Feels Like Summertime Read Online Free PDF Page A

back up the steps of the porch and slams the door.
    Well, that went well.
    “You’re not getting lucky tonight,” Pop sings out.
    “Shut up, old man,” I grumble as I walk past him. He cackles at me and I flip him the bird. “Put the potatoes on, will you?”
    He sets the newspaper down and barks at Gabby. “Let me show you how to cook potatoes, girl,” he says. He lumbers to his feet, rambles in the box until he finds the potatoes, and she walks around the corner with him.
    I open the front door of the small cabin and peer around the edge of it. Katie is bent over by the stove and I stop to stare at her. From the back, she doesn’t look pregnant. She looks perfectly wide in the hips and round in the rear end. God, I sound like Sandra Bullock describing a football player in The Blind Side . That’s not the case at all. She’s all woman. Then she stands up straight, turns to the side and stretches her back by pressing her belly forward. She’s all pregnant woman. I have to remind myself of that.
    Just as quickly as her pregnant belly hit me, so does the smell of baked goods. “What’s that smell?”
    “Apple pie,” she says.
    “You made apple pie?” My heart flutters like it used to when she kissed me all those years ago. I’m thirty-four years old. It takes more to make a flutter when you’re older. Food is a good way.
    “Well, made is a strong word. I just reheated.” She points toward her daughter, who is on the porch with Pop. “I sent Gabby to the store.”
    “Is she old enough to drive?”
    She smiles. “Just barely.” She takes in a deep breath and rubs the flat of her palm over her belly.
    “You okay?” I ask.
    She nods. “I’m fine. Baby boy is moving around.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Do you want to feel?”
    I point to the basketball-size hump under her shirt. “Feel your belly?”
    She takes two steps toward me, lifts my hand and places it on the swell of her stomach. “Just wait a second,” she whispers.
    I feel her breath as she inhales slowly. Then a tiny flutter bops the palm of my hand.
    “Did you feel that?”
    “That was the baby?” I ask softly.
    She rolls her eyes. “No, I just have gas.” She grins. “Of course it was the baby.” She looks into my eyes, holding my palm against her shirt. “You don’t have any kids, do you, Jake?”
    I shake my head and avoid her eyes.
    “Have you ever been married?”
    “You spoiled me for all other women, Katie.”
    She shoves my shoulder and my hand falls from her belly. I want to put it back. “Wait,” I protest, “I was enjoying that.” She turns away from me. “Bring your uterus back. I want to touch it again.”
    The front door opens and Gabby walks in. “Mom?” she says warily.
    Katie looks up at her and arches her brow.
    “Did he just talk about touching your uterus?” she asks her mother.
    “Better my uterus than my vagina,” Katie sings out.
    “Or your boobs,” Gabby adds, and then she shrugs. She jerks her thumb toward the porch. “Mr. Jacobson wants a deck of cards. He says he’s going to teach me to play blackjack.”
    Katie crosses to the TV cabinet and opens it up. All the cabins are equipped with games and cards. She takes out a pack of cards and tosses it to Gabby. “Don’t bet with real money,” she says.
    “Pop cheats,” I add.
    Gabby clucks her tongue and acts like she’s shooting me with a pistol. “I got this under control,” she says, and she goes back outside.
    “Her dad taught her to play blackjack when she was seven,” Katie says. “She’ll beat the pants off your old man.”
    I grin. “Good. He deserves it.” I scratch my head. “So, about me touching your uterus again…” I hold my hand out in question. She takes it, lifts her shirt, and lays my hand upon her skin.
    We suddenly go from curious and playful to warm and uncomfortable. “Um, this wasn’t what I meant.”
    “Hey, Jake?”
    “Yeah?” I feel that tiny little flutter under my hand again and a grin