Falling for Summer Read Online Free
Author: Bridget Essex
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Literature & Fiction, Gay & Lesbian, Genre Fiction, Lesbian, Lgbt, Lesbian Romance, Lesbian Fiction, Two Hours or More (65-100 Pages)
than to go back to a few places my little sister loved, visit her grave and...then what? Mourn for her all over again?
I sit for an hour, two, as the sun begins to descend toward the horizon. My hands are open on my thighs, palms up, and I rock slowly, occasionally, but mostly I just...sit. I'm overwhelmed with all of this time spreading before me. I'm the CEO of a company. I'm built for being overstimulated. I've been conditioned to have my fingers in every pie, and now here I am with a week yawning before me, vacant, empty...
I'll probably go crazy , I think with a sigh as I cross my arms, rocking back in the chair.
It seems like I'm one of the only people camping this week, which I suppose makes sense. It's early in the summer, two weeks after Memorial Day, and Lake George never really got hopping until around the Fourth of July. And I'm camping here during the week, rather than the weekend. I'm grateful for the isolation. I didn't really want a lot of company with my grief.
But it seems that I'm going to have company whether I want it or not.
As dusk descends, I hear booted feet on the gravel of the driveway, and I peer out from the porch and sigh again. It's Summer, and she's carrying two six-packs. She's not in her bikini anymore, instead wearing cutoff jean shorts and a dark blue tank top, her long black hair plaited into a shining braid over her shoulder. She gazes at me disarmingly, a charming smile turning her mouth up at the corners.
“Hi,” she tells me, holding up the six-packs. “How are you settling in?”
I shrug a little, flustered. “I came here this week for some solitude,” I tell her then, which is absolutely bitchy, but I just wanted some privacy for my grief.
But Summer doesn't take the hint.
“Well, you'll get plenty of that here,” she tells me with a wink, her mouth turning up even more now, forming itself into a sly grin. “I'm sure you remember that the lake doesn't really get busy until July. Care for a drink?” she asks, brandishing the six-packs again.
Okay. I think she took the hint. She knows what I meant. But she's deliberately ignoring it.
I could tell her to leave, but for some reason, as I gaze at her, the fight seems to drain out of me. Maybe it's because of how tenacious she is. How stubborn. That's something I can understand, if not enjoy. “Sure,” I tell her with a slight shrug, indicating the second rocking chair next to me. “It's your place, after all,” I tell her with a raw, rueful smile.
Summer hops up onto the porch and leans against the railing, crossing her long, tan legs in front of her. I'm annoyed at myself for following the line of her legs upward, but then I've always been a leg woman. Not that that matters. Summer is forward and much too...well, too much of everything.
But still, I'm a ways from home, and it's not a sin to appreciate in the view. And I do appreciate it. Even if I don't exactly appreciate Summer herself.
I bite my lip, looking down at the porch floor for a long moment while Summer stares out at the lake. She doesn't offer any small talk, and I'm certainly not offering, either, so the silence descends between us, thick with my glowering.
“Hey,” she finally says, curving her shoulders forward, “about earlier... We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot or something. I'm sorry if anything I said hurt your feelings.”
It's the type of apology you might make a preschooler give to another preschooler whose toys she stole. But it seems like her heart is in the right place, and—anyway—she didn't exactly have to apologize. I shrug a little, but I'm grateful for the effort, so I clear my throat.
“Thanks,” I tell her gruffly.
“So, what do you do now?” Summer asks me, cracking one of the cans out of the six-pack and opening it, handing it over to me as the beer dribbles down the side of the can. Our fingers touch, hers wet with
I sit for an hour, two, as the sun begins to descend toward the horizon. My hands are open on my thighs, palms up, and I rock slowly, occasionally, but mostly I just...sit. I'm overwhelmed with all of this time spreading before me. I'm the CEO of a company. I'm built for being overstimulated. I've been conditioned to have my fingers in every pie, and now here I am with a week yawning before me, vacant, empty...
I'll probably go crazy , I think with a sigh as I cross my arms, rocking back in the chair.
It seems like I'm one of the only people camping this week, which I suppose makes sense. It's early in the summer, two weeks after Memorial Day, and Lake George never really got hopping until around the Fourth of July. And I'm camping here during the week, rather than the weekend. I'm grateful for the isolation. I didn't really want a lot of company with my grief.
But it seems that I'm going to have company whether I want it or not.
As dusk descends, I hear booted feet on the gravel of the driveway, and I peer out from the porch and sigh again. It's Summer, and she's carrying two six-packs. She's not in her bikini anymore, instead wearing cutoff jean shorts and a dark blue tank top, her long black hair plaited into a shining braid over her shoulder. She gazes at me disarmingly, a charming smile turning her mouth up at the corners.
“Hi,” she tells me, holding up the six-packs. “How are you settling in?”
I shrug a little, flustered. “I came here this week for some solitude,” I tell her then, which is absolutely bitchy, but I just wanted some privacy for my grief.
But Summer doesn't take the hint.
“Well, you'll get plenty of that here,” she tells me with a wink, her mouth turning up even more now, forming itself into a sly grin. “I'm sure you remember that the lake doesn't really get busy until July. Care for a drink?” she asks, brandishing the six-packs again.
Okay. I think she took the hint. She knows what I meant. But she's deliberately ignoring it.
I could tell her to leave, but for some reason, as I gaze at her, the fight seems to drain out of me. Maybe it's because of how tenacious she is. How stubborn. That's something I can understand, if not enjoy. “Sure,” I tell her with a slight shrug, indicating the second rocking chair next to me. “It's your place, after all,” I tell her with a raw, rueful smile.
Summer hops up onto the porch and leans against the railing, crossing her long, tan legs in front of her. I'm annoyed at myself for following the line of her legs upward, but then I've always been a leg woman. Not that that matters. Summer is forward and much too...well, too much of everything.
But still, I'm a ways from home, and it's not a sin to appreciate in the view. And I do appreciate it. Even if I don't exactly appreciate Summer herself.
I bite my lip, looking down at the porch floor for a long moment while Summer stares out at the lake. She doesn't offer any small talk, and I'm certainly not offering, either, so the silence descends between us, thick with my glowering.
“Hey,” she finally says, curving her shoulders forward, “about earlier... We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot or something. I'm sorry if anything I said hurt your feelings.”
It's the type of apology you might make a preschooler give to another preschooler whose toys she stole. But it seems like her heart is in the right place, and—anyway—she didn't exactly have to apologize. I shrug a little, but I'm grateful for the effort, so I clear my throat.
“Thanks,” I tell her gruffly.
“So, what do you do now?” Summer asks me, cracking one of the cans out of the six-pack and opening it, handing it over to me as the beer dribbles down the side of the can. Our fingers touch, hers wet with