17. Touch, imagination, and adrenaline. [Part 1]
1919 Words
Summer Cooper’s message vault to Dominic Pauls:
Nic, you’re not going to believe this! Today a group of guys recognized me on the street—they even asked for a photo. It was so exciting to feel their love, I think I’m still smiling.
With love,
An excited Summer
---
17. Touch, imagination, and adrenaline.
Dominic.
I’m in my office, finishing up some contracts when the door swings open abruptly, interrupting my work. I know immediately it’s not Summer. She always knocks lightly before entering—unlike the hurricane that is my sister.
“I’m busy, Heaven.”
“Our parents are arriving this weekend,” she says, ignoring my words. “Did my mother tell you?”
“Yes,” I reply, flipping to the next page, focused on the fine print.
“I’m putting together a little get-together to welcome them.”
I drop the papers on the desk and let out a groan, because I know exactly what that means.
“A get-together with everyone?”
“Aunt Tess and Zeke are coming.”
“Where were they last time? Japan?”
“Morocco,” she says slowly, like she can’t believe I don’t know their whereabouts. “Jeff won’t be coming—he’s staying in New York with Aunt Gia, Jake, and the grandparents.”
Jeff is Mom’s younger brother, just six years older than us, so we never got used to calling him uncle. From what I know, my parents already passed through New York during their cruise and stayed several days visiting the family, so it makes sense that they won’t come. A relief, actually—fewer people prying into my life.
Just the thought of the crowd gives me a migraine.
“Who else is coming?”
“Some of our parents’ friends. Including Summer’s parents.”
Suddenly, something hits me.
“Aaron knows Summer’s living with us, right?”
Her dad has a reputation for being very protective.
“Of course,” my sister replies quickly. “However…”
“What?”
“He doesn’t know I almost never sleep here, so he has no idea you two are spending time alone, sometimes even sleeping in the same bed…”
“It was just a couple of times,” I growl, turning back to my work.
“Oh, come on, Dom. I’m your twin—you can’t lie to me.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Look me in the eye,” she says, and when I don’t, she comes around the desk and grabs my jaw roughly.
“Damn it, Heaven,” I grumble—her nails digging into my skin hurt.
“Look into my eyes. They’re your mirror, after all...” she leans in close, almost predatory. “What’s going on between you and Summer?”
“What could there possibly be besides friendship?”
Her eyes narrow, like she’s trying to read through me, but I’m not lying. We’re friends. Summer’s leaving soon. We’re still too different for anything else to happen. It’s not like I’ve even considered the possibility—pretty sure Summer hasn’t either. Not everything has to be about romance.
“Fine,” she gives up when I still don’t say what everyone wants to hear.
“Go back to your boyfriend,” I dismiss her, refocusing on my work.
“Gladly,” she sings. “The place is yours again—just make sure to bundle up. It’s freezing.”
I crumple a blank sheet of paper and toss it at her, but she dodges it with a giggle that echoes until she’s out of sight.
Why does everyone insist on seeing something that’s not there?
First Archie and Dakota, now Heaven.
At this point, it’s like they’re all conspiring against me, and frankly, I’m tired of denying a relationship that only exists in their heads. I’m worried they’ll say something to Summer—I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable or for things to change between us. She’s dealing with enough already without the added weight of rumors and misunderstandings.
A while after Heaven leaves, I hear the front door, followed by Summer’s soft footsteps. I smile, waiting for the little knock she always gives—sure enough, there it is, followed by her presence.
“What’s that?” I ask, nodding at the huge box in her arms.
I’m about to get up and help her, but she drops it on the floor with a dull thud.
“It was at the front desk. Got delivered this afternoon.”
“Mmm…” I eye it curiously.
Summer plops down beside it and starts pulling out bags of makeup and clothing.
“Are you redoing your closet?”
“No,” she says, focused on what she’s unpacking. “They’re from my sponsors.”
I notice a pretty silk blouse the same shade as her eyes. I bet it’ll look great on her.
“Are you going to start filming again?”
“They’re pressuring me to,” she looks a little stressed. “I’m sure this is their version of blackmail, but I’m still not ready.”
“Then don’t film. They can go to hell.”
Summer looks up and smiles, her eyes crinkling in that special way they only do when she smiles from deep inside, from her soul.
“Yes, to hell with them,” she says with a firm nod.
I smile back and return to my work, highlighting sections I’m unsure of so I can check them with Laney tomorrow. I work while Summer unpacks. She hums and talks to herself every now and then, but it doesn’t bother me. I guess I’ve gotten used to her—she’s the only person who can be by my side while I work without ever making me uncomfortable, even when she gets really loud... like right now.
“I love this color!”
Even though I know she wasn’t talking to me, I glance up to see what she’s referring to. Summer’s applying a shiny gloss to her lips, which quickly turns into a soft pink. It’s youthful, cheerful, and a bit flirty—just like her.
“Oh,” she blushes when she sees me watching, which makes me laugh.
“You were being unusually loud. Is that lip gloss really that exciting?”
“It’s beautiful, don’t you think?”
I glance at her lips for a second, then quickly look away and grunt an agreement before focusing back on my work.
“Nic!” she shouts, like she just remembered something.
“Mmm?”
“I went by some shops this afternoon, saw this sweater and thought of you. Catch!”
I catch it just in time, pulling it out of the bag while she watches me, visibly excited. It’s a simple gray cotton sweater.
I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her explanation.
“It’s so warm!” she exclaims, her expression full of tenderness. “Touch it—it’s soft and comforting, makes you feel safe… it’s you.”
Only Summer would describe me like that. Others would say the gray reminded them of my personality—but of course, not her.
“Thanks,” I say, folding it up again.
“Wear it tonight while we watch a movie. I want to hug you while you have it on, okay?”
“Whatever you say,” I reply, with sarcasm she doesn’t even catch because she’s already back to unpacking and mumbling to herself.
We stay like that for maybe another hour, until Summer gets up and walks to the bookshelf to pick a book. I lean back and watch her in silence, noting the delicacy of her fingers as they skim the titles. She’s lost in her mind, trying to decide. She finds one, almost picks it, but changes her mind and grabs the one next to it instead. Book in hand, she settles onto the inflatable couch and begins to read, completely unaware of my gaze.
Summer’s a voracious reader—devours books like no one I’ve seen. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t understand them. I know she does because she always gives me a summary at the end, as if the books weren’t mine, as if I hadn’t already read them.
I recently discovered we have the same taste in books, which makes talking to her easy and fun. But even when she’s going on about things I know nothing about—like Coachella or fake freckles in makeup—it’s easy to listen. Because it’s not about the topic. It’s about her. The way she talks, the enthusiasm in her voice, the meaningful pauses, the smile and the way her eyes light up when she sees she has my attention… even her squeals of joy when I ask questions she thinks are the best part of it all—It’s easy to talk to her, and I constantly find myself wanting to listen—even if it’s just her telling me about the thrilling adventure of taking the neighbor’s dog out to poop.
Her yawn pulls me out of my thoughts, and that’s when I realize I stopped working a while ago—I’ve just been staring at her like an i***t.
Jesus, I must be losing it.
“Are you hungry or sleepy?” I ask, stacking my papers and setting them aside. I’m clearly done for the night.
“Hungry,” she says. “Should we order pizza?”
“I’ll order. Want to watch a movie?”
“I’m gonna shower while we wait. See you in the living room?”
“Sure. I’ll clean up too.”
She leaves, I abandon my work for tomorrow, and I order her favorite pizza—Neapolitan.
[...]
I burst into laughter, Summer’s face buried between my shoulder and the couch as she hides from the horror scene on screen.
“I hate you, Nic,” she squeals, pulling her legs up onto the couch. “Why did you pick this movie?”
“It’s just a movie…”
“It’s awful! I hate horror movies—how can you watch this?”
“I grew up on horror. They’re my mom’s favorites.”
“Well, I can’t stand them,” she hides behind me again, peeking out with one eye at the screen. “Tell her not to go in there.”
“I doubt she’ll listen,” I say, amused.
“No, no, no.”
She holds her breath for several seconds, then lets out a scream so bloodcurdling it makes me jump nearly out of my seat.
I laugh hard, collapsing sideways on the couch.
“Jesus, Summer,” I clutch my stomach as it starts to hurt from laughing. “The neighbors are going to think I’m killing you.”
She hits me with her little fists on the arm—tiny punches that don’t hurt, only make me laugh harder.
“It’s not funny! I’m seriously scared.”
“Ghosts aren’t real.”
“Remind me of that at 3 a.m. when I can’t sleep.”
I nod, no problem.
"Alright, I’ll do it."
It’s just another night sleeping next to Summer. They all start to blur together, until I can’t tell how many nights she’s slept alone and how many with me. She’s getting better—sometimes I leave in the middle of the night and she wakes up on her own, so soon it’ll be a fear she’s overcome.
[1/2]
- Writer
