The Coldest Summer✓

Five

I swim in idleness as Sam and Liam talk about business and other uninteresting matters that are probably very important to them. I need something spontaneous; sitting on the porch like an old lady has begun graying my mood.

"I'm not trying to sell you off, Liam. I'm simply stating the facts. They even offer stock options in such cases," Sam rumbles, stifling a laugh at whatever Liam has just told her.

"Well, I suppose we shall see how things work after the proposal we made," Liam replies gently. "Actually, I truly apologize for dragging you into this conversation—I know you're here to relax." He takes a cup of coffee toward his mouth, eyes on Sam.

She flushes slightly, her cheeks pink and her smile as smooth as molasses. "Don't worry, it's just a small talk. It's not like I'm typing the report or something."

How lovely. The Sam I know would kill whoever destroys her idea of having a good time, yet she's here playing professionally. I'm not sure what kind of spell this Englishman uses, but it's shockingly effective.

I clear my throat as I sit straight, wondering what to do next. Liam's eyes meet mine on my quest to refill my coffee mug. I give him a small smile, probably fake.

"Ms. Jones," he calls, smiling back in a similar fashion.

Yes. Totally fake.

"Yes?"

"Are you enjoying your stay, or would you rather I leave you alone with your friend?" he asks politely, his manners full of gallant.

I surely hope he is what he sounds.

"Pardon?" I utter, unsure of what his question is exactly.

"Are you okay?" His eyes narrow, seemingly bemused.

Sam gives me a worried look and I believe I need to focus on anything but my racing thoughts.

"Yes, I am okay. You can carry on with your talk. Pretend I'm not here," I answer, grabbing the newspaper from the table.

No more coffee, for I feel intoxicated now instead of sobering up.

"Kiki," Sam snaps upon my response, a bit chagrined.

"What?" I mouth.

"Not cool," she mouths back.

I smother a laugh, and out of the blue our attention is seized by the heavy whirring sound resembling . . . a helicopter? Instinctively, I throw the newspaper aside and cast my gaze at the grass strewn field stretched from the front yard to wherever I can't fathom.

A black helicopter with a bold 'Chopper 64' imprint slowly lands. Woah! I watch keenly as the grasses overlay each other from the wind until the drones slow down. Astounded, Sam and I exchange glances, wondering who is gracing us with such a grand entrance.

"I can't believe this," Liam mutters in a low voice, his attention on the same thing as ours. "Excuse me, ladies." He gets up to regard this visitor.

I guess? Well, a lot keeps happening here.

A minute or two later, we see a man jumping off the helicopter with a huge smile on his face. He hugs Liam, who smiles back stiffly as though he's allergic to physical contacts. I shrug when Sam glances my way. Whoever this new guy is, he surely looks ritzy and very close to Liam.

They're now approaching the house, and from here I can see the new guy clearly. He's wearing full black: from his sunglasses, his body-fit V-neck shirt that do his slim yet fit body justice, to his skinny jeans. His brown boots seem to have cost a fortune and he's another good-looking thing around here.