A Summer Remade Read Online Free PDF Page A

much less turn this question and answer time on him.
    As he reaches for another fry, I snatch his basket away.
    “Hey now—” He throws his hands up, and I wish I could guess his wingspan—if only to report it to Darby. She’s a sucker for good arms.
    “It’s your turn. The ratio is way off here. I’ve answered everything from my dorm dimensions to my favorite trilogy. You can earn one fry back for every question you answer.”
    Though I know Drew could swipe the basket from my pathetically short reach, he leans back in his chair, wipes his mouth with a napkin, and concedes.
    “One question, one fry?” he repeats.
    I nod and try to keep a round of awkward giggles from leaking out. I never get to win this easily. My friends would have tackled me to the ground before going along with one of my “special social games,” as Sydney calls them.
    I can practically see Avery’s epic eye roll now.
    “Yep. Okay.” By the look on Drew’s face he’ll play along—at least for a few fries. Five if I’m lucky.
    I better choose my questions wisely.
    “So why do you look like that?” Okay, that didn’t exactly come out as planned.
    His neck crawls with a shade of crimson, but his lips, of course, are turned up in a grin. “Like what ?”
    He’s playing with me now. Everyone within a quarter mile radius of Drew knows “like what?”
    There’s in shape. And then there’s Drew Culver. If I worked out full-time, made a career of strength training, lived and breathed the inside of a gym, I couldn’t do to my body even half of what he’s managed to do with his.
    “I row.”
    “You what?”
    He demonstrates the motion by using his fork to part the air. “You know, row .”
    At this, I lose it. I snort-laugh as Drew, this tall, masculine anomaly, role-plays his own unique rendition of “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” for me.
    Finally, he sets his fork down, eyes gleaming as he says, “I’ve been on a rowing scholarship for three years at UW.”
    I toss him a fry; he catches it in his mouth.
    I like this game a lot.
    “I’ve never met a rower before.”
    “Well then, I hope I exceed your expectations.”
    You already have, Drew. You already have.
    Questions two, three, and four are spent uncovering the secrets of life as a rower.
    “But aren’t you freezing out there? I mean, it’s Washington. Not Florida.”
    “The goal is to not get wet.”
    Cheeky. He earned two fries for that answer.
    “And you’ve been all over the U.S.?”
    “Yep. Been on a lot of lakes.”
    “Are you close with your crew?”
    Drew’s smile dips slightly, his gaze reaching into mine. “The closest. They’re my brothers.”
    This I understand. Not in a team spirit kind of way. In an I-understand-the-irreplaceable-value of true friends kind of way. Because, like Drew, my friends are also my closest family.
    “So you don’t have any—what do you call them? Races? Meets?—that you’re supposed to be at this summer?”
    Drew opens his mouth and his phone dances a jig across our table. He reaches for it as if to mute the vibration, but his hand pauses as he reads the contact name. I read it, too.
    Coach Carson.
    “Sorry, I have to take this.” Drew scoots his chair back and walks out onto the patio.
    Every female eye in the diner follows him.
    Drumming my fingers on the tabletop, I slide my own neglected phone from my back pocket and scroll through a half-dozen texts.
    Sydney: Did you make it to the island okay? I’m still waiting to hear about the “big talk” on the homestead. Oh, and if you want to see my bridesmaid’s dress, Google “Housewives of the Rich and Tacky.” Call me.
    Darby: You will never believe where I just got hired. Like never ever ever. Call me.
    Avery: I hate flying. I think I’d rather walk to Arkansas. Is that a possibility?
    Mom: Did you get my text? Call me.
    Mom: Just talked to your dad, he hasn’t heard from you either. Please call me.
    Mom: I’m officially worried. You don’t get to text me