Page 11 of Plotting Summer

I begin perusing the newly added floor-to-ceiling bookshelf that now occupies the entire interior wall of the front room. Tala somehow managed the DIY project being seven months pregnant. Not that I’m surprised. Tala has an eye for decorating and an uncanny amount of energy for a busy mom with three kids. Certainly more energy than I have.

The shelves are colorful and interspersed with decorations, not at all like my overfilled bookcases that hold a mix of classics and a broad selection of different genres. Tala strictly reads romance, and I have to admit the aesthetic is a lot more pleasing than mine. Not that I’d trade any of my eclectic collection for aesthetics’ sake, but I will gladly admire a pretty space when I encounter it. I stop at the shelf Tala has dedicated to my published books and run my finger along the spines. She has all sixteen of them, including multiple copies of several. And it makes my heart do a happy dance.

The front door opens, and I literally jump away from the shelf faster than a kid sneaking popsicles from the freezer. “Grandma!”

When she catches sight of me, Grandma throws out her arms wide. “Capri!”

I hurry to her and return her embrace as if it’s been years since I’ve seen her and not months.

“Look at you!” Grandma pulls back and rests a hand on my cheek. “You get more beautiful every time I see you.”

I clutch her fingers in mine. “Thanks, Grandma.”

Heath steps in behind her and tosses a teasing smirk in our direction. “Or maybe your eyesight's getting worse, Deedee.”

“Hello to you too.” I whack him with the back of my hand, which only makes him laugh. “Though I’m glad to see you’re leaning into the whole dad joke thing. It fits you. You know, with all that gray hair you’re sporting now.” I flick at his perfectly styled hair, and he bats my hand away.

“You two!” Grandma looks between us. “You’re worse than siblings.”

“And here I thought we were siblings,” Heath says, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “Besides, Capri knows I love her.”

Grandma looks at him expectantly. “And … ?”

I glance up at him with a victorious smile, waiting patiently for the forced compliment like I’m seven and not twenty-seven.

Heath shakes his head and flicks his eyes upward. “And she’s beautiful,” he mumbles like he’s ten and not forty.

Grandma’s expectant gaze turns to me. “Do you have anything to say to Heath, Capri?”

“I really do enjoy his dad jokes?” It’s a question because I’m not sure if that’s the apology she’s looking for.

She contemplates my sincerity for a minute and then nods, apparently satisfied. “There. That wasn’t so hard.” This time, Heath gets Grandma’s cheek pat. “Since Capri’s only here for the day, I expect you two to be nice to each other.”

Surprised she’s aware I’m not staying, I glance at Heath to see if he’s heard the news as well. He doesn’t so much as blink at her mention of it. Tala must have texted them, which I feel kind of bad about but I’m also grateful for.

“We want her to come back more often,” Grandma says, a conspiratorial grin lifting her lips upward. “Especially now that Tristan Palmer is back on the island.”

With how hot my cheeks feel, my face must resemble a beet. My gaze flits to Heath, who's observing the exchange with way too much interest. “Please don’t get any ideas, Grandma.”

“And why shouldn’t I? I’m pretty sure he’s also single, and I know you used to have a little crush on him.”

My mouth hangs open. “I did not.” It was an epically huge crush. I’ll admit to nothing less.

Grandma drops her chin. “I suppose you’ve forgotten how you and Jane Hayes used to sit in my front room for hours, watching out the window for him. Then you’d giggle like little schoolgirls when you’d finally get a glimpse.”

My whole body is now uncomfortably warm, and my décolletage is definitely starting to splotch. “That should never be repeated,” I say, my gaze sliding to Heath. “By anyone.”

Heath squeezes his lips together and runs his fingers across them as though he’s zipping them shut.

Grandma’s focus remains on me. “I’m just saying, now that he’s single, this might be your chance to snatch him up before someone else can. He’s a mighty fine catch, that one.”

I laugh at the absurdity. Not that he’s not a mighty fine catch, because that’s an undeniable fact, but that I’d ever be able to snatch him up. “I think your book club is reading too many romances,” I say. Jane runs it up at the retirement center, so I know exactly what sort of books are being read. “Maybe you should suggest a biography next … or a mystery book.”

She waves a dismissive hand. “We’re too old to read anything but what we love. Though I did propose The Haunted Cowboy and Me, but Jane vetoed it. Your Jane squirms at a little spice. But it’s okay because we settled on a re-read of Secret Crush by Sunny Palmer in preparation for her upcoming release.”

That’s it. I’ve officially lost the battle on regulating my body temperature. If it weren’t so blasted hot in Florida, I’d make turtlenecks a wardrobe staple to hide my splotching skin. Now that’s an idea. Maybe I should move somewhere cold and far, far away from here. I’d hate it, but it might be my best option for all sorts of reasons.

“Have you not read it yet?” Grandma asks, apparently mistaking my blank stare and slow rhythmic blinking pattern for ignorance. “It’s definitely not her best writing—a little bit on the juvenile side compared to her more recent stuff—but the story is absolutely divine. And that Trenton. Boy, oh boy! If that man weren’t fictional …”