I've Got Summer

E I G H T

C H R I S

New beams were risen. Dave had started on the wiring. The grumpy plumber had checked all the pipes leading in and out of the foundation and deemed them ready, so I could start ordering sinks and a shower, and probably a washing machine. It'd be needed. Especially the shower..

I had a hose, and a river a little through the woods, but honestly? I missed standing under the running water and just...be. I missed sitting inside a house, in a comfy chair, with a beer and some sport on the TV—soccer, hockey, or Formula One, preferably.

Living in a tent for a few weeks wasn't bad, but I was ready to actually move into the house. It wasn't far off—a week, maybe two—before I could start sleeping under an actual roof. I'd need to replace it first. As it was I was a little afraid it would fall and crush Dave and I at any time, while we were working on the walls.

That would not be great, honestly. We'd survive, but it would hurt.

As the clouds started to gray over, I realized I'd need a ladder, and I'd have to go back into Bailey's. I hadn't seen or spoken to Summer since our coffee-appointment, and I had a feeling she wasn't very thrilled that I just left immediately after my mug was empty.

It wasn't her—it was me. The oldest excuse in the book, but it was true.

But I couldn't say that out loud. Not to her. That'd just seem rude, and like I was saying no to any other chance at all. I wasn't. I didn't want to break her heart. Oh, fuck, even in my thoughts I sounded arrogant. It wasn't meant to be that, it was meant to...no, it was just arrogant. The truth was that I'd need to sort my own shit out before letting someone in—even if they were as perfect as she was.

I texted Dave quickly to let him know I went into town, but he could just get started on his stuff when he came. I still didn't have a front door to lock, so he could just walk in anyway. And, well, the walls were stripped down to only the beams, so he could sneak through there, too. My truck's engine roared to life as I pressed the ignition button, and I relaxed immediately. The only familiar thing left in my life was that truck—I bought it with my own damn money, nothing from anything my parents had before me, or gave me. Just like the house. And just like all the materials and tools to fix it up.

The road into River Hills from my house was so known by now I could drive there blindfolded. Even the bumps in the road were avoided without a second thought. I just knew exactly where to position the wheels to avoid damage like it was muscle memory.

Everything about this town seemed so peaceful and slow-paced compared to where I grew up. I used to be mad at my parents for raising us kids in a huge city, but I decided not to be anymore when I enlisted and went into war. Wasting energy and effort to be angry seemed pointless when I witnessed so much misery and wrongdoings.

Of course, the reason I enlisted was to spite my father who was adamant I'd follow in his footsteps to become an attorney, and eventually a judge. That wouldn't suit me. Instead I invested all my money and ended up with a fortune, investing again and again in new things I believed in. Just the week before I moved to River Hills a young man I met at Shaw's told me about this idea he had to collect charities into a new app, where people could donate and help with just one click. It seemed like a good idea, so I gave him my email address and told him to contact me when he had a solid business plan, and I'd fund it.

That I made my living through investing in people and their great minds and bright ideas seemed to piss my parents off even more than war. And the fact that it brought me joy made me want to continue. And, well, maybe I could make it into a big company one day, and let someone else handle it all, while I just laid back and enjoyed my life in my little, remote house, with my blue-haired beauty queen laying on my chest.