Falling for Summer Read Online Free Page B

then, clearing my throat, which is suddenly too tight with emotion.  I hide my discomfort by taking another very long sip of my beer, tilting my head back so that my gaze moves upward, to the surrounding trees and the first star of the night that's peeking out from between the branches far above.  “I haven't thought about that story in a very long time,” I finally say, tilting my gaze back to earth.  Back to Summer.
    It's getting very dark, and I can just make out Summer's outline, the curve of her thighs and hips, the swell of her breasts under her tank top, the lovely flow of her shoulders and neck.  The first few fireflies of the season are beginning to wink on and off in the campground behind her, giving her form a strange, soft sort of glow.  Summer lifts her own can of beer to her mouth, tilting her head back, and I follow the curve of her neck again with my eyes, that graceful curve that leads down to her collarbone and to her toned arms—and then I stiffen in my chair.
    She's wearing a ring on her left hand.
    “So,” I say, breathing out, anxious to change the topic, stop talking about the story, about my sister.  Anxious to take the conversation to safe, mundane ground.  “You and your husband run this place?  It must be so nice to own a campground.”  I'm resorting to the sort of chitchat that I use in board meetings with people I have nothing to say to, with whom I share nothing in common.
    But I seem to have more in common with Summer than I thought...
    “No,” she says with a sad sort of smile.  Summer has turned to look out at the lake, at the last bit of light from the setting sun.  The sky is a riot of dark purples, with a golden glow along the line of the horizon.  “I actually just broke up with my girlfriend a few weeks ago.”  She glances down at her hand and then back at me.  She saw me looking at the ring.  “This is my great-grandmother's ring,” she says then, a bit formally, her voice catching as she touches the ring with her thumb, like you might smooth a finger over a worry stone. 
    “I'm sorry,” I say, which covers the breaking up with the girlfriend and the great-grandmother, who is presumably no longer alive, but my heart is somersaulting inside of my chest, my blood starting to beat much more quickly through my veins.  Summer is gay?  Bisexual?  Woman-interested?
    This changes things.  Doesn't it?  We've had a bit of a rough start, it's true...but maybe that's because of how unhappy I am that I'm here.  That, immediately, a piece of my past, of Tiffany's past, confronted me by the lake.  I didn't expect Summer when I planned for this week, but now she's here in front of me.  Unplanned, but solid and real.
    The rocky start we got off to is because of me, I know.  Because of my inner turmoil, my unresolved grief.  I take a deep breath.
    “How about you?” asks Summer then, her voice back to its assured, warm inflection.  “Are you married?”  She glances up through her eyelashes, and even in the dark, I can see her warm brown eyes flashing.  “Are you involved?” she asks, tilting her head to the side, a little like an inquisitive bird.
    I lift the beer to my lips, but I pause for a long moment, watching her.
    Her shoulders are curled toward me as she leans forward.  Her legs are crossed, taut, well-toned, and my eyes are drawn to every line and curve of her, yes, but there seems to be something crackling between us in this moment.
    Does she suspect who I am?  What I am?  That I'm gay, too?
    Does she remember what happened that night, long ago?  Twenty years ago now?  No—she couldn't possibly remember.  She was ten years old.  It was a night that's irremovable from your memory, true, the night when her best friend died...  But there was too much going on.  Surely she doesn't remember anything about me.
    Still, I feel a shift between us.  Like a secret, shared.
    I never could have predicted that Summer would like women.  Honestly, I