Summer puts my mug on the coffee table and curls up on her couch, legs crossed beneath her. A sheath of blonde hair falls forward as she stares into her mug as if she’s trying to read her fortune. “I used to.”
“You used to sing.”
“Yes. I majored in business in college, but with a minor in music. I can’t play an instrument to save my life, but… I’ve been singing for as long as I can remember.”
I raise an eyebrow, but Summer holds up a hand. “I know exactly what you’re going to say. Don’t.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, you were going to ask me to sing something.”
“Maybe, but maybe not. And even if I were, would it be so terrible?”
She gives a mock shiver, but there’s real censure in her eyes. “Yes. I won’t sing on command.”
“All right, little canary,” I say, taking a sip of the tea she’s prepared for me. It’s not half bad. “I’m not surprised, you know.”
“That I sing?”
“You seem like the type.” Golden, glorious, smiling. She should be a cartoon princess, walking through the forest with woodland creatures trailing behind. Hell, I feel like one, sitting here in her apartment for no apparent reason for the second time in a week.
“I don’t know what to make of that,” she says.
“It was a compliment, I think.”
“Then thank you,” she says, smiling. “I think.”
We look at each other for a long moment, her smiling, me lost. I’m acutely aware of the fact that it’s past midnight and she’s in a pair of tight jeans and a tank top.
But then she sits up pin straight. “Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“It’s raining! Damn.”
I watch in astonished silence as she flies up from the couch, grabbing towels that had been stuffed behind the couch. She rolls them up tightly and fits them against the windowsills.
“They leak?” I ask.
“Yes. The caulking is bad, I think. Anyway, every time it rains, without fail, I have wet windowsills.”
“Summer,” I ask, “how long has that been the case?”
“Oh, a few months, at least.”
“You haven’t told your landlord?”
“I have, but she’s busy.”
I narrow my eyes at her, but she gives me a serene smile, sinking down on the couch again. “You’re renting from your aunt?” I guess.
She nods. “Vivi will fix them.”
“You should remind her.”
“I will,” she says, stretching her legs out. I’m about to insist when she gives a soft sigh and leans her head against the back of the couch, closing her eyes. “This is nice.”
My gaze returns to my mug. Surprised to find that I actually agree with her on that.