flash of pride stole through her. If only her father were still alive to see her blooming success.

  Working quickly to drive his ever-present and hurtful words from her mind, she sliced homemade tortillas into triangles and filled the fryer.

  Timer set. She turned back to the prep area.

  Steak down. The sizzle of meat on the hot grill made her smile.

  Shrimp done. She swept them up and placed them on top of the waiting tacos.

  One, two, three. She dolloped chive butter on the shrimp.

  “Shrimp tacos,” she called, and another couple stepped forward.

  After taking the food, the woman giggled and then fed a perfectly sautéed shrimp to her new husband. Sophie kept her smile in place as she coached herself not to gag at the beachside love-fest.

  “Soph.” Jenna hipped her. “The timer’s going off on those chips.”

  Sophie startled. She had a lot of orders to complete for this lunch rush. She didn’t have time to stand around and stare at ridiculously happy couples, or allow her father’s opinions to haunt her, or think about Clint—and all that she’d lost when he’d ended things.

  Married to that taco stand, echoed through Sophie’s mind through the rest of the lunch service, no matter how hard she concentrated on her tasks. Clint blamed their failed relationship on the already present marriage between her and her business. Said she couldn’t fully give him the attention he deserved.

  The quality of the food didn’t suffer—Sophie was too much of a perfectionist for that—but she couldn’t shake Clint’s words, old as they were. Just like she couldn’t outwork her father’s. You’ll never make a beachside taco stand successful.

  Well, she was proving that wrong.

  “Finally,” Jenna said, slumping against the stainless steel counter she’d just finished wiping. “I’ve never seen the lunch line so long! Did you see that six-foot-forever-tall guy wearing the arm floaties?” She laughed as she wiped her forehead, though a bead of sweat couldn’t be found.

  “And it’s only Thursday,” Sophie reminded her. “The weekend will be worse.” At the end of July, Sophie and The Sandy Tortilla were in peak season.

  “About this weekend….” Jenna wouldn’t meet Sophie’s eye.

  Sophie sighed. She worked seven days a week but she didn’t expect Jenna to, though she was scheduled to work the lunch rush on both Saturday and Sunday.

  “I’ll find someone to cover for you,” Sophie said, though a vein of frustration stole through her. “Where are you going?”

  “A bunch of us are going down the coast to San Francisco with our church group.”

  Sophie listened as Jenna detailed their theater plans and the tours their leaders had arranged. Then she moved on to the supply order she needed while Jenna finished making the tortillas and put them in the fridge.

  “See you tomorrow,” Jenna called to Sophie as she left.

  Sophie stayed in the taco stand, marinating chicken and cleaning shrimp, enjoying the silence after Jenna’s nonstop chatter. She knew the moment her dinner help was tardy. She didn’t set an alarm on her phone for nothing. She’d hired Harley at the beginning of the summer, and she was habitually late—something Sophie found utterly maddening. With only fifteen minutes before she reopened the stand, she decided to call Harley.

  A woman answered on the fifth ring.

  “Oh, hello,” Sophie said. “I’m looking for Harley.”

  “She’s in the hospital,” the woman said. “Is this Sophie? She kept saying I needed to call you, but I couldn’t find the number.” She gave a little laugh.

  Sophie’s mind whirred. “I’m so sorry. Is she—I mean, will she be OK?”

  “Surfing accident,” she said. “She has a broken leg. She says she’s sorry, because she won’t be in to work for a while.”

  “Of-of course,” Sophie stammered, her heart thumping like she was at the top of a tall roller coaster and about to drop over a rise. “I hope she gets better fast. Tell her not to worry about anything here.”

  She hung up, numb and staring. The clock above the window said she only had ten minutes until she opened. She couldn’t take orders and cook. If she couldn’t open for dinner, she’d definitely have to wait tables at the diner come October. Her father’s taunts were as loud as ever in her head.

  She dialed Jenna and only got her voicemail. She needed help, and now. Sophie burst from her stand, the briny air a welcome addition to her lungs. She spent all day mere yards from the ocean, yet she never truly enjoyed it.

  A line had already formed in front of the taco stand. She glanced around as if someone from Workforce Services would materialize with a c
andidate who had experience with restaurants. If only she could be so lucky.

  She saw local families—not an option. Tourists—even worse. Teenagers in groups. No, no, no. She needed someone who appeared to be alone. But who came to the beach alone?

  Down the beach she spotted a tall man wearing a gray tank top, khaki shorts—not swimming trunks—and high tops. Odd beachwear, she thought, striding toward him. As she neared, she saw he also sported a tool belt, and then a bikini-clad mother and two tan children approached him.

  He whipped balloons from his belt, blew them up, and twisted them into animals and hats before she could reach him. He grinned at the family as they paid.

  “What are you doing?” she practically yelled.

  He turned toward her, his blindingly white teeth disappearing as his smile faded. “I’ve got a license to work this beach,” he said, looking her up and down.

  When his impossibly blue eyes met hers again, Sophie almost melted under the male hotness drinking her in. She couldn’t quite remember why she’d strode halfway across the beach. Her heart sprinted like she’d been running. She turned back the way she’d come, and with the view of the line in front of her taco stand, her desperation for help came roaring back.

  She gestured toward her stand down the beach. “The girl who takes my orders broke her leg. I’m in desperate need of someone who can help for a couple of hours.”

  He peered past her. “The Sandy Tortilla?” He said the words like they tasted sour in his mouth.

  She narrowed her eyes. Just because he was Y-chromosome perfection didn’t mean he could be rude. Besides, if he’d tasted her fish tacos, he wouldn’t be talking like that. “How much would you make in the next few hours making balloon animals?” she asked, trying to keep her panic from rearing. She hadn’t finished prepping yet; she’d be behind before she even started. She swallowed hard; her throat felt so tight.

  “I don’t know,” he said, running his hand through his short, blond hair. Sophie had the sudden urge to experience the same thing as his fingers. “I don’t really keep track of stuff like that.”

  “Well, I do,” she said, annoyed despite his gorgeous hair. What business owner didn’t know their profit margin? “And if I can’t open for dinner, I’ll lose a lot of money. I can’t—” She cleared her throat. “I’ll pay you…a hundred dollars. For three, no, four hours. Please.” The begging tonality of her voice didn’t escape her.

  He peered at her again, sending a shock down her spine. Was he equipped with X-ray vision? Did he like what he saw? Sophie self-consciously brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead, wishing she’d gone home to freshen up before dinner service. Ludicrous! She never went home between lunch and dinner to freshen up. Why was her brain rebelling against her now?

  She shifted in the sand and stared steadily back into his dark-blue eyes. With his sandy blond hair, he was the opposite of Clint, who was tall, dark, and handsome. Not that this guy wasn’t attractive, he was just a different kind of good-looking. A fantastic different.

  She’d always preferred men who looked like Clint. This guy was tall all right, but the darkest thing about him was the ring around his stormy blue irises—or maybe the scowl on his face as he continued to scrutinize her.

  She wished he’d smile again. Then he’d transform from this glaring giant into a golden god worthy of her worship.

  Sophie shook her head to dislodge the ridiculous thoughts. She didn’t have time to stand here and stare at this guy, even if he was the embodiment of how flawless a man could look.

  “You seem pretty desperate.” He raised his eyebrows, which also accelerated her heart rate. “How about two hundred, and I get to make balloons for your customers waiting in line for the rest of the summer?” He waggled his balloons like they’d entice her.

  Sophie thought about the next couple of months with this man nearby. Not a bad idea.

  Yes, it’s a very bad idea, she told herself. She didn’t mix business with pleasure—and this guy was definitely in the pleasure category.

  “Deal.” She needed space from his now-dazzling smile, and she started back toward the stand, the man in step beside her. “I’m Sophie Newton,” she said. “It’s a pretty easy gig. People tell you want they want, you write it down, and take their money. I’ll show you where the tickets go so I can make the orders. You can make change?”

  “I’ve waited tables in LA,” he said. “And the name’s Montgomery Winters.”

  Sophie almost laughed. “Montgomery?”

  “You can call me Monty.” He flashed her a grin that made her stumble in the sand.

  She shook herself mentally. “Monty it is.”

  She’d call him Thor if he could help her through the next four hours.

  Chapter Two

  Mont had a hard time keeping a straight face as he walked down the beach with Sophie. Monty. He suppressed another chuckle. Did he seriously look like a Monty to her?

  The way she strode toward her target spoke volumes. She hadn’t really looked at him—her determined stare didn’t count. He wished he hadn’t wasted so much time in the gym. It clearly wasn’t working.

  At the same time, he’d managed to get double what she’d offered, and he needed the money. He thought about his parents in Kansas, and the steep medical expenses they faced. He tried to help out as much as possible, and two hundred dollars for a few hours of work was very helpful. He mentally kicked himself when he realized he probably could’ve gotten more.

  “How long have you worked this stand?” he asked, forcing the image of his father wearing an oxygen mask out of his mind. Sophie was a pretty little distraction, and he beamed down at her.

  “I own this stand,” she corrected, a little huffily, if he did say so himself. And he did.

  Her feet caught the sand and she took an extra-big step to right herself. “I’ve owned it for nine years.”

  “OK,” he said.

  The line outside her stand stretched toward the water. Located at the junction of the highway and the boat harbor in Redwood Bay, Sophie’s taco joint had prime real estate. No wonder she’d been desperate for his help.

  “I haven’t seen you around town before.” Sophie opened the side door to her stand and waited for him to step inside. The smell of roasting meat mingled with the delicious aroma of salsa and the somewhat less appealing scent of oil. The fryer to his right was the culprit, and he moved further into the shack.

  “I’m here for the summer from LA,” he said as he glanced around for a spot to leave his balloon supplies. Every surface was clean, polished. The grill had obviously been scrubbed after lunch. He cast a sidelong look at Sophie, who had already picked up a knife. He admired her drive and her attention to detail almost as much as he appreciated her slender figure and toned arms. As she ran her knife through a rainbow of bell peppers without even looking at them, he discovered that chopping was obviously her method of weight training.

  “I have a menu taped to the wall right above the register. There are abbreviations for everything.” She stepped through the aisle to where he stood, pointing with the tip of her knife. “If you can, use these. If not, just write it down. I’ll figure it out.”

  “Sounds peachy.” He took a deep drag of air, getting a scent of her shampoo. Pineapple. He pictured her in a tropical setting, one of those fruity cocktails in her hand, wearing a bikini. Sexy.

  She stared at him like she wasn’t sure if he was real. He simply put his hands in his pockets and grinned.

  She retreated quickly. “We open in five minutes. Maybe you can memorize a few abbreviations by then.”

  “I’ll make it work.” Mont didn’t look at the menu though. He watched Sophie as she finished prepping the vegetables and started throwing tomatoes and jalapenos in a food processor. She worked with the precision of a trained chef, with the razor-edge focus of someone with goals, plans, and a future. He wondered what he’d gotten himself into, even if it was only for one night.

  Or maybe longer,
he thought. He could handle hard-edged and detail-oriented if he got to witness her gyrations as she stirred the queso.

  Sophie had swept her hair into a high ponytail, and the color of the strands ranged from the dominant shade of honey to a darker brown. She had a body for the beach, covered in tight yoga pants and a yellow tank top. Her clothes didn’t do anything to downplay her curves, and his gaze traced every line. He spun away from her when he realized he was staring—and liking what he saw.

  Mont practically threw his tool belt on the shelf under the cash register and tore the menu from the wall. Why was he thinking about what she was wearing? Or that her eyes were a unique color between green and brown? In what felt like seconds, Sophie opened the window, and then Mont couldn’t think about her, because it was all about the tacos, quesadillas, and nachos.

  As he wrote the tickets and counted change, he observed the people on the beach. Groups of teenagers, obviously locals, came through the line, ordering nothing but chips and salsa—which he learned was his job to serve. He was supposed to alert Sophie when the chips got low and get more salsa from the mini-fridge under the counter in the corner when it ran out.

  Newlyweds ordered fajitas or burritos and went back to their beach umbrellas. Children ran with each other and built sand castles while their parents read books and sent text messages. A trio of guys ran along the waterline at breakneck speed. Dogs barked and caught Frisbees.

  Mont worked hard, and Sophie put out the orders as fast as he took them. He couldn’t help but notice the thriving vibe on the beach, the lives of people as they interacted with each other. He didn’t see anyone who was alone—the way he was. The way he had been for the past two months since arriving in Redwood Bay.

  Wearing his balloon tool belt kept the suspicious or curious looks at bay. And no one cared if he was alone in a bar—not that he went into many of those. Four years sober, and never travelling that road again, Mont stuck to sports bars and drank soda. But no matter where he went, loneliness followed Mont, even when others surrounded him.