Falling for Summer Read Online Free PDF Page B

get a grip on all of my trepidations.  And then I'm out the front door, staring out at the onslaught the storm is inflicting on the campground.  I'm a little bit sheltered under the overhang of the porch, but that's not going to last for long.
    I take a deep breath and launch myself out into the storm.
    The rain is so cold and so heavy that I gasp in shock as—in a single instant—the remaining dry parts of myself become as drenched as the rest of me.  Rain is pouring down my face, my clothes are instantly soaked and clinging to me, and my flashlight stops working within the first ten seconds of being out in this downpour.  The lightning, at least, is nice enough to crack overhead pretty frequently to lighten up the gravel driveway that's slowly turning into a network of small rivers.  I stagger through the storm, trying to see through the water in my face and the darkness, aiming for the main office of Lazy Days.
    There's no light on in the main office, just like there's no light on in the rest of the camp, but as I keep on making my way toward the building, I see a small blossom of light in the front window.  A candle. 
    I knock on the front door at the exact same time that Summer opens it.
    “Oh, my God, you're drenched.  Come on in,” she tells me, stepping aside to let me enter.  And I do, pouring a small river of myself onto the hardwood floor.  I run my hands over my face, blinking away the rain, and then I shiver a little, wrapping my arms around myself as the sheer cold finally hits me.
    “My cabin started to leak pretty badly,” I tell Summer, who's still wearing her tank top but no bra, her long black braid cascading over her shoulder.  Her short shorts are a darker color blue than her tank top, and I can see in the dim light of the candle what I couldn't in the dark on my porch: she has a tattoo on her ankle of a dragonfly, its wings outspread. 
    I take this all in in a heartbeat, because then Summer is stepping forward.  “Leak?” she asks me incredulously.  She'd had a warm smile for me when she opened the door, but now she groans and shakes her head, raking her fingers back through her hair in frustration, pulling a few strands loose from the braid that drift down to lie against the skin of her neck.  “You've got to be kidding me,” Summer mutters.  “I had this roofing guy fix it just last week!  Oh, my God, what a disaster.”  She sighs, planting her hands on her hips.  “I'm so sorry...  How bad is the leak?  Did your stuff get wet?  Did the cot?”
    “It's pretty bad.  And, yeah,” I tell her softly, gazing at her.  The candle gutters in the window as she opens the door again, standing in the doorway to survey the parking lot and torrential downpour, her frown deepening.
    “Listen,” she tells me over her shoulder, with a shake of her head, “I'll go get your stuff, and you can stay in any other cabin you want tonight—”
    I could never tell you what possesses me to open my mouth at this moment and say exactly this, but I do it, anyway: “I'll come with you,” I tell her doggedly.
    Summer turns and gazes at me, her brows rising incredulously.  “What?  No!  You're soaked to the bone,” she tells me, voice gentle.  “Just stay here and warm up.  There's a fire in the wood stove back in my living quarters,” she says, jerking a thumb over her shoulder and behind the wooden front desk. 
    I shrug, take a step toward her, my teeth clattering.  “You shouldn't have to go alone.  It's really bad out there, and I'm afraid the lake will flood,” I tell her. 
    We stand together for a long moment, the only sound the loud boom of thunder that shakes the cabin around us and the torrential downpour roaring overhead. 
    We've both been through the floods at Lake George.  We both know how quickly the waters can rise and exactly what they can do if they catch you unprepared.  An old fisherman was swept away to his death about thirty years ago, and it was all we