The Summer House: A gorgeous feel good romance that will have you hooked
Jenny Hale
One
“The changes are coming along nicely!” Gladys said to Callie as she shuffled across the little road that sat quietly between their two beach cottages. She was in her sandals with the little wedge heels. Her familiar perfume overpowered even the briny air when she planted a kiss on Callie’s cheek. While most new neighbors didn’t greet Callie quite that affectionately, Gladys could, because she was like family.
Gladys tipped her head back to view the whole house. “I can tell you’ve been working hard today.”
Having labored all morning on the yard, Callie’s body was sandy and hot. She wiped her forehead with her arm and ran her hands through her long, dark tendrils, her fingers catching on tangles at the ends. Allowing herself to take in a tired breath, she stepped back to survey her work, shielding her eyes from the sun.
The cottage was something out of Callie’s dreams—dark wood shingled siding with white trim; the whole thing was on stilts to keep it safe from the rising tide in storms. It had a long porch across the front with a cascading staircase that Callie loved. She had been working on the walkway and the flowerbeds today, and she could just imagine the cottage as a bed and breakfast once it was finished, with weary travelers resting on rockers or on the upper deck, taking in the view of the island, the sound of the Atlantic lulling them from behind.
On the other side of the house, the rush of ocean waves beckoned, and the warm sea breeze whipped around Callie. The salty wind was always there for her, calming her and bringing her peace. She loved the quiet solitude it provided, the way the sound of it rushed in her ears, making her sleepy. It was hard to get her work done in such a paradise. But she’d managed to clear the plot today of all the overgrowth, leaving mostly sand in its place.
They stepped aside for a passing car, and Gladys watched it suspiciously as if it wasn’t supposed to be on her road. Gladys had lived in the same little cottage across the street for most of her life. She’d weathered more coastal storms than she could count and seen the shift in other nearby villages from remote landscape to the towering cottages and hotels that were eating up the coastline. Despite the changes, she’d never regretted staying for a moment. “It’s just heaven,” she’d said.
“Hello, you two!” Gladys called to Olivia and her son Wyatt on the porch, raising the glass of iced tea she’d brought outside with her. The ice clinked as condensation fogged the surface, causing drips to slide down onto her fingers. There was a lemon wedge floating on the top. “You’re gonna work yourselves to death!” Gladys said.
Wyatt’s head popped up briefly, his red curls wet with perspiration, a grin on his face when he saw his great-grandmother. He was almost hidden except for his head and shoulders behind the large railings as he sat on the porch, pounding nails that had shimmied up from the floorboards, his lips pursed, a crease of concentration between his eyes. At eight, he looked exactly like his mother had at that age, with that brilliant red hair and freckles.
Olivia giggled and shook her head. “We’re fine!” She was repainting the railings a bright white, making the original, peeled paint look gray in comparison. Her hair was pulled up into a bun held by a rubber band at the top of her head, showing her high cheekbones and bright green eyes. She waved to her grandmother.
“We’re not even tired!” Wyatt said, his concentration waning for only a moment before resuming his task. Callie and Olivia had just bought the beachfront property, and there was a lot of work to be done if they wanted to open in time to catch the end of the summer season. With the landscaping and porch rebuild still looming it would be quite a stretch, but they were hoping to unveil The Beachcomber to the public at the end of the month. With the warm temperatures extending into October, it would be just enough time to get their feet wet, testing the market.
Their whole lives, Callie and Olivia had dreamed about having this cottage across from Gladys. They’d seen it on their visits, walked the small path that went beside it down to the beach, and fantasized about what it would be like to live there. When they were older, Olivia had inquired about the property with her grandmother, just out of curiosity, so when it went on the market, Gladys called her immediately. Olivia was on the phone to Callie within minutes to see if they could scrape up enough money together to realize their dream of opening the bed and breakfast. The opportunity was like some sort of amazing dream.
“I’m going to take a lunch break—run into town. Do you need anything?” Callie asked Gladys as she tied her hair back into a ponytail and secured it with the band she’d kept on her wrist.
“Oh, I’m just fine, dear. But I am glad to see you taking care of yourself. A thin girl like you needs to eat or you’ll waste away.”
She smiled with amusement. “Olivia,” she called. “I’m going to stop for a little while and get lunch. Want me to pick something up for you?”
“Wyatt just had a sandwich when we went inside a minute ago, and I’d like to get the front steps painted before I rest,” Olivia said, wiping her forehead, leaving a milky streak of paint and sweat. She and Callie had divvied out the “to do” list according to their talents and timeframe. Callie, who’d always loved the artistic side of things, took the landscaping and interior painting, while Olivia painted a lot of the exterior and handled the demolition.
Gladys fluttered her hand in the air. “I’m heading back in—all this heat. I’m painting some mason jars for flower arrangements. I’ll get back to it. Just wanted to give my old fingers a rest.”
Callie ushered dirt from the front walk back to its proper location with her foot. “Want to go with me anyway, Wyatt?” she asked, worried he might be getting bored.
“No, thanks,” Wyatt said. He was still focused on the unruly nails, his little face pink under his freckles. The porch was completely empty with the exception of a watered-down glass of lemonade on the top step that Wyatt had brought out with him, which wobbled slightly every time he hammered.
He’d been so sweet and helpful since they’d arrived. He’d spent most of the last months of his summer repairing the house. They’d worked all evening one night, and they knew he was tired, but he hadn’t said a thing; he’d just let them work. The moon and stars were so bright that night that it was as if someone had turned a giant light on outside.