A Summer Remade Read Online Free PDF

saying you’re headed to the cabin after everything we’ve talked about and then not answer my calls. NOT okay. Call me.
    Dad: Call your mom.
    Head in hands, I groan. The walls of my pseudo-freedom are about to cave in. I pinch my eyes closed, beckoning a calm to cover my anxiety.
    “Hey, you ready?”
    I sit up, turn my head to face Drew—or rather, to face his abdomen.
    “Oh, hi. Is…is everything okay?” I point to the phone in his hand. Why is it always easier to ask someone else what you should really be asking of yourself?
    “Yeah, just checkin’ in.” Drew tosses a twenty on the table, then grabs my hand when I reach to throw it back at him.
    “I’m paying. It’s done. Now, let’s go finish up what we can at the cabin before it gets dark.”
    With Drew’s hand still latched to mine, he leads me through a maze of tables and chairs. Once in the parking lot, he opens the passenger door for me. “Sorry we had to cut the game short.”
    The game, the game….oh! The Fry Game.
    I buckle my seatbelt. “Maybe we can play it again sometime. With Pop Tarts.”
    “Deal.”
    *
    The sun set hours ago, and I was ready to give up the second the last sliver of light disappeared behind the horizon. But Drew Culver doesn’t give up—not for darkness or bad odors or even moldy refrigerator shelves. I’m starting to understand why he looks the way he does. He set the goal that we’d finish the cleaning tonight, and it’s been impossible to deter him.
    Several times during tonight’s clean-fest, Drew’s stopped to stretch his back, roll his neck, and tug on his left shoulder. And several times, I’ve stopped whatever I was doing to watch.
    Random groupings of tea lights and holiday candles line the countertops and tables, and it’s safe to say that every single surface of this one-story residence has been scrubbed and disinfected—except for the carpet in the master bedroom at the back of the house. That is the room that holds the worst of the cat smells.
    I’d conquer it some other day. For now, that door can remain closed.
    The good news: I can finally take a breath without the urge to rip one of my five senses from my face. I’d say that’s pretty impressive progress.
    Walking onto the gleaming kitchen floor, I wince-cringe as I see Drew bent over the sink, scrapping away a science project’s worth of mold from a refrigerator shelf. A job I had planned to save for tomorrow. Because out of all the chores we’ve tackled thus far, this task is likely the most gag-worthy.
    At least I caught him before he got too far into it.
    I fake a loud yawn, stretch my arms above my head. “Wow. I think I could fall asleep standing up. You’ve got to be exhausted. You were up way before I was this morning. Let’s call it a night, head back to your place. I can tackle those shelves tomorrow.” In other words, please stop scrubbing. You’ve done more than enough for me for one day. Or a lifetime of days.
    “Good thing we have a short commute, then. And even better that I drove.” He continues scrubbing, soaking his hands in grime and suds. “This is the last shelf. I’m almost done.”
    Awesome . Just awesome.
    Drew shuts off the water at the sink. But before he can search for a dry rag, I rush into action, two steps ahead of him.
    I grab a yellow sunflower-printed hand towel from the drawer next to the stove and grip the end of the fridge shelf. He may have started this yucky project, but I should be the one to finish it. “Here, I’ve got this. Please go take a break.”
    Drew doesn’t take a step to the side like I anticipate. Instead, he stays put, our hips a hairsbreadth apart.
    There’ve been many words exchanged between us today, many joke-filled conversations, yet this moment between us feels oddly different, as if charged by our close proximity.
    He lets me take the shelf, but still, he doesn’t move away.
    “So your friends, they aren’t joining you here?” he asks.
    In a wax-on, wax-off motion, I