Falling for Summer Read Online Free PDF

one?  This one's extraordinary .  Maybe it's made more extraordinary by the fact that I haven't experienced a storm like this in two decades, but, regardless, I know it's a powerful one.  The rain falling outside is being driven against the outside walls of my cabin in a constant roar.  The water pours so quickly and completely that I can't see the light from the main office cabin, just a few cabins down from me.  I can't see anything at all, actually, because in that moment, the overhead light in my cabin goes out.
    Half of the cabins in Lazy Days Campground have electricity, and the other half don't.  When I booked my cabin, I opted for one that had electricity because, while I'm all for roughing it (and I've missed camping in a tent; camping in a cabin is a luxury), I wanted to be able to charge my smart phone and be on my laptop occasionally while I was here, in case my company needed me.  I was trying my best not to give in and use the rest of the electricity, and I'd intended to switch to my battery-operated lantern and turn off the overhead light the moment I lit the fire.  Now it's disconcerting and, again, wholly unexpected as I'm plunged into absolute darkness. 
    My battery-operated lantern and my flashlight are still packed away in my suitcase.
    I sigh, then try to make my way toward my suitcase and the sources of light I brought with me.  I turn, immediately stubbing my toe on the corner of the wrought-iron cot in the corner as I try to feel my way back across this unfamiliar room toward the suitcase that I left in the corner by the door.
    That's when I walk into the downpour.
    I start, shocked by the cold water falling down on my head.  I know for a fact that I haven't opened the front door, and I certainly haven't gone outside.  So what the hell?  Where could this water possibly be coming from?  I take a quick step back and then hold out my hand in front of me, and the cold water torrents down into my palm.
    Apparently, my cabin has a leak.  And a pretty big one, too, judging from how much water is running down onto my hand and how much water doused me as I walked right into it.  I pull my hand back, shake it off, then run my fingers through my hair, trying to slick back my soaking head.
    I take another step backward, and I run into another leak.  As the cold water shocks me, pouring over my head and down the back of my neck, I begin to realize that I'm going to need a little help here.  I grope around in the dark, trying to find my suitcase, and I manage to find it and pry it open, but there's a leak above the suitcase, too, and when I finally sort through my layers of clothes and reach my lantern and flashlight, I'm pretty dismayed to find that they've both been soaked through.  The lantern won't turn on, and the flashlight does after I take the batteries out and wipe them on the dry part of my pants, but it's a very low beam of light that comes out of it.  I've had this flashlight for years and never needed to change the batteries.  Great.  I wasn't thinking.
    I cast the weak flashlight beam around the room of the cabin, and my heart sinks.  I count at least ten major leaks, water pouring down out of the ceiling and onto the cabin floor, my cot, the wood stove...pretty much everywhere, and I'm inwardly cursing to myself as I stand.  My very first, irrational thought is why would Summer stick me—or anyone—in this super leaky cabin?  But then I wonder if she knew how very leaky this roof was...
    Either way, I need her help.  I probably could survive the night in a flooding cabin, but I really shouldn't have to.
    Still, some small part of me wants to stay in the cabin, anyway...because if I go outside, making my way toward the main office, it'll mean I have to talk to Summer again...
    And things were pretty strange between us such a short while ago. 
    Another leak begins to pour down onto my head, starting with a few drops, then gradually reverting to a mini downpour, so I groan and