Until Summer Ends

  One of which was the man who’d just been kissing Amber. One Montgomery Winters.

  Sophie couldn’t stop the tears. They were suddenly there and flowing down her perfectly done-up face.

  She set her champagne flute on a tray and hurried across the ballroom. She left through the opposite door, unable to stay for another moment. She couldn’t face Mont. Not now. Not ever.

  She wouldn’t listen to him try to explain, the way Clint had.

  She couldn’t allow him the opportunity to make his actions her fault, the way Clint had.

  She wouldn’t be in a relationship with him as he traveled the world for his work, the way Clint had.

  As she fled the scene and hailed a cab, she remembered why she didn’t leave Redwood Bay. Why she didn’t date. Why she should never have sold The Sandy Tortilla. It would never cheat on her, never blame her, never hurt her, never kiss another woman.

  And now she didn’t even have it to go home to.

  She instructed the cab to take her to a hotel on the outskirts of the city. As the blocks passed, everything she’d given up to be with Mont reflected on the window.

  She’d paid him so much, she had to take a job waitressing.

  She’d shared her fears of the ocean, told him about her abusive father, her missing brother. She’d let him in, and she hadn’t done that for anyone in so long.

  She’d sold her taco stand, willing to go wherever he did, simply to be with him.

  She’d told him she loved him. She’d slept with him.

  The tears started anew. Or maybe they’d never stopped. She’d lost everything, and he’d sacrificed nothing. Just like Clint.

  She hated Clint—and now she hated Mont too.

  Most of all, she hated herself for thinking he was different, that she could trust him with her feelings, her body, her future.

  She should’ve known better.

  Chapter Thirty

  Mont stood rigidly in the hall, his ex-girlfriend on his right, and his ex-roommate frowning at her from down the hall on his left.

  The two people he thought he’d never have to see again. Paul and Amber.

  “Warren?” Paul moved down the hall. “Wow, it is you. I thought you looked familiar. What are you doing here?” He scanned Mont from head to toe, confusion ruffling his brow.

  Mont stuffed his hands in his pockets, ignoring Paul’s outstretched hand. “I go by Mont now.”

  His eyes widened. “Whoa. You’re Romanoff.”

  Mont nodded. “If you’ll excuse me.” He honestly didn’t care what role Paul had gotten in the film. It must not be a major one, or he’d have been seated at the press conference. But this job had just gotten a whole lot worse, in his opinion.

  He hadn’t seen Sophie since the press conference, at least an hour ago. He’d had a hard time focusing on the questions, because she was leaning against the back wall, her curves and sexy smile distracting him.

  “Wait,” Amber said, latching onto him before he could take two steps. “We haven’t caught up.” She pouted, her blood-red lips puffing out.

  “Oh, we definitely have.” He wiped his mouth in an exaggerated gesture. The pressure of her lips against his made him shudder. He hadn’t been able to push her away fast enough.

  Paul looked back and forth between them. “Did you kiss him?”

  At least Paul hadn’t accused Mont of the wrongdoing. Maybe he’d learned something about Amber in the past year.

  “I can’t believe you’re still with her,” Mont said to Paul as he left. He heard their low and angry voices as he walked away, but satisfaction sang through him.

  He couldn’t find Sophie, and she wasn’t answering her phone. She’d been clutching that emerald green purse all day. Maybe her phone had died. The ballroom started to clear as the hour grew late, and still Mont couldn’t find her.

  He finally had to admit she wasn’t in the ballroom. Perhaps she wasn’t even at the conference center anymore. He swallowed his frustration and went downstairs with the last of the cast members. His driver waited in the lobby and jumped to his feet when he saw Mont.

  “Are you ready, sir?”

  “Did you see the woman I came with?” Mont asked. “Golden hair, slinky black dress, green shoes and purse?”

  “Of course,” the driver said. “She was beautiful. She left about an hour ago. Looked pretty upset too.”

  Mont’s stomach clenched. “Upset?”

  “She was crying. I called to her to let her know I’d take her where she wanted to go, but she acted like she didn’t hear me.”

  Mont had never felt so helpless. “Did you see where she went?”

  “She got a cab, sir.”

  She’d left. She’d left upset. Mont couldn’t make sense of her behavior. What had caused her to leave him at the party without a single word? Crying?

  Ice swept through him. A pit formed in his gut, and he knew. She’d seen Amber kiss him.

  By two a.m. Mont accepted he would not be able to get in touch with Sophie without going to Redwood Bay and beating down her door. She hadn’t gone back to the hotel. Her carry-on still sat in the bedroom, open. Her makeup was spread out on the dresser. Her airplane ticket was still in the front pocket of her regular purse.

  He deduced she’d rented a car. Or that she’d simply gone to another hotel. She could be dead for all he knew. Anger and dread made his already roiling stomach worse.

  He’d called her a dozen times. Finally, the last time, he said, “I’m really worried about you. I love you. I don’t know what happened, but please, please let me know you’re OK.”

  He’d left that message thirty minutes ago. She hadn’t responded.

  Mont strode out of the bedroom and into the living area of the suite. A mini-bar taunted him, called to him, beckoned him forward. He examined the little bottles, finding tequila and vodka, along with several bottles of beer.

  None of these would work. He needed whiskey—and a lot of it—for a problem this big. Something to fuzz his memory and make him forget everything that had happened this summer.

  Disgusted with himself for craving the liquor he’d sworn off, he turned away from the mini-bar and retreated into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

  He didn’t want to forget about Sophie. He just wanted the ache in his chest to go away.

  He sat on the bed where he’d kissed her, cradled her, loved her. A Sophie-shaped hole tore through him, taking the pain and leaving only anger. He looked up toward the ceiling, and then beyond.

  Dear God, he prayed. What should I do?

  He didn’t have much experience with prayer or heavenly beings. He only knew that his mother went to church every week and she’d often taken him with her. He believed in God, but he had absolutely no clue what would happen next. A voice like thunder? A shaking of the room?

  Nothing happened, leaving him thinking about how he could get enough whiskey to drown out the hurt, anger and confusion Sophie had left him with. A single tear ran down his face, but he swiped it away. Montgomery Winters did not cry.

  Fury took root in his heart. Even if she had seen Amber kiss him, why hadn’t she stayed to talk it out? Would she run off every time he didn’t agree with her? Or when something didn’t go her way?

  The questions rotated in his head, and he hated that he couldn’t answer them, that he thought less of her for leaving without an explanation.

  His phone buzzed, and he couldn’t pick it up fast enough.

  I’m safe and fine, Sophie’s text read. Please don’t call or text me again.

  I can’t do that, Mont sent back. What happened?

  She didn’t answer. She didn’t come back to the hotel in the morning.

  Desperate and frustrated, Mont called the airline and changed his flight. He and Sophie had planned to spend a couple of days in LA sightseeing and falling further in love. Now, he felt like smashing something with his fists until they bled. He figured it wouldn’t hurt nearly as much as his heart breaking.

&nbs
p; It was a twelve-hour drive from LA to Redwood Bay, so Mont wasn’t expecting Sophie until at least nightfall. When she didn’t show, he called her. Once, twice, six times.

  “Look,” he said to her voicemail. “I get that you’re upset. But can you at least confirm that you’re not dead on the side of the road?” He hung up, muttering, “Maybe this isn’t going to work.” He didn’t have time for games. He didn’t think Sophie was the drama queen type—the way the women he’d dated in LA were. But this stunt—her leaving without an explanation, the utter and complete way she ignored him—wasn’t what adults did. He didn’t need a little girl. He wanted the woman he thought Sophie was.

  Hopeful, he endured a second sleepless night, this one on her porch in the hard bench where he’d kissed her dozens of times. When he woke, he had a text from her. Not dead yet.

  Mont’s mind whirled. Sophie had sold The Sandy Tortilla. Without it here in Redwood Bay, where would she go? Could he follow her? Would she even listen to him?

  He called her, but she didn’t answer. He tried Polly without success. Then Lucy, who said she hadn’t heard from Sophie. He wanted to pitch his phone into the foamy waves. Before he could, Lars called.

  “Where are you? We had a meeting this morning. I still need signatures on several papers. You can’t get your signing check without the required tax forms.”

  “What if I don’t sign them?” he asked, his mind churning like the ocean.

  “Then you won’t get paid.” Lars paused. “Mont, what’s going on?”

  Mont thought of the lighthouse that had led him here, of how many times he’d sat next to it and felt like he belonged in Redwood Bay. Maybe Sophie had jumped the gun. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to sell her taco stand. Maybe he was supposed to stay here and help her run it.

  “What if I can’t do the role?” he asked Lars.

  “Let’s take a step back,” Lars said, his voice going into placating mode. “Of course you can do the role, Mont. This is the break you’ve been working toward for five years.”

  Mont ground his teeth together as he searched the skies. For what, he didn’t know. Answers? He had plenty of questions: Why did Amber have to be at that party? Why did she have to throw herself at him? Why did Sophie have to witness it?

  “I may not be able to do the part, Lars.” His voice sounded like it belonged to someone else. He thought about his father and his heart condition. He thought about Lars, and how he’d paid for airplane tickets and had worked so hard to match Mont with the right part.

  “Listen, I need you to stop and think about this for a few days,” Lars said. “I’m not accepting any final decisions until Friday. OK?”

  “OK,” Mont agreed, but he’d already made his decision. He’d walk away from the role, from acting altogether, if it meant he could keep Sophie.

  He jumped in his car and headed toward Main Street, adrenaline and annoyance pumping through him in equal measure. If Sophie had used a realtor to sell her taco stand, Mont would find his office. And then he’d buy back her taco stand.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Once in the safety of a cheap room, Sophie texted both Blaine and Lucy, telling them what she’d witnessed a mere hour ago. She wanted to talk to Polly, but she’d gone to Seattle for the weekend. Her cousin was leaving Redwood Bay too, leaving Sophie with absolutely nothing.

  That little sneak! The text from Lucy justified all the betrayal rushing through Sophie’s veins.

  Have you talked to him? Maybe it’s nothing. Blaine’s message burned Sophie’s eyes. The two responses were at such odds, and as they warred within her, a fresh set of tears spilled down her cheeks.

  Did she really have to allow Mont to explain? She’d seen him kissing Amber. Before that, though, they’d looked like they’d been arguing. And the kiss had stopped pretty fast….

  That’s because someone else caught them, she told herself.

  Lucy sent a stream of texts, asking Sophie what she was going to do now, where she’d go. Her friend knew her too well. Though Sophie hadn’t told anyone about selling The Sandy Tortilla, she’d been through a messy breakup before. When Clint had called off their wedding and demanded his diamond back, Sophie had escaped to Florida for six weeks.

  Another financial disaster, she thought bitterly. Maybe her father was right. Maybe she had no idea how to make herself successful. She certainly hadn’t been proving him wrong in the relationship department. She’d had no idea how to handle Clint’s demands, and she certainly didn’t know what to do about Mont now.

  You should talk to him, Blaine texted, even though she’d ignored his first message. Typical Blaine. Don’t run off to Europe or anything without getting his side of the story.

  The truth of his words showered her with shame. She’d run off in the middle of Mont’s big party. He must think so little of her now. He’d called a dozen times since midnight, texted twice that much.

  He’d called about a half hour ago, and she clicked open the message to listen to it. His voice only carried concern—maybe some pleading, some hurt—as he begged her to at least let him know she was alive.

  She sent him a quick message confirming she was OK, and then turned her phone off. She couldn’t stand that she’d hurt him, couldn’t believe she’d acted so rashly, and had absolutely no idea what to do now.

  The next morning she kept her phone off as she rented a car and hit the road. She’d drive through Redwood Bay, but she wouldn’t stop. Something told her Mont wouldn’t give up as easily as Clint had, a thought that both comforted and terrified her. She needed more time to figure things out. At least that’s what she told herself as the miles rolled by. Gone was her confidence that she’d done the right thing by selling her taco stand.

  Lucy called before the Sunday morning rush at the diner. “What are you going to do? Where are you going?”

  “I don’t know,” Sophie replied, though her heart rebelled at her lie. She knew what needed to happen, but summoning the bravery and dismissing her pride was hard, and scary. “I’m going to my mother’s.”

  “Don’t do that,” Lucy said. “Come here. You can stay with me.”

  Sophie glanced at the ocean on her left. “I can’t. Mont will come to Redwood Bay.”

  A pause came through the line, with the workings of the diner in the background. “Well,” Lucy said. “That’s very telling, isn’t it?”

  It was, and Sophie didn’t confirm. “I just need more time.”

  “More time for what?” Lucy asked. “To talk yourself out of making up with him? That man loves you, Sophie. You at least owe him an explanation.”

  Frustration boiled through Sophie. “What about last night when you called him a sneak?”

  Lucy cleared her throat. “Blaine said that wasn’t fair. We don’t even know Mont’s side of the story. You said it looked like they were arguing before…you know. Before the kiss.”

  “You talked to Blaine?”

  “Standing right here.” His voice came through the line. “You’re on speaker, Soph. Have you talked to him yet?”

  Sophie shook her head, a small smile playing across her face despite the mess she’d caused. Blaine and Lucy together, ganging up on her again. She wanted to dismiss them, but just as she’d seen exactly what they needed to do to be happy, she wondered if they could see things more clearly than she could.

  “What do I say to him?” she asked, her voice smaller and higher than she’d ever heard it.

  “You can start with an apology,” Blaine said. “And then tell him you love him. I mean, you do love him, right?”

  The scene in the hall played through her mind again. The couple standing a bit apart. A small argument, and then bam. The woman kissing Mont. Sophie had blacked out, blinked and the kiss was over. Then the door opened, and another man entered the picture.

  Sophie wished with everything in her that she hadn’t scampered back into the ballroom. That she’d marched down that hall, strung her arm though Mont’s and claimed him.

&nb
sp; “I do love him,” she finally said.

  “Then fix this,” Blaine said. “And if he did something wrong, then you can decide to run away to South America.” His words sounded final, and Lucy said her good-byes.

  Their words—and the fact that they were together early on a Sunday morning—paraded through her head. They were right. She needed to fix this. She just didn’t know how.

  By the time Sophie pulled into Lucy’s driveway, snakes had taken up a nesting position in her stomach. She was no closer to a solution, and she suspected Mont would sniff her out here. When she gently pushed open the screen door and entered her friend’s house, the tears were threatening again.

  Lucy wasn’t home; Sophie hadn’t expected her to be.

  “Soph.” Blaine appeared in the doorway that led to the kitchen, two cups of coffee in his hands.

  Sophie sniffed, trying to stuff the emotions away. It didn’t quite work, but she didn’t need to hide from Blaine. He gestured for her to come into the kitchen, and she joined him at the table.

  “Luce brought over some of her banana bread.” He nudged a slice toward her. Sophie’s heart swelled with appreciation.

  Blaine let her eat in silence, but his ever-present gaze spoke more than anything he could’ve said.

  “Blaine, what should I do?” she finally asked.

  He got up, collected the plates and mugs and set them in the sink. “Soph, I’ve seen you like this before. Sort of. When Clint left, you were inconsolable for days. This….” He shook her head and turned back to Sophie. “This is different. I think you already know what to do. The real question is, how long are you going to torture that man?”

  Sophie blinked, only somewhat surprised Blaine wasn’t telling her she was better off without Clint. Oops, not Clint.

  Mont.

  This was Mont—and Sophie needed to get them straight in her head. Fast.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  After talking to Lars—and not talking to Sophie—on Monday morning, Mont wandered over the sand to the ocean’s edge. He’d left his shoes on Sophie’s porch, and he’d left his heart with her completely. If something didn’t happen soon, he’d snap. He felt himself being pulled too tight, but he didn’t know how to ease the tension in his neck.