15. Firefly light. [Part 1]
1181 Words
Summer Cooper’s message vault to Dominic Pauls:
Happy birthday! Just so you know, you’re one of my favorite people. I only wish happiness for you.
Craving a hug,
Summer.
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15. Firefly light.
Dominic.
I spend the entire day looking for her like a madman. And although I doubt anyone’s even paying attention, by four in the afternoon I’m seriously considering calling the police. Just when I’m one step away from losing my mind, I get a message from her.
It’s an address.
Fuck.
I grab my phone, my wallet, and head straight there. I’m surprised to find it’s a bar—not the one she mentioned this morning. That was the first place I checked. No, this is a different bar, a smaller, quieter one. So it doesn’t take long before I find her.
"Are you drunk?" I ask, eyeing the cocktail she’s just finishing.
“Contrary to what you think,” she says softly, her gaze unreadable, “I’m not an irresponsible person.”
I don’t think she’s irresponsible. I used to, but not anymore. Never again. Not now that I actually know her—something I’m just realizing I never let myself do before.
“Enough, Summer,” I say, trying to take the drink away from her, but she grips it tighter and downs it in one go.
For f**k’s sake. This has to be a joke.
I try to get closer, desperate to get her out of here, like my lungs need air. But she raises her hands in defense and growls, “Don’t touch me.”
I freeze, hands mid-air, then rake them through my hair, feeling as close to panic as I’ve ever been. I look at her, waiting, hoping she’ll tell me what to do.
“Sit there,” she says, pointing to the seat across from her. “That’s why I called you. I want to get drunk, but I can’t do it alone. Since you’re so hell-bent on protecting me, sit there and watch me get wasted… make sure no one tries to kidnap me or whatever.”
“Summer…” I start, shaking my head.
Then she lifts her wide, innocent eyes to mine and says, “Please, Nic.”
And just like that, those words become my official kryptonite. There’s nothing I can deny her—absolutely nothing—not when she says it like that… with those damn words.
I’m screwed.
Helplessly, I watch her order more drinks. And more. And more. She can definitely hold her liquor, I realize, because despite everything she’s had, she’s not completely out of it. She’s still coherent—more or less—humming songs with clear eyes. Still, when she stands up, I stand with her, my body ready to catch her if she stumbles… but she doesn’t.
“Where are you going?”
“He’s paying,” she shouts at the bartender.
She grabs her purse, tucks it awkwardly under her arm, and heads for the door.
Damn it, Summer.
I toss some cash on the table and hurry after her.
“Where are you going?” I shout, grabbing her by the arm.
“Don’t touch me,” she snaps, pulling away hard. Then something catches her attention, and she walks toward it with a slightly goofy smile on her lips. I follow her gaze and spot a street food stand selling some kind of sausage.
“Summer, you can’t eat that.”
“Shhh,” she hushes me. “I’m hungry.”
She hands the vendor a few bills, tells him to keep the change, and he gives her a skewer with what looks like a massive, highly questionable sausage. I grimace as she takes a bite and moans like it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted.
“You don’t even know where that came from.”
“Have you always been this delicate?”
“Delic—what?”
“Delicate,” she repeats, taking another bite. “What do you eat? Just caviar?”
“No, but not street food.”
She shakes her head like she genuinely pities me.
“You’ve never lived, Nic.”
She’s about to take another bite, but something else catches her attention.
“Aha!” she exclaims, then shoves the sausage into my mouth and darts off to another stand selling the exact same thing.
She buys another one while I stand there debating what the hell to do with the one now in my mouth. Since I can’t bring myself to spit it out, I eat it. It’s awful, and I just pray I don’t get sick—if we even survive this night.
And just like that, Summer starts bouncing from one food stall to the next. Everything catches her attention, but she never finishes anything—instead, she hands it to me so I can do the honors. She’s like a kid with attention deficit, unable to focus on a single damn thing.
In the end, I end up eating more than she does.
We stumble upon a small artisan market, and Summer falls in love with everything she sees, but she ends up buying only a hijab that makes her light up as if it’s the most precious thing she’s ever held in her hands.
With nothing else to do, I lean against a concrete wall and watch her flutter around like the butterfly she is. She’s funny and harmless, people are kind to her, and Summer just looks happy. And suddenly, I find myself smiling when she’s smiling, laughing when she’s laughing, and leaning in her direction to catch every word that comes out of her lips as she talks to the vendors.
And I realize that Summer isn’t a butterfly, it’s impossible for her to be a butterfly—she’s a firefly, lighting up life wherever she goes.
I’ve been to Dubai plenty of times for business, but this is the first time I’m actually enjoying it.
When she makes a little exhausted face, I know the fun is over—for both of us.
“Are you done?” I ask, walking up to her.
My heart clenches as I see her smile fade the second she sees me.
“I forgot you existed.”
I swallow hard and nod.
“Well, I didn’t forget you. Let’s go back to the hotel. You’re tired.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” she says, adjusting the hijab in a way that makes her look even more innocent than she already is, then walks off in what I’m sure is a completely random direction.
It’s getting dark, the city’s growing louder, and the heat is oppressive. When she trips and nearly hits the pavement, I decide I’ve had enough.
I pick her up, throw her over my shoulder, and call a cab.
Summer’s so drunk, the weight of the day finally catching up to her, that she doesn’t fight me. Once we’re in the car, she falls asleep—her cheeks flushed from the heat, a tiny frown etched between her brows.
[1/2]
- Writer
