Seducing Mr. Grumpy

8. Dreams and reality

Summer Cooper’s message vault to Dominic Pauls.

Last night I dreamed about you. I dreamed you actually replied to one of my messages. I was so excited that the overwhelming emotion woke me up…

I wish you weren’t my impossible dream.

With a slightly broken heart,

Summer.

---

8. Dreams and reality.

Dominic.

Dallas pulls up in front of the pastry school. It's not far from home and right on the way to the office. The place is bigger than I imagined, and there are way more people than I expected. Makes sense, though—it’s one of the top culinary schools in the city.

For the first time, I find myself wondering who the hell is paying for all of this. And honestly, I’m not so sure anymore that Summer’s living off her parents.

I glance around, knowing she won’t be out for another fifteen minutes, but I check anyway. Just in case. I pull my phone from my coat pocket and scroll through my contacts to message her.

Me: Are you out yet? I’m outside.

I’m about to exit the screen, but my eyes catch on the old messages she sent me. I swipe through the texts with my thumb—there are more than I expected. Different kinds, too. Some are holiday greetings, others are proud words when one of my achievements was published, and most of all, she’s just telling me about her day.

There are a lot of messages, I’d dare say hundreds—after all, they span nearly five years—and the last one was sent about a month ago:

Something really bad happened. Can you call me?

Followed by a short: Please, Nic.

Of course, I never replied. To be honest, I’m reading it now for the first time. I always knew she sent messages. At first, I read them out of curiosity. Later, I just ignored them until they kept piling up and up in my inbox.

Sometimes I go months without hugging or even touching someone.

Her words from last night echo in my head again. I don’t know if what I’m feeling is pity or empathy, but it sits heavy inside me. I don’t like this tightness in my chest. It’s suffocating, and it makes me feel like s**t.

This morning, Summer mentioned her pastry course would only last two months. I felt relieved. I just assumed that once it was over, she’d leave.

Which—honestly—is what I want.

She’s already disrupting my life way too much, and it’s only been two days. I can’t even imagine what things will be like by the end of those two months. I’m scared of the answer, so I decide I’ll help her work through her trauma— so she won’t choose to stay any longer.

Two months is more than enough.

I don’t think I could handle more.

I reread that last message of hers but have to force myself to look away halfway through the sentence. I can’t finish it.

Fuck.

I spot the beige cardigan she wore this morning. Her high ponytail makes her look younger, that smile on her face makes it seem like she’s never known sadness, and her bright eyes give her an almost childlike innocence. Maybe that’s what draws people to her. Because there are a few of them around her right now.

I watch from inside the car as two girls and a guy ask for a photo. Summer agrees without hesitation.

It’s strange. For the first time, I really get it—how much she’s accomplished, for people to approach her like that.With admiration. With excitement. She’s a bit of a celebrity, isn’t she?

The trio finally leaves, and Summer looks straight in my direction. A smile spreads across her face—it’s not the same one she gave her fans. This one’s warmer. Brighter. Full of love. Then she waves at me, excitedly.

She can’t possibly see me through the tinted windows, but still, I find myself raising my hand in return.

She starts walking toward me, but an older lady—maybe in her early seventies—approaches her. Summer stops to listen. Then she blushes as the woman gestures for a man in a suit, mid-thirties maybe, to come over.

I watch with curiosity.

The older woman is talking animatedly, gesturing between them. Meanwhile, Summer and the guy both look... embarrassed? A little awkward?

What the hell is going on?

Eventually, Summer walks away, and I’m left watching as the guy keeps looking at her.

Just because I’m not affected by Summer’s looks doesn’t mean I’m blind. I know she’s beautiful—she always has been—but this is the first time I really see the effect she has on a man.

He’s absolutely smitten.

I clear my throat and look back at my phone, distracting myself with work emails while I wait for her to get in.

"Nic," she says, delighted. "You didn’t have to come."

"I finished early," I reply. "And since you’re nearby, I figured I’d pick you up."

I haven’t let go of my phone, so I only catch her movements from the corner of my eye as she rummages through her utensils. After digging a bit, she pulls out one of her little Tupperware containers and holds it out to me.

It’s a dulce de leche muffin.

"Here," she says. "I made it for you."

"Leave it there. I’m not hungry."

And I’m really not.

Her smile falters a little, but she does as I say.

The headache I’ve had all day is getting worse, but it’s not my usual migraine. My eyes are burning. My throat too. I’m starting to think I got sick thanks to that little stunt she pulled yesterday, dancing in the rain.

That only makes my mood worse.

Yeah, two months.

Maybe less, if I’m lucky.

"Why did you leave work early today?"

Because of you, I want to say, but I just grunt a little, lock my phone, and close my eyes, searching for peace.

She doesn’t give it to me.

"I made a friend today. Maggie is seventy-two and the sweetest old lady I’ve ever met. We partnered up for every activity today. I hope we keep doing it."

Only Summer Cooper would become best friends with a seventy-something woman after just a few hours.

"Weren’t there other people? Maybe your age?"

"Dominic Pauls, you’re being particularly grumpy. What does age matter? She’s lovely, I like her, and she likes me."

I bet her son or grandson does too, but I bite my tongue to keep it to myself.

It’s none of my business.

"Can you move a little faster?" I ask Dallas.

I need to rest.

"What's wrong?"

"I think I caught a cold."

"Nic..."

I grab my AirPods, put on a podcast, and ignore her the entire ride home. Thankfully, we arrive soon, and I head straight to my room and crawl into bed. I strip down to my boxers, pull the covers over me, and shut the world out.

|...|

I have nightmares. So many nightmares… and she’s in every single one.

Her tear-streaked face begs for help, and no matter how hard I try to reach her, I can’t… I just can’t.

"Something really bad happened," her voice cries as I run and run, searching for her.

"Summer!"

"Please, Nic!"

When I finally reach her, she vanishes in my arms, leaving behind a desperation so intense I want to claw my skin off. That agonizing despair is what jolts me awake—sweating and shivering.

What the hell was that?

I gasp for air, a hand over my chest as I try to calm myself.

Damn it, Summer is going to drive me insane.

I try to sit up, but an arm draped across my stomach stops me. I reach over to turn on the lamp and there she is—Summer—lying next to me.

What?

I touch my forehead, noticing the cold compress. Then I see the medicine on the nightstand and the empty bowl that probably held chicken soup. I shut my eyes, still foggy with sleep, and images slam into my brain. Summer feeding me medicine, food… taking care of me.

I sigh, not even surprised by her.

I take her hand, intending to move her off me, but something about her skin stops me.

She’s hot—burning up.

Shit.

I prop myself up on one elbow and press the back of my hand to her face.

She has a fever. She’s sick too.

I remember hearing her sneeze this morning, but she said it was nothing, and I was already late for work, so I believed her. Did she cough in the car on the way back? I think so, but I was too busy ignoring her, lost in a podcast to give it a second thought.

Damn it. Only she would care for someone while being even sicker herself.

I get out of bed, my bare feet hitting the cold floor, and I ignore it as I race downstairs. The house is dark and silent—my sister must be staying over at Anson’s—so there’s no one else to ask for help.

I find Tylenol and more compresses, then rush back upstairs and set everything down on the nightstand. When I get close, Summer’s shivering, her lips nearly blue. She’s twitching in her sleep, probably caught in nightmares too, soft and painful whimpers escaping her lips.

I don’t know what makes me do it, but suddenly I find my fingers on her forehead, the back of them trailing down in a gentle stroke from her temple to her cheek.

Her skin is so soft, and a shiver runs through me at the touch—like I’m the one receiving the caress. Maybe I am.

I get tangled in silky strands of her hair, so I brush them back, leaning closer to her, making sure she’s breathing fine.

“Shh, it’s just a dream,” I whisper, my thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. “Just a dream.”

“Nic…” she blinks.

“I’m here.”

“Nic…” she looks so confused, glancing around, completely out of it.

I cup her cheek, gently guiding her to look at me.

“It’s okay. Everything’s okay. It was just a dream,” I say, reaching for the Tylenol without letting go of her. “Open your mouth for me. Take this.”

She obeys, and I place the pill between her dry lips. My thumb brushes her lower lip side to side as she swallows, her wide innocent eyes locked on me. They’re so blue like this, without a drop of makeup on her.

I reach for the water and she takes a small sip.

“Are you okay?” I ask, settling back into bed. I’m kneeling beside her while she props herself up on her elbows, still dazed as she looks around.

“Did I sleep in your bed?”

“Yes.” I can’t stop running my fingers through her hair. That damn dream is haunting me.

“I… did I sleep in a bed?”

“Yes,” I reply, a little confused by her question.

Is she still dreaming?

“I… I slept in a bed?”

“Summer…” I lick my lips, worried. “Baby, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she smiles, those deep dimples showing. “It’s just… I slept in a bed.”

Then she throws herself at me, her arms locking around my neck, and I just stay there, frozen. Until I feel it—the tears on my neck, the trembling sobs, the broken but somehow joyful sounds she’s making.

“Shhh…” I have no idea what’s going on, but her vulnerability is tearing me apart.

“I’m sorry,” she suddenly pulls back, wiping her tears in a fluster. “I told you I’d stop being all touchy, and now I sleep in your bed,” she lets out a soft laugh, “and then I throw myself at you, I…”

I grab the back of her neck, her hair tangled in my fingers, and pull her into my chest. Summer starts crying harder—but not loudly. Just deeply, emotionally. I’ve never comforted anyone in my life. I have no idea what I’m doing. But I know I’m not leaving her alone.

I press my lips to her forehead—not the awkward kiss from last night, but a real one. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around her and rock us slightly, soothing her in a way that feels more for me than her.

I bet we both have fevers, both of us shivering, both sick with the same thing—but I don’t let go. And she doesn’t let go of me either.

And there I am, wiping someone’s tears for the first time… her tears.