Perfect Summer by Katie Graykowski Read Free Book Online Page A

incident. Facing down two hundred wedding guests in an impossibly tight dress while the groom frolicked on the beach with his stripper girlfriend was more than an incident.
    "There's a young man I'd like for you to meet."
    Summer smiled so hard her cheeks hurt. Good God, would the woman ever learn?
    “I’m having him over for dinner. Next Thursday. Seven thirty.”
    Her mother tried to sound matter-of-fact, but Lillian was a plotter.
    Summer sure as hell wasn't going to be there. “I’m sure y’all will have an excellent time.”
    “Don’t be coy, dear. It doesn’t work for you—”
    “Summer Ames?” a dark-haired man called from the window of a green Chevy truck rolling to a stop in the middle of the street.
    Summer shaded her eyes. “Yes?”
    Please, God, let him be the leader of a drug cartel looking to abduct rich old—oops, middle-aged—ladies. Summer would even supply the duct tape.
    “I have a delivery for you.” The man rammed the gearshift in park, grabbed something off the seat, slid out of the cab, and walked around the hood. His red and black Office Max button-down was crisp with starch. In his hands was a long, flat, white box—the kind used for long-stemmed roses.
    Interest sparkled in her mother’s eyes. “Is there a new man in your life?”
    “Not to my knowledge.”  Why? Are you paying someone else to date me?   But Summer just smiled. Fighting with her mother would do no good because she lived in a world where money bought the appearance of happiness, and that picture included a husband.
    “Here you go.” The man handed Summer the box. “I gotta get back to work. I hope you like it.”
    “Thanks.” Summer slid her arms under the lightweight but oddly shaped box.
    Without another word, the deliveryman walked back to his truck, climbed up, put it in drive, and sped away.
    Summer sank to the grass. Someone had sent her flowers. For real, this time. She yanked the red bow loose, worked it off a corner, tossed off the lid, and ripped back the waxy, green tissue paper.
    Not roses…pencils.
    Seven rows of yellow, unsharpened, number two pencils were tied with a thick, red satin ribbon. A bouquet of pencils. A small, white envelope was wedged under the ribbon.
    Summer worked it out and opened it.
     
    Ms. Ames,
    I hope these erase your bad opinion of me. See you on Monday.
    CAG
    P.S.—Lead poisoning is only a myth.
     
    Grayson was long on charm, she’d give him that. And he was witty, which was unexpected.
    Her mother leaned over Summer’s shoulder. “I take it this CAG is a man?”
    No, he’s a horse. Summer did her best to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “Yes.”
    “I’m late.” Her mother checked her watch. “Sorry to run.”
    Don’t be sorry. Run faster. “That’s a shame.”
    Her mother pulled open the driver’s door. “Don’t forget, next Thursday, seven thirty.”
    Trying out the selective hearing bit, Summer turned her back on her mother and walked to the rosebush. She didn’t turn around until she heard her mother’s car back out of the driveway and hum down the street.
    So what if her first floral delivery had come from Office Max? Summer fought the urge to lean down and sniff the pale pink erasers. She set the box on the front porch. It didn’t hurt that her mother thought she had a man interested in her.
    Pencils? She couldn’t let Grayson have the last word.
    A male voice called from the other side of the red-tipped photinia hedge separating her yard from the one on the left. “Is she gone?”
    “Yes, Satan has left the building.” Summer pulled back a clump of branches and smiled at her neighbor, Chuck. “Tell Stan it’s safe.”
    Chuck and Stan, her nosy—um—concerned next-door neighbors, were a blessing and a curse.
    “We saw you on TV. Clint Grayson…yum.” Stan’s clean-shaven face popped out from the break in the hedge. As always, he was impeccably dressed in tailored khakis and a pressed shirt. His fine-boned frame and bald head