Read Online Perfect Summer by Katie Graykowski - Free Book Online Page B

help himself.
    “I moved out, went to college, and I don’t go back. Now, I laugh at least ten times a day. Why don’t you laugh?”
    “Too busy.” And it would make him appear weak. Only he didn’t think of her as weak.
    “That’s just sad. Laughter is the best medicine. Don’t you ever sing like a rock star with your iPod?”
    “No.” His iPod was toast. It had accidentally landed in his pool after he couldn’t figure out how to change the playlist and had chunked it as hard as he could.
    “Not even in the car when no one’s looking?”
    “Sorry.” He couldn’t sing, especially in front of other people.
    “You should try it. I’m pretty sure I was a diva in a former life.” Sheets shuffled.
    What color were they? Navy blue like the dream he’d had when he’d met her?
    “How about now?” Was it odd to be having this conversation with someone he didn't know that well?
    Summer laughed again. “Tone deaf. It’s pathetic. That’s not the point. I sing because it makes me smile.” A cabinet door closed, ice fell into a glass, and then a soda can hissed as it was opened. “Why can't you take ten seconds out of your day to laugh—the big belly kind that involves eye watering and knee slapping?”
    Why couldn’t he? Singing made her smile. What made him? “My days are pretty full. I wake up at six.”
    “That’s insane.” She took a drink. “Holy crap, you’re a morning person.”
    “Yes, ma'am.”
    “And?” On her end, more cabinets opened and dishes clanged.
    “Well, it's the off-season, so I get up, swim two miles, eat breakfast, jog seven to ten miles, lift weights, scrimmage, and eat lunch. My afternoons vary between personal appearances, business meetings, and watching game films.” When he said it out loud, it was dull beyond belief.
    “Stop. You’re boring me. Christ, I fell asleep just listening to you, which is somewhat hazardous considering I’m mixing pancake batter.”
    Clint sat up. “You know how to make pancakes? The homemade kind, not the frozen ones?” How rude would it be to invite himself to breakfast? He could conveniently drop by her house in, say, twenty minutes, only he didn't know where she lived.
    “Yes, why don't you make them with me? Do you have flour, salt, sugar, eggs, baking powder, and buttermilk?” She poured something into a bowl.
    “Um, let me check.” He opened his pantry. Flour—yes, salt—check, sugar...he pulled out the five-pound bag he used for iced tea, and baking powder...baking powder. He turned to the built-in spice rack next to the door. A small, red can said baking powder . Yes. Eggs and buttermilk were in the refrigerator. Wait, buttermilk? He opened the fridge door. No buttermilk. “I have everything except buttermilk. Could I melt some butter and mix it with regular milk?”
    She laughed. “Nope. Buttermilk doesn't have butter in it. All is not lost. Do you have any lemon juice or vinegar?”
    He glanced at his fruit bowl. A lone lemon sat in the curvy, silver bowl on his kitchen table. “Lemon, check.”
    “Okay, pour one cup of milk—”
    “Wait, how much is a cup? Like a glass or a coffee cup?” He opened the cabinet where he kept the cups. The tea glasses were definitely larger than the coffee mugs.
    “No. You need a measuring cup. Eight ounces.”
    Clint looked around the kitchen, waiting for measuring cups to jump out at him. “No measuring cups.”
    Damn, he was really getting into this, and his mouth was watering for hot pancakes.
    “You look like the type who drinks protein shakes?” she said.
    What did that have to do with measuring cups?
    “Sure. Whey in the morning and at lunch, then casein in the evening.”
    “My ex used to down them like nobody's business. Do you have one of the scoops that comes with the powder? It's about a quarter of a cup.” She yawned as she mixed something.
    “Hold on, I'm putting you on speaker.” Clint set the phone down, hit the speaker button, picked up the five-gallon