Romancing the Pages

Introduction

Orange County, California, a place of almost year-round sunshine, is bordered by the sandy white beaches on the south and the foothills to the north. In places, remnants of the original orange groves that once covered the area still send their spicy sweet scent to perfume the air. It’s a land of beauty, entertainment, and creativity – the perfect place to dream up stories of love.

Romance isn’t limited to one season within a year. From the celebrations on New Year’s Eve, to the sweet sensations of a summer weekend, to spooky Halloween, and into the chill of winter, love blossoms at the least expected times.

In this anthology, the Orange County Chapter of the Romance Writers of America has brought together seventeen fresh voices. Many thanks go out to all the contributors who donated their stories and services, and keep an eye out for future stories from these talented contributors.

Enjoy your taste of the talent OCC offers. We invite you to celebrate all year long through Romancing the Pages.

All Summer on a Date

by

GVR Corcillo

ALL SUMMER ON A DATE

What are you going to wear?

Lily... Summer took a deep breath. I was telling you about The Catch—

I know, Lily said, cutting into Summer’s story. Some football thing, then he asked you out. Got it. Now, what are you wearing?

Summer stretched her neck, easing out the kinks. But at least this time, she had the right answer. It’s so perfect, she cooed, looking at her reflection in the long oval mirror. Sleek, down to my ankles, with a slit up the side. Not exactly black, more like—

Send me a picture.

Summer looked at herself, all decked out in the dress. She couldn’t send Lily a picture. Not this instant. Her hair was all twisted up into tiny pigtails to give it a rakish lilt when she brushed it out and pinned it up tonight. And her feet! Lily would never let her hear the end of it. True, Summer had no intention of wearing the high black boot that was snaking up her right leg. Even though it was raining enough to launch the ark. No, tonight she would wear the five-inch strappy stiletto that graced her left foot. She’d just tried the boot for fun, to see if it would give her a sexy sorceress look.

Summer, if you—

Hang on, she said, dashing over to her computer. There. I just emailed you the pic from the catalogue. What do you think?

The low whistle echoing through the phone made Summer clench her fist in victory.

Nice, Lily said. Sexy, but not too slutty. And the color–sophisticated. What size did you have to get?

Eight.

Pause. Eight?

I go running every morning!

What about shoes?

Summer quickly ducked her feet under the chair, even though she wasn’t video-chatting with Lily. Killer shoes, she said quickly. I’m sending you that pic, too.

This time, there was no whistle. Summer. Lily sounded as if the missile were headed right for them. Can you even walk in heels that high?

Summer tightened her jaw. I wear heels almost every day now.

O...kay...ay. Lily stretched the word out to three syllables, each one lathered with skepticism.

Summer let it slide, deciding not to mention how much she’d practiced. She could walk in heels now, and that’s all that counted. In fact, she pulled off looking so poised and chic on a daily basis that no one at the magazine ever seemed to question how the heck someone like Summer Hodiak had gotten that way. Thank goodness nobody at Consequence knew Lily.

And Summer?

Yeah?

Tonight’s a big deal, so please, just keep your mouth shut. You finally have a date with a keeper. Don’t scare him off.

How can I keep my mouth completely shut? Summer kicked off the one high heel she’d been wearing and rubbed her foot. It’s our first date. I have to talk a little. That’s the point of a first date.

"It’s New Year’s Eve. Just let him do all the talking, and the night will take care of itself. Whenever you open that mouth of yours, men run, career opportunities disappear, and Mom asks me to have another baby."

I just—

I know. You just tell the truth, fight for what’s right, yada yada yada. You and Michael Moore would get along like gangbusters if you would just move to Michigan.

I hate being cold.

Focus, Summer! What kind of car does Kyle drive? And what color?

Summer dropped her foot. How would I know?

Because you work with him at the magazine! Lily huffed out a huge sigh. Were you raised in a barn?

"You’re my sister, for Pete’s sake! I was raised with you."

"Which is why I don’t understand how you can be so clueless. Summer, try to match his car. Your dress, your jewels, your handbag. Subtly make it clear that you fit into his life, and you’ll be engaged by Easter."

"It’s our first—"

Gotta go. Dean’s home with the girls. Just try to be posh, and you’ll have the power to make this your best year yet. Love ya. Bye!

Summer tossed the phone aside and slipped off the dress. Wearing just the one boot, she flopped back onto her unmade bed.

Best year yet? What about the year she’d gotten arrested and been put in the same police car as Martin Sheen? That had been a pretty cool year. Before she’d turned thirty and molted into The New Summer. The New Summer who’d gone head to head with the Marketing Director and won.

Jackpot.

* * * *

You do realize that this is just for one issue. Two days earlier, Kyle had followed Summer into her office, insisting on making his point. It doesn’t mean we go with your ideas from now on.

Summer had sailed across the room, smiling at the IT guy working at her computer. Hi, Jeff, she’d said to him, just before she’d turned on a dime to face Kyle. Leaning her butt against her desk, she’d effectively kept the marauding Kyle Hunter from surging any further into her territory.

Kyle, you’re the Marketing Director and I’m the Art Director. We’re equals. Neither one of us makes the final decisions. Summer had picked up some mail off her desk and started rifling through it. Callie’s the editor and she calls the shots. This time, she liked my layout better. Summer had looked up then. Why are we still talking about this?

Kyle had opened his mouth, then closed it, working the muscles in that chiseled jaw of his. I just want to make it clear, he’d said, standing at his full six feet plus, that you don’t know everything.

I concur. Summer had tossed aside the mail. But I know a lot. She’d kept her voice light, brushing him aside with a smile. Now get out of my office.

I’m sure you do know a lot, he’d conceded, raising his brows in pure nonchalance. Like who caught The Catch.

Summer blinked. Was he actually quizzing her? About NFL football? To one-up her?

If you don’t know... Kyle hadn’t even tried to hide his smug grin.

Dwight Clark. Summer had spoken softly but clearly.

Kyle’s mouth dropped open, pulling the arrogance right out of his features.

She’d let out a soft trill of laughter. Now seriously, go away. With a flick of her wrist, she’d shooed him out.

Summer had turned to find Jeff the IT guy shaking his head as he smiled. His fingers had been flying over the computer keys, his eyes never leaving the screen in front of him.

What? she’d asked.

He never would have asked you that if he knew your password.

Summer had laughed. You mean my old password.

"LTversusJaws. You clearly know your football. And you must be a Giants fan because Jaworski never won those battles."

Just then, Kyle had poked his head back in the door. Listen, Summer. And the guy had almost looked boyish. I’m going to the Silversmith Party downtown on New Year’s Eve, and I understand you’re going, too.

Yeah...

Something in the way he’d been looking at her made Summer’s heart ratchet up, like when Mitch from physics used to turn around and ask to use her calculator.

Want to go together? Kyle had proposed it so off-the-cuff, like it was obviously a perfect idea.

Summer had given him a casual shrug. Sure.

Great, he’d said, smiling for real. I’ll call you later today.

* * * *

Summer Hodiak hugged her pillow, still hardly able to believe how she’d landed the most stellar date of her thirty-one years. The Gorgeous Kyle Hunter hit on all points: spiffy wardrobe, impressive job, nine-to-five lifestyle, much-used gym membership, and most of all, class.

She pulled her bunched up comforter across her as the sky outside grew darker. The New Summer was finally up to the challenge of dating the kind of guy who read GQ – who lived the GQ kind of life. Rolling onto her side, she noticed the time on her old-fashioned alarm clock. Yikes! Summer bolted into a sitting position and began unlacing her boot. Kyle and his pumpkin coach would soon be on their way.

* * * *

An hour and a half later, Summer froze as she adjusted a sparkly black pin in her hair. She heard the knock again. It was definitely not her imagination.

He was here.

Summer lowered her arms and took a deep breath. Then another, before she turned and slowly, languidly even, made her way to the front door. If only she could remember to channel Marlene Dietrich all night!

Kyle. Summer kept her hint of a smile in check and ushered him in. Then she tightened her abs as she swung her long black rain cape around her shoulders.

Wait, Kyle said, his voice softer than it ever was at the office. I want to see that dress of yours.

This old thing? But Summer let the cape slide off her shoulders.

Kyle took his time looking her over. Ve-ry nice, he crooned, drawing out the first word.

He’d looked all the way down to her shoes and back, Summer was pretty sure. Too bad Lily couldn’t be here to witness the A+ she was getting for her ensemble.

And your hair, he added, smiling so that his eyes crinkled. "Wilder than you wear it at Consequence. I like that."

Me, too, Summer agreed, inwardly praying he did not touch her hair!

Summer Hodiak had actually put hairspray in her hair. That gunk in her hair! To make sure the mussiness stayed just so. But if Kyle touched it, now, after he’d just commented on its sexy state of dishevelment, she would be exposed as a fraud. A complete charlatan!

But maybe later, when it was a little less sticky…

Summer smiled easily as she swished back into her hooded cape. But secretly, she hoped she was getting it right. Being The New Summer was complicated. There seemed to be a lot of timing involved. Not to mention that the paint-splattering iconoclast in her felt stifled by all the underwire and nylon she was wearing. But who was she to complain? The New Summer, constricted as she was, had landed a New Year’s Eve Date to beat the band. Let’s go, she suggested, gliding to the door.

Okay. On the way out, Kyle tipped his head to flash Summer a crooked smile, reminding her of George Clooney.

Oh, yeah. This date was definitely worth all the hairspray and underwire.

* * * *

Once Summer settled back into the dark, low-slung seat of Kyle’s car, she allowed herself to relax. She breathed easily as she watched Kyle navigate through the night rain. I didn’t know you drove a Porsche.

I usually drive the Lexus to work, he explained. You know, my hybrid SUV.

Right, Summer said. But really, she had no idea. Why did everyone expect her to notice cars? And what would Lily’s rules be about making conversation from here? Summer had the distinct feeling that gas consumption, foreign oil, and outsourced jobs were off the table.

Kyle, you’re a bad boy, she decided to say with a wicked little laugh. "You drive a hybrid to Consequence — a magazine more hippie liberal than the Greenpeace newsletter — but when school’s out... She lowered her voice conspiratorially, it’s the Porsche."

Can you blame me?

Summer smiled and gazed out the window. She watched the wet street reflect the glow from the holiday lights strung along the deserted boulevard. The white lights, especially, looked—

WATCH OUT! Summer screamed as the figure flashed in front of the car.

Kyle slammed on the brakes and wrenched the wheel, skidding though a puddle into the curb. Before the car could even bounce back from the impact, Summer was vaulting out the door.

Summer! Kyle leaned across the front seat, snagging closed the door she’d left gaping open. He lowered the window on her side of the car. Summer!

I think he’s hurt! she called, running along the flooded sidewalk, pulling up her cavernous hood against the driving rain. I’ve got to find him!

Summer peered at all the darkened buildings, pulling up short when she saw him. Easy to miss, but she had seen his reflecting eyes in the faint glow of the streetlight.

Summer looked at the beaded bag still clutched in her icy hand and pulled out her phone. Tapping the flashlight app, she aimed the LED at the slick black dog to get a better look.

But it wasn’t a he. The dog was a girl, and a pretty young one by the look of the big white paws she hadn’t yet grown into. Summer noticed the dog was leaning awkwardly against the door of a closed computer repair shop. As she got closer, the dog hunkered down under the shop’s tiny awning. It’s okay, girl. I promise. I’m here to help.

The dog was in bad shape. Shaking, soaked, and so skinny Summer could see her ribs. All of them.

It’s okay, she cooed softly. She put her phone back in her purse and held out both hands toward the dog. It’s okay.

And the dog inched forward.

Yes, girl, c’mon. Summer squatted, drenching the hem of her dress. Come on, girl.

The dog took a full step toward Summer, whose stomach lurched as she noticed the dog’s limp. One more faltering step and the dog dove her head into Summer’s outstretched hand.

Yes, my girl, she murmured, yes. She ruffled her hand gently over the dog’s wet head. Kyle, Summer called. She’s hurt! We have to get her to—

But Kyle was there behind her, standing under his umbrella. Summer, that’s a pit bull!

Summer pulled the dog closer. I know.

A pit bull!

"Will you stop saying that like it’s a curse? She’s a dog."

I’m calling Animal Control. Kyle felt around in his coat for his phone.

Summer picked up the dog and moved so they were both under the tiny awning. An injured dog brought in on a holiday weekend? They wouldn’t let her live to see morning. Too much work.

My phone must be in the car. Look, Summer. Have you forgotten where we’re going tonight?

Summer looked at him as she stroked the dog’s head.

We’re off the clock, Kyle blurted. We don’t have to try to save the world every minute of our lives.

Kyle. She could feel a steely calm work through her. I am going to help this dog.

That’s it? You’re ditching me for a dog?

Summer blinked. Ditching him? This was it? Is that how you see it? Summer looked at him standing there under his umbrella, so debonair in his immaculate black overcoat. Of course that was how he saw it. Of course it was. Yes, Kyle. I’m choosing this dog over you. I’ll call a cab. Happy New Year.

When Kyle’s taillights disappeared into the night, the wind changed with a vicious gust. Rain slanted under the awning and pelted Summer, making the dog jolt and whine.

It’s okay, Summer assured her, draping her cape over the dog. I’ll get you some help. I promise.

She clamped her jaw shut to keep her teeth from chattering as she fished out her phone. Trying to control stiff, shivering fingers, Summer tapped at her touch screen to find a cab company. But she dropped the phone, catching it before it landed in a puddle by pressing it hard against the dog’s quivering thigh. The dog yelped.

Sorry! Summer quickly got the phone away from the dog’s leg.

"Hello?"

The voice was coming from Summer’s phone. She looked at it quizzically then put it to her ear. Hello? Who’s this?

Summer? Summer Hodiak?

What? Who is this? How do you know my name?

"Summer, it’s Jeff. You called me. On my work cell. Are you okay? You don’t sound okay."

"Jeff? IT Jeff? From Consequence?"

Summer... He spoke as if he were backing away from a bear. Just tell me where you are and I’ll come get you. You don’t have to drive anywhere.

Jeff, no, no, I’m not drunk. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you. I’m standing in the rain with this dog, shivering, and I tried to call a cab but I must have hit—

You hit him? Is the dog okay? Are you?

No, I didn’t hit her. But she’s a mess. I’ve gotta go call a cab.

On New Year’s Eve? With a dog? Where are you? I’ll be right there.

Summer looked at her phone. Jeff, the IT guy from the magazine. He was offering to come rescue them? On New Year’s Eve? Jeff from the office?

The dog whined, poking her head out from Summer’s cape. She flinched as the rain pelted her snout.

I’m on Foothill, Summer said into the phone. Somewhere. North side...I’m right across the street from Marcy’s Cleaners.

Got it, he said. Stay put. I’ll be there in ten minutes.

Summer fumbled her phone back into her purse. Okay. They were going to be okay. Jeff Tracy could give them a ride to a vet. Jeff Tracy from Consequence. But he wasn’t on the clock. None of them were, as Kyle had pointed out. Should she offer to pay Jeff when he arrived? Was she being a jerk to even think that?

Of course she was. Jeff wasn’t coming because the Art Director had summoned him. He was coming because he wanted to help a hurt dog. Or maybe he was just hard-wired to come to the rescue, like all the IT guys. Only they were usually saving people when it was about computer stuff. Summer could picture them as they scurried from office to office in their perpetual jeans and T-shirts with the dorky decals. And Jeff always looked like he needed a haircut.

Suddenly, headlights from the road seemed to beam right at her. Summer! a man’s voice called.

Could Jeff be here already? No way. Summer’s heart leapt — Kyle had come back for her! For her and the dog!

But instead of a black Porsche, a dinged-up silver Honda pulled to the curb. The car had barely stopped when Jeff came bolting out, wearing his usual jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt — and not even a jacket! He was brandishing a big golf umbrella, unopened.

When he got to Summer and the dog, he opened the umbrella and held it over her. Do you want me to carry her?

No, Summer said, clinging to the dog as much as the dog was clinging to her.

Jeff gave them a quick nod. C’mon.

He led Summer and her snuffling bundle to the car, keeping them shielded from the downpour. When he opened the passenger door, Summer saw that the seat was draped with a gigantic patchwork quilt.

Sit down, he said, whipping off her sodden cape and tossing it into the back seat. As Summer landed with the dog in the nest of quilts, Jeff bundled another blanket around the dog. All good? But without waiting for a response, he slammed them in and rushed around to the driver’s side. As soon as he got into the car, he asked, How do you feel? Can you feel everything? Your toes?

Yes, she said, drawing the quilt around her. Wet and cold, but I’m good. She noticed how the rain had plastered his dark hair to his head and face. You got all wet, too.

How’s the dog? Any bleeding?

Don’t think so. But she’s limping. And really skinny. Starved. We’ve got to get to a vet. I think there’s a 24-hour clinic around here somewhere.

In a matter of seconds, Jeff found the address on his phone. Keep an eye out for Mountain Laurel Emergency Clinic. About two miles away, up on Sierra Madre. He reached across Summer and took a granola bar out of the glove compartment. He gave it to the dog, who wolfed it down in one chomp. Good girl, he said with a quick smile. Then, without missing a beat, he pulled onto Foothill. They were off.

Are you sure you’re okay, Summer? Jeff was shooting worried glances at her. I didn’t notice your car anywhere. How far did you have to chase her until you caught her?

I didn’t have to chase her. I got out of the car and she let me go right up to her. It was Kyle’s car, Summer explained. I saw her and screamed, and Kyle slammed on the brakes.

Kyle? Jeff didn’t say anything for a few seconds. "You mean you were already on your date when this happened? You weren’t just running out for a Starbuck’s fix