Seducing Mr. Grumpy

4. What the hell did I get myself into?

Summer Cooper’s message vault to Dominic Pauls:

Nic, today I saw a dog that growled at me when I tried to get close. It reminded me of you.

With love, your ever-amused Summer.

---

4. What the hell did I get myself into?

Dominic.

My very first memory in life includes Summer. In fact, she was the main character.

I was just a happy three-year-old kid when my father barged into my life and dropped a tiny baby in my arms like she was some kind of shiny new toy. I don’t really remember what she looked like back then, but considering the sight of her made me cry—and not from joy—I can safely assume she was as ugly as newborns can possibly be.

Of course, that first meeting was just the beginning of many unpleasant moments that involved Summer chasing after me, me running away from her, and our fathers endlessly arguing in defense of their precious kids.

The Pauls and the Coopers have always been close, along with a few other family friends my parents somehow managed to keep over the years. Once a month, there was this so-called family Sunday where everyone would gather, and I’d be forced to endure Summer’s presence. The fact that my parents insisted on pushing her into my life didn’t help lessen my resentment. Neither did her closeness to my sister. And her habit of getting into my business was just plain infuriating.

Five years away from her colors and chaotic personality weren’t enough. I suspect a whole lifetime wouldn’t be.

So finding myself in this situation—opening the doors of my flat to let her move in with me—is something that, clearly, was never in the cards.

I drag her suitcase behind me with a sigh, just as she tosses her coat aside. Her tiny figure looks completely out of place in my apartment. Everything here is black, white, and a few shades of gray. Summer, in oversized cargo pants, a tiny pink crop top that looks like it came from a kids’ store, and sneakers bigger than she is, stands out like a raised thumb.

"Is your sister home yet?" she asks.

I take off my coat while replying, "She’s probably at her boyfriend’s."

"Heaven has a boyfriend?"

"Mmm." I nod shortly, not remotely interested in discussing my sister’s love life. I’ve got a Zoom meeting in half an hour—I don’t have time for this. "Do you want me to carry your suitcase to your room?"

"Did you eat dinner?" she asks, answering my question with another one, following me as I head to the guest room my sister had assigned to her earlier.

"I’m fine." I place the suitcase on the bed and glance around the room.

As far as I know, before I dropped her off at the hotel, Summer had only spent a few hours here. But that was apparently enough time for her to rearrange everything.

She moved the bed next to the window. She’d shifted accessories and wall art to suit her idea of aesthetics. Even the kitchen wasn’t safe—filled with clutter and utensils in all the wrong places.

If she managed to leave her mark in just a few hours, I don’t even want to think about what this place will look like in a few weeks.

I check the time on my wristwatch, already thinking about my upcoming meeting with the Asian investors.

A dull ache pulses behind my eyes—no lunch, no dinner, just breakfast, and a whole lot of stress, topped off with the whole hotel episode with Summer.

"Do you have a headache?" she asks, and I immediately catch the sharp concern in her voice.

She wears her emotions on her face, in her voice, her gestures—even in the way she breathes.

That much transparency can’t be healthy. She doesn’t hold anything back.

"I’m fine," I say, locking eyes with her so she gets the message.

Headaches are a touchy subject in my family. Both times my mother got sick, it started with a headache.Because of her medical history, my parents keep Heaven and me on a strict routine of checkups, just in case any tumors decide to mess with us.

So no, my headaches are not cancer. They are stress, fatigue and, mostly, have Summer's name branded on them in neon letters. Okay, maybe that’s not totally fair—I do get migraines after particularly bad days. But something tells me with Summer around, that’s going to become my daily routine.

The color has returned to her cheeks, which makes me remember the ghost-like way I found her in the hotel hallway.

She was hysterical. Catatonic.

And no matter how many headaches she gives me, I’m not heartless enough to leave her in a hotel when it’s obvious something traumatic happened to her.

Which is why I ask, "Are you okay sleeping here?"

"Do you sleep nearby?"

"Across the hall."

Relief floods her expression.

"Oh," she nods, and I can tell she’s about to ask something else—she’s that easy to read.

"Just say it, Summer. I’ve got a meeting to prep for. I don’t have time for games."

"A meeting this late?"

I give her a blank look, not dignifying that with an answer. Finally, she says it:

"Can you not lock your door? I won’t lock mine either... It’s just—I need to know I can reach you if something bad happens."

I cross my arms and stare at her.

"Something bad like what?"

Summer looks away. And just like at the hotel, she shuts down the moment I try to dig into whatever happened to her.

"An earthquake?"

"Try harder, Summer."

"Zombie invasion?"

"If zombies existed, their favorite food would be brains. So you’d be totally safe."

It takes her a second to process that, and just as she opens her mouth to reply, I add, "Come up with a better excuse. At least make it believable."

"Do you care?"

Her question catches me off guard.

But of course, if anyone has no filter and speaks with disarming honesty—sometimes bordering on rude—it’s her. So I don’t know why I’m surprised. Maybe it’s the time apart, I got used to being around normal people. Now I’m back with the strangest human specimen alive.

"Tell me," she steps closer, head held high, "Do you care?"

"I care about you the way I’d care for a pet. If I had one, that is. I’m not heartless, so yes, I care."

She stares at me, then bursts out laughing like I’ve just told her the best joke. Her laugh echoes through the place—musical and, if I’m honest, kind of sweet. It’s the one thing about her I’ve always been able to tolerate.

Then she opens her mouth.

"Nic, if I’m a pet, then you must be the first human in evolution—still stuck in the very first step."

"You don’t even know what you’re talking about, do you?"

Nothing she says makes sense. She speaks so carelessly, without even trying not to make a fool of herself. And she does—beautifully so.

I shake my head, hiding a smile.

Birdbrain.

"Anyway, you're dodging the real question," I bring us back on track. "What happened to you?"

"I’m not ready to talk about it," she says.

I mull over her words. She’s an adult now, no longer a child, so I’ll treat her like one. She’s not ready? Fine. I’ll keep her under my roof while she recovers, but at some point, she’ll need to open up. If what I suspect happened actually happened, I need to make sure the bastard responsible pays for it.

We’re family.

And no one messes with my family.

Not even the one I can’t stand.

"Settle in," I say, checking my watch again. "I’ll be in my office. Try not to lose your mind while I’m gone."

"Okay! Love you!"

I freeze mid-step when I hear those words. My entire body tenses as I glance over my shoulder to find her grinning like the cat who ate the canary.

Not even a pet is this annoying.

[...]

Just as I’m about to wrap up the meeting, my office door swings open and Summer walks in with a chicken sandwich and a tangerine drink—my favorite. I motion for her to leave, but she places the food next to my computer and wanders off to browse the bookshelves.

I hear what the investors are saying, but I keep one eye on her.

I should’ve locked the door so she wouldn’t bother me, but after what she said about me not locking my bedroom, I decided to be nice for the first time in my life.

I regret it to my very core.

Summer trails her fingers along the spines of the books she passes. I seriously doubt she understands them—most are about finance and accounting, a few on philosophy, and my favorite novels. I’m sure none of them are her type of reading. In fact, I doubt she even reads. So when she stretches up on her toes and grabs one of my favorite Hemingway books, I want to growl at her like a dog so she’ll leave it alone.

Of course, I don’t. Because I’m not, in fact, a dog.

I refocus on the investors, but out of the corner of my eye, I catch Summer sinking into the comfy armchair I always use for reading. She flops down almost horizontally, legs dangling off the side, lazy and carefree, then opens the book and starts reading.

I concentrate on the meeting again. The only sounds in the room are my voice speaking Mandarin and the soft rustle of turning pages.

Finally, the meeting ends and I set my AirPods aside, turning to look at Summer.

“I thought you’d be sleeping,” I say.

It’s nearly two in the morning.

She flips to the next page, focused on what she’s reading.

“I’ll sleep when you do,” she replies absently.

I reach for the sandwich and take a bite, watching her read.

“Do you even understand what you’re reading?”

My question offends her.

“What’s that supposed to mean? This is my favorite Hemingway book.”

I don’t say anything. I don’t believe a word of it.

She notices.

“Just because you think I’m some ignorant girl who doesn’t like to read doesn’t mean I actually am,” she says, snapping the book shut. “We can be destroyed, but never defeated,” she quotes, “I have it tattooed right here.”

She lifts her top slightly and points under her boob, where I can see black ink curving beneath her breast. Of course she’s not wearing a bra, but that doesn’t matter. I focus on the tattoo… it’s my favorite line too.

Even though many consider that Hemingway’s worst book, that line shaped my life. No matter how many times life knocks me down, or people try to crush me, they’ll never defeat me. I’d tattoo the quote myself if I liked tattoos—but I don’t. So I just keep it burned into my brain.

I take another bite of the sandwich, not sure what to think about her having my favorite quote inked on her body. I guess it’s not that big of a deal.

Summer sighs, pulling her shirt back down to cover her skin.

“You always think so little of me,” I think she says, but I’m not sure. “Anyway, you have to eat. Did you take your migraine pill?”

I open the top drawer, grab a tablet, and swallow it, which seems to satisfy her.

I eat in silence, the food she made me slowly disappearing while she watches. It’s not uncomfortable, not exactly pleasant either—it’s just… silence. Until she gets closer and sits on the edge of my desk, forcing me to push my chair back a bit to give her space.

“Hey,” she whispers, and gently brushes a strand of hair off my forehead with the tip of her pinky, the touch unbearably soft. “You have to take care of yourself.”

“I already told you, I don’t need another mother.”

She presses her lips together as she softly tucks another piece of hair behind my ear, then cups my cheek with surprising firmness.

“Work isn’t everything, Dominic.”

I roll my eyes and pull away from her invasive touch. I don’t need this crap—especially not from someone like her. Financial stability, professional success, independence… it’s not something Summer Cooper will ever understand.

I yawn and carry the dirty dishes to the kitchen, where I start washing them. Halfway through, I feel soft arms wrap around me from behind and Summer’s face pressing between my shoulder blades as she breathes me in slowly. This girl couldn’t keep her hands to herself even if her life depended on it.

I keep washing as she lets out a lazy yawn and just stays there like she’s some extension of my body I’m supposed to carry around. When I’m done, I turn around and face her. She looks up at me, smiling, her arms tightening around my torso, eyes sparkling with that starlit glow that always irritates me. Summer seems to live in a fairytale, while I live in reality. Why does she like me? I have no idea. We’re so opposite we might as well be from different planets.

“Go to sleep already,” I say, peeling her arms off me. But she laughs and wraps herself around me again from behind. And just like that, I end up walking to my room with a monkey clinging to my back. Summer keeps laughing, even when I nearly trip and fall. I roll my eyes, wondering when she’ll ever take anything seriously.

Finally, I stop outside her room and she climbs off, beaming with happiness.

Five years and she’s still the same. Will she ever grow up?

“Goodnight, Summer. Don’t lose your mind again, I’m too tired to deal with you.”

“Goodnight!” she sings cheerfully.

I walk into my room, too tired to feel irritated, but thinking about how the hell I'm going to deal day to day with this.

What the hell did I get myself into?