My Bittersweet Summer by Starla Huchton Page A

of chocolate. “The only things that are truly impossible are the things we never try.” He broke off the row and held it out to me again.
    I accepted it this time, not really thinking about it. “And you think pure persistence is all it takes? They have a name for people like that. They’re called stalkers.”
    He huffed a laugh. “I’m not a stalker, Margie. Just trying to make up for some stuff, that’s all.”
    I considered the chocolate before breaking off a third of it, wondering how big a concession I was making by even having that conversation with him. “What if you can’t?”
    “Won’t know until I give it a shot,” he said, “but it’s not really up to me if I get that chance.”
    I popped the chocolate in my mouth, and it instantly melted on my tongue. “Which is what I told you from the start, if you remember. You’re not entitled to anything.”
    “So, what are my odds here, then?”
    “Right this second?” I asked, and he nodded. Leaning back on my hand, I took another bite. “About ninety-ten. Not in your favor.”
    A small grin worked its way onto his face. “But ten percent is better than zero.”
    I sighed, exhausted by him already. “Yeah. Better than zero.”
    Silence crept back into our conversation, and I nibbled on the second piece of chocolate as I watched a sailboat slip through a pool of moonlight. I might’ve found more peace in the moment, if not for who I was sharing it with. The nagging worry that he might turn at any second and try to shove me into the water wouldn’t let me relax. After a minute or two, the nagging got the better of me.
    “Look, what’s it gonna take for me to get you to go away? What do I have to do for you to leave me alone?”
    He turned, his eyes dark in the limited light, his gaze lingering on my face long enough to make me blush.
    “What?” I said, wondering what the hell he was staring at. Did I have parsley in my hair or something?
    “Have dinner with me.”
    I blinked. “Excuse me?”
    “Dinner. You and me.”
    After staring incredulously for several seconds, I couldn’t help myself. I burst out laughing. “Like a date? Are you kidding?”
    “Exactly like that, and, no, I’m not kidding.”
    His answer instantly doused my amusement. “You’re serious?”
    The smile he gave me was one hundred percent genuine. “Totally serious.”
    “What… Why…” I stammered, getting to my feet. “No. Absolutely no. Not ever. Why the hell… What?”
    Zach chuckled. “You’d rather spend the rest of your summer being mad at me while I hound you than spend a single, solid evening with only me?”
    When he put it that way, it did sound pretty dumb of me, but I wasn’t about to give him what he wanted. “And if I said yes, then what? You get to tell your friends all about the night you slummed it with the help?” I chucked the last piece of chocolate off into the ocean. “No thanks. I’m not something someone uses to soothe their own guilty conscience.” Turning, I stalked back towards Le Beau Tournée. “Break’s over.”
    “Hey, hold on a minute,” he called after me, jogging to catch up. “I swear I don’t have an angle on this, Margie.”
    I spun on him, my uncontrollable anger bubbling to the surface again. “Yes, you do. You always do. You’re either setting me up for something, or think you’re going to impress me with your money enough to… to…” God, I couldn’t even say it. Even the thought made me sick.
    “To what? Come on,” he said, his eyebrows drawn together, “I’m not asking for anything but a few hours of your time. That’s it.”
    “I’ve wasted years on you already.” I turned and opened the back door. “I’m not about to waste another second.”
    Furious he had the nerve to ask me for a date— a date , of all things— I launched myself inside the restaurant again. The poor lettuce I butchered for salads never knew what hit it.

Chapter 8

    “A what?” Destiny yelled into the phone, and I