Until Summer Ends

  And now he was gone.

  Sophie doubted he’d come back to Redwood Bay. She forced herself to send a good luck! text, and then she got in the shower so she couldn’t obsessively check her phone.

  Before heading over to The Sandy Tortilla, she turned on her computer to run through her finances. She was making less this year because of Mont’s high wages. Even with what he’d been returning these past couple of weeks, her savings still showed she barely had enough to make it until December. Good thing Lucy had promised her the lunch shift at the diner.

  She sat back and thought about all the things Mont had told her about his family. The devotion he felt to his father was deep, and real, and Sophie hadn’t minded paying him too much. She knew he was sending that money home, and she felt like she was helping his parents in some small way.

  She clicked open a new browser window and let her fingers hover over the keyboard. She’d been trying to guess Mont’s real name, and her list of names was long. She wondered, though, if there might be some vital records in Oskaloosa, Kansas that would speed her process.

  Unsure of why it mattered what Mont’s legal name was, Sophie typed in the city name and “vital records” and let Google work its magic. Without a last name, though, all she found was a list of names that didn’t mean anything. Any of them could be Mont’s family, and she wouldn’t know.

  She didn’t know his birthday. Didn’t know when his parents had sold the farm. Didn’t know any relevant dates that would narrow the search.

  She closed the window as another idea came to life. Mont was a balloon artist. Maybe he had a website.

  Nothing came up under the search terms of Montgomery Winters and balloon artist, except for a long list of YouTube tutorials on how to make various projects.

  She clicked over to one, then another, then another. On that page, she saw a familiar face in the related videos section. Mont’s face.

  The video, uploaded just a couple of weeks ago, showed Mont standing in his studio apartment, making a blue whale. But it was Francis Kemmencher who claimed the credit for this latest balloon creation.

  “Francis,” Sophie whispered. The name was on her list, about ten down from her current guessing location. “That’s not so bad.”

  He didn’t seem like a Francis, and she understood why he’d changed his name to try to make it in Hollywood.

  She picked up her phone and sent him another text. Falcon?

  Before she could put her phone away, she got an incoming text from Polly. Fun night saying good-bye to Mont?

  Sophie couldn’t stand to go through another marathon texting session, especially not when she’d botched the good-bye. She put her phone on silent and made a list of the many things she needed to accomplish that day.

  By Friday night, Sophie’s insides writhed like she’d swallowed fire. Mont hadn’t called the night before, because his flight across the Atlantic was an all-nighter. She knew he’d be calling in just a few short hours, just one dinner service. She shouldn’t be so nervous about a phone call, but she was.

  When Blaine banged through the door, Sophie jumped. “Oh, you scared me!” She hadn’t been able to sense him, and she missed Mont more than ever. The connection between them was palpable, and hollowness carved its way through Sophie’s chest at his absence.

  He raised his right eyebrow. “Sorry.” He put on the black apron and sighed when he picked up the pen.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Nothing.” But when Blaine said nothing, it meant something. Sophie would just have to go fishing. Luckily, she knew how to bait this hook.

  “Bad week at work?”

  “It was fine.” Blaine doodled on the order-taking pad, his face forlorn.

  “How’s your mom?” Sophie knew Blaine wouldn’t make her search for information about the health of his mother.

  “She’s not dead yet.”

  “So it’s Lucy.”

  Blaine scowled, pressed harder with the pen and kept quiet.

  Not wanting to butt in when she hadn’t been asked, Sophie considered telling him to get over himself and get ready for the Friday night crowd. It was Labor Day weekend, after all. Big celebration in town. He wouldn’t have time to pine over Lucy for long.

  “Want some advice?” She didn’t want him to think she thought she had all the answers. One thought about Mont proved she certainly didn’t.

  “I guess,” Blaine said, finally putting the pen down. “I can’t even get myself to go into the diner anymore.”

  “That’s what Lucy told me.” Sophie purposely kept her back to Blaine so she couldn’t see his reaction.

  “You talked to her about me?”

  “Briefly,” Sophie said. “And it wasn’t really about you. She was giving me some advice about Mont, and her situation came up.”

  “Her situation?”

  She laughed. “Can you do anything but repeat what I say in the form of a question?”

  Blaine stepped next to her. “This isn’t a joke.” He looked down at her, a mixture of hope and devastation on his face. “You know I’ve asked her to marry me four times?”

  A profound sadness radiated through Sophie, because yes, Lucy had said as much, just not in those words.

  “She didn’t say that,” Sophie hedged. “She just said she knows what it’s like to choose your business over love, and she didn’t want me to make the same mistake she did.”

  “She said it was a mistake?” Blaine sounded so hopeful.

  Sophie couldn’t bring herself to smile. “She did, Blaine. And I told her I didn’t think her chance with you was gone. Did I tell her the truth?”

  He glanced away. “I can’t be rejected for a fifth time. I won’t do that. I just—I mean, I already feel like a fool, you know?”

  Drawing him into a hug, Sophie wished she could take some of his pain. “I know. Why’d you stop going around the diner?”

  “It’s too hard.” He held onto her like he needed her to survive. “I love her, and I don’t know how to stop. It’s easier if I just stay away.”

  “Well, she noticed,” Sophie said. “If that means anything.”

  “What should I do?”

  “Let’s go to breakfast tomorrow,” she suggested. “It’ll be packed for the holiday, and she’ll be ultra busy. See how she reacts.”

  Blaine nodded, stepped away and cleared his throat. “So, you and Mont?”

  “Maybe,” Sophie said, and that summed up their whole relationship. She’d texted it to death with Polly; she’d eaten more ice cream these past two weeks than she had in months, just to talk to Lucy. She didn’t want to know what Blaine thought.

  Sophie fell asleep on the couch waiting for Mont to call. When he finally did, she fumbled the phone and dropped it. She swore as she swiped to answer. “Hello?”

  “Hey,” he said, and his voice sounded stretched thin. “You still awake? I know it’s late there.”

  “Yeah.” She stifled a yawn. “Busy night is all.”

  “Too tired to talk?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “Tell me everything.”

  He chuckled. “OK, but it’s a lot. Should I start with me or with you?”

  Confused, Sophie said, “You.”

  “OK, so I got here mid-morning yesterday. It was a sight-seeing day, and Lars had sent me all the best places to go.”

  Sophie could’ve listened to him talk about Madrid for hours. Not only because of his tantalizing voice, but because he told her of Plaza Mayor and the churros and hot chocolate he’d eaten.

  “My audition starts in an hour,” he said. “I have a driver coming to get me. A driver, Soph!”

  “That’s great,” she said, smiling. “I want to hear all about the audition. I just know you’re going to kill it.”

  “Thanks.” She could hear the grin in his voice, but also the nervous energy. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep without calling you and telling you about it. I might call before I go to bed.”

&nbs
p; Sophie did the math in her head. “So like, noon-ish?”

  “I’ll try to aim for two o’clock,” he said. “But I got up early to call you this morning, so we’ll see.”

  “You could always text,” she said. “If we’re slow, I can call you.”

  Mont agreed, then he said, “I got an email about an hour ago, Sophie. It’s about Jared.”

  Sophie sucked in a breath and held it, her heart suddenly pulsing. “From your guy in LA?”

  “He found him. Can you get on the computer right now? I’m forwarding it.”

  Sophie hurried to her laptop and willed it to connect to her Wi-Fi faster. “I don’t have it.”

  “Well, I’m halfway around the world. Give it a sec.”

  Her head felt light; her heart pounded; she reminded herself to breathe. “What should I do, Mont?” The email popped up. “I have it!”

  “Open it,” he said. “Confirm it’s him.”

  Sophie couldn’t scan the email fast enough. There was a message to Mont from his headhunter, then Jared’s name, address, phone number, email address and place of employment.

  “There’s a picture attached,” Mont said.

  Sophie scrolled down and clicked open the picture. “It’s him.” Her voice barely made it past her lips. “Mont, it’s him!” She returned to the information, reading that he lived in Denver and worked as a paralegal at a big law firm.

  She ignored the twist in her chest at his choice of professions, though she certainly understood it. Their father had cursed lawyers up one side and down the other. Jared had gone into the profession, and Sophie had dated several lawyers.

  Never again, she thought, understanding her father’s misgivings now.

  “I’ve been sending my cards to the wrong place for years.” She sat back, wondering why she’d never thought to track down Jared. She didn’t know how, that’s why. “Thank you, Mont. I wish you were here so I could hug you tight.”

  “I’d like to do more than hug,” he said, his tone that sexy growl she loved.

  She giggled, maybe for the first time in her life.

  “I miss you too,” he added.

  After a deep breath, Sophie felt like her mind was working properly again. “You never responded to my name guess.”

  “It’s not Falcon.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Next guess: Francis.”

  The silence coming through the line was all the answer she needed. “That’s it, isn’t it?” She squealed. “Francis.” Of course, she already knew his name was Francis, but she was thrilled he hadn’t tried to deny it.

  “Fraaan-sis.” She rolled the name off her tongue.

  “Stop, please,” he said. “I hate that name.”

  She laughed. “I agree Mont suits you better.”

  “Great,” he dead-panned.

  “Where does the Warren fit in?” Sophie thought of the woman at the taco stand who’d used that name.

  “That’s my middle name. I went by that for a while before changing my name to Montgomery.” Before she could respond, he continued. “So are you going to call your brother?”

  “Well, that was a rapid topic change,” she quipped. “But yes, I’m going to call him. Wait. Should I email first?”

  “No, you should call,” Mont said. “He’s your brother. Call him tomorrow, because I want to hear all about it.”

  “OK.” She felt stronger with his support, his expectation to hear about it. She loved that she had him to talk to. Maybe she just loved him. Period. Her throat narrowed as her thoughts raced. Did she love him?

  “My agent says several directors have been asking about me,” he said. She listened as he told her about the multiple inquiries, the roles he might be able to audition for once he returned from Spain, the advancements his career seemed to be taking.

  She listened, but with each word she felt herself retreating from the conversation, from Mont. Because his career opportunities—which he desperately needed and that she wanted for him—would take him away from her. She couldn’t let that happen.

  The thought terrified her. How far would she have to go to keep him in her life?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Mont was already waiting downstairs when his driver arrived. He seemed to know where to go, which was great, since Mont couldn’t speak more than a handful of words in Spanish. He thanked the driver and took a steeling breath.

  He’d studied his lines. He had eight abs. The right height, build, hair color.

  “You’ve got this,” he whispered to himself moments before entering the building.

  Complete chaos met his eyes and ears. People wearing headsets went left, right, forward, backward. They all seemed to be talking to no one, causing a lot of conversation noise. Booms, green screens and other actors filled the cavernous space.

  Mont had been on sets before, but nothing of this scale. He stood on the fringes, taking it all in, like a much-needed breath after a long time under water.

  “Montgomery Winters?” The woman standing in front of him phrased his name like a question, but she obviously didn’t need him to confirm. “You’re with me. Right this way.” She strode into the crowd, her short, blonde curls bouncing against her shoulders.

  “Uh, OK.” Mont hurried to follow her.

  “There’s a green room for the candidates right here.” She gestured to the left, where a large room was filled with chairs, a conference table and various snacks and bottled water.

  “The first reading begins in ten minutes. A cut list will be posted half an hour after the last person. You’re….” She consulted her clipboard. “Twenty-first out of thirty. So your longest wait will be at the beginning.”

  “Thank you, uh, what’s your name?”

  She blinked at him, her blue eyes puzzled for a second. “Becky. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll come get you ten minutes before your audition.”

  He flashed her a smile, reassured when she returned it. “Thanks.” He watched her go, wondering if every actor there had an assistant like Becky. Swallowing his nerves, he entered the green room, where dozens of men waited.

  Most wore headphones and studied folders with what Mont assumed were the audition notes he’d received. He had his memorized, just like they surely did too.

  Too anxious to eat, he found a seat in the corner and pulled out his cell phone. Sophie would be asleep, and though a continent and an ocean separated them, he’d felt her withdraw as he told her about the director interest in him.

  He sent her a text anyway, more to settle himself than anything else. He glanced up when the first name was called. Though he tried not to count, he knew when the tenth actor went, the fifteenth, and then Becky came back.

  She beckoned to him, pushing her glasses into position. “There are two actors in front of you,” she explained as she took him from the big waiting room to a smaller one. This one had no snacks, no drinks, no charging stations for phones and laptops.

  Just nerves. Silence.

  By the time Mont made it to the smallest room, he felt like he needed a strong drink. But he didn’t want to forget this experience by drowning it away. The anxiety would be subdued with a single shot. Knowing what lay down that road, Mont wouldn’t be taking a single sip, even to soothe the nervous energy winding through him. He smoothed his hair and adjusted his shirt.

  “You’re going to kill it,” Becky said just before she turned to go.

  The words rang in his head, in Sophie’s voice. He smiled as he entered the room.

  It was three o’clock in the morning, California time, when Mont discovered his name was missing from the cut list. He knew better than to celebrate when half the actors would be going home.

  I haven’t been cut! Mont took a few cleansing breaths as he made his way back to the green room. He’d made call backs several times. Didn’t mean anything until there was only one name left.

  Becky met him near the entrance to the green room. “What would you like for lunch?”

  “Lunch?
”

  “The director is sending for lunch for those who’ve made the first cut. Turkey or beef?”

  “Turkey.”

  She nodded and moved to step past him. “Wait,” he said, lightly touching her arm. “Thank you for that vote of confidence back there.”

  She shrugged. “You have a vibe about you,” she said. “I really think you’re going to get it.”

  “Don’t say that. Then I’ll hope for it, and it’ll be ten times worse when I don’t get it.”

  Her eyebrows puckered. “Why is hoping a bad thing?”

  “I don’t know, it’s just….” Mont didn’t know how to explain. Becky clearly hadn’t put herself out there and been rejected over and over. Times five years.

  “I think you should hope for what you’ve worked hard for.” Becky gave him a generous smile before she left.

  By the end of the day, Mont had made the top eight. He left the studio feeling exhilarated and exhausted. His driver took him back to the hotel, where Mont ordered room service, showered and wished Sophie wasn’t nine time zones behind him.

  He set his alarm for eleven, turned on the TV and fell asleep listening to Spanish.

  Sophie’s phone went straight to voicemail. Twice. Mont frowned and checked the time. A quarter past eleven. She should’ve closed the stand fifteen minutes ago. Sure, she’d clean and prep for dinner, but she should be able to take a phone call.

  He didn’t call a third time. He didn’t want to appear desperate, though he felt exactly that. He hadn’t had someone to come home to for a long time, and he’d gotten used to sharing his life with Sophie.

  He paced for a few minutes, wondering what he should do. Go back to sleep? Call her in the morning? Send her a—

  He received a text: Labor Day weekend. Super busy. Give me 30 minutes?

  From Sophie.

  Done. Call me when you can.

  With Sophie, he knew her thirty minutes meant sixty, and he settled back into bed. Her call woke him, but he didn’t care.

  “I made the top eight,” he said by way of greeting.

  She laughed. “Congratulations, Mont! I knew you’d kill it.”