Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
But he still remembered the way home—and he couldn’t help but smile, as he pulled up outside his mother’s house. The sunny little cottage hadn’t changed, either, still overgrown with flowers everywhere. Daffodils nodded their sunny heads, while hollyhocks clustered around lavender and flowering azalea bushes; jasmine climbed the walls, dripping blooms whose fragrance nearly drowned him when he stepped out of the car, chasing away the last stinging scent of smoke in his nose. Little glass wind chimes and baubles hung in every tree and from every eave, catching the meager gray light and turning it into winking shards of color.
He’d barely made it past the wooden gate, stepping under the arch of the flowering bower overhead, before the front door opened and his mother came tumbling out. Small, round, Lily Hemlock was a compact bundle of energy swirled about by gauzy scarves, trailing her in a flutter of color as she nearly launched herself into him.
“Summer.”
He caught her with an oof, rocking back on his heels before righting himself and wrapping her up in a tight hug. “Hi, Mom.”
“I was wondering when you’d get in. You didn’t call, you just—”
“Sorry. I stopped by the school first.” He grinned wryly. “It’s burning again.”
“Oh, it’s always burning. The fire chief doesn’t even bother unless they actually call anymore.”
She pulled back, gripping his arms and looking up at him with a measuring gaze, blue eyes bright against the dark twist of her hair; when had those jet-black locks started to fade to iron gray?
When had she become so frail, the bones of her hands pressing into his skin?
But her presence was still larger than life, as she gave him a once-over and clucked her tongue primly. “Look at you. Have you been eating? You’re too thin.”
He laughed, taking her arm and nudging her toward the door. “I’m twice the size I was in high school.”
“And you were too thin in high school, too. Too thin times two is still too thin.” Suddenly she was the one tugging him, and he let himself be marshalled along without protest. “Come. Sit. I’ve just finished baking.”
Summer only smiled, as his mother practically dragged him inside. The house was as warm and open inside as it was the outside, all weathered, unvarnished wood everywhere and sprigs of herbs strung up along the walls and ceiling, the aromas of her latest concoctions making the entire house smell earthy and clean. Familiar. Safe.
And as she ushered him to a place at the kitchen table, he was finally able to breathe again.
Even if he had no appetite for the orange crème muffins she piled on a plate in front of him; he still wasn’t going to tell her that, not when she watched him like a hawk.
“Go on,” she said. “I know they’re your favorite.”
“And you made them just because I was coming home?” He chuckled and picked off a bite of one steaming muffin, plucking it between his fingers. “Today’s really not special, Mom. Within a week you’ll be sick of having me underfoot.”
“I could never.” She dropped herself down into a chair opposite him, propping her chin in her hands and watching him fondly. “And knowing you, you’ll probably still never be here what with living up at that school.”
“It’s mandatory. I’ve got to do my part as dorm monitor.” He made himself swallow a bite; even if he’d loved his mother’s orange crème muffins since he was old enough to talk, right now it tasted overly sweet, cloying, lodging in his still-tight throat. “Though I may just end up moving in with you and looking for a new job. I...uh... I kind of screwed up.”
Her eyes sharpened. “Now how did you manage that when you’ve not even started yet?”
“...nothing. I didn’t do anything.”
“So you managed to screw up by not doing anything?” Her brows lifted mildly. “That’s unlike you. Usually when you screw up, you’re at least trying.”
“Funny.”
“Darling, what did you do?”
He winced. “...IkissedProfessorIseya,” he mumbled under his breath.
“Try that one more time, dear. With air.”
“Oh God.” Summer let the muffin plunk back to the plate and dropped his face into his hands. “I kissed him. Professor Iseya. I just...kissed him.”
His mother gasped. “Fox Iseya? Oh dear.”
“...I don’t think ‘oh dear’ really covers it.”
She made an odd sound, before pressing her fingers to her mouth—but that didn’t stop her lips from twitching at the corners. “Oh—oh, darling, I still remember you doodling his initials in your notebooks. And learning how to read those—what were those letters?”
“...hiragana...”
“...yes, that. Just so you could write his name the proper way.”
“Oh my God, Mom, stop.” He pressed his burning cheeks into his palms, closed his eyes, and told his churning stomach to calm the hell down. “I was seventeen.”
“And it was adorable.” She chuckled fondly. “But whatever possessed you to kiss him today?”