Summer at Willow Lake by SUSAN WIGGS

Author:SUSAN WIGGS
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MIRA
Published: 2016-10-16T04:00:00+00:00

Seventeen

For Olivia, each morning began with a magical hour. The birds sang the forest to life and the sun touched the world with gold. A mist gathered on the lake, the layered swath steered by the gentle morning breeze and slowly burned off by the rising sun. She went jogging every day, just as she did back in the city. Only back home, she did so on a treadmill. At Kioga, she ran an uninterrupted five-mile course through the woods, along a trail that had been newly bush-hogged by her uncle’s landscaping crew.

To keep from getting bored on the treadmill, she used to tuck an iPod into the inner pocket of her shorts. Out here, she didn’t need Radiohead or Cake in her ears during the morning jog. The trill of awakening birds, the occasional bugle of an elk and the rustle of the morning breeze were entertaining enough.

As she emerged from the woods to the dining hall, she spotted Connor Davis pulling his truck around to a storage shed, and nearly tripped over her own feet.

“You’re up early,” she remarked, trying not to pant too hard. She smiled pleasantly, but inwardly she was cringing. He had a habit of catching her at her worst—up a flagpole, clad in painter’s coveralls and now in her jogging bra, no shirt, neon-orange shorts. To complete the look, she was drenched in sweat, out of breath, her hair caught carelessly in a ponytail. Just once, she’d love for him to see her looking smart, in her favorite Marc Jacobs sheath and new Manolo flats.

He didn’t seem to be focusing on the sweat and unwashed hair, though. He was checking out her legs and her boobs and bare midriff. And yes, she saw the moment he noticed it—her pierced belly button. “So this is what I’ve been missing every morning?” he asked.

“Pretty much.”

“I ought to start setting my alarm earlier.”

She wasn’t sure if he was pulling her leg or flirting with her. Regardless, she wished it wasn’t so stupidly entertaining. Trying to seem nonchalant, she opened her water bottle, took a swig, then dabbed her mouth with the back of her hand. “How’s your brother doing?”

“He’s all right.”

Guyspeak drove Olivia nuts, and Connor was one of the worst offenders. “All right” could mean anything from “He still has a pulse” to “He just won the lottery.”

Maybe Connor’s very guyness was the reason she found him both infuriating and sexy. His truck was a perfect example. She suspected that the papers and invoices littering the cab were the closest thing he had to a filing system, yet his collection of CDs was perfectly organized so that he could access his favorite Rush album without even taking his eyes off the road.

When she looked into the bed of the truck, she was startled to see not the expected tools and equipment, but a load of birdhouses in every conceivable size and shape. Each one looked unique and handcrafted, with far more detail than the average bird needed.

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