Summer joined me on the deck, bearing a tray with two large frozen drink glasses.
“Here we go! Just like old times,” she exclaimed as she gently clinked her glass against mine.
She also half-mounted the rail and faced me in the dark. She gave her hair a toss and took a deep breath.
“Isn’t it marvelous out here at night? We should have dinner here. Lobster Thermidor and steamed snow crab,” she suggested with enthusiasm.
I snorted at the idea. “Who’s going to cook?”
Summer’s skills didn’t include cooking. She could barely manage to scramble an egg without scorching it. I pondered for a moment the irony that most unattached men were proficient in the kitchen, while single females remained dependent on microwavable cardboard cartons and take-out food.
“Don’t be such an old grouch!” she admonished. “I’ll talk Joachim into cooking for us one night. He’ll do it. He owes me a couple of favors. Maybe you could invite someone, and we’ll make it an intimate little dinner party for four.”
In the two months since I arrived in south Florida, I managed to meet a few dozen people, most of whom were friends of Summer, and none of whom I had any real interest in knowing any better. The feeling appeared mutual, because the type of friends Summer collected showed little interest in an unsuccessful freelance writer, even if he was Summer’s brother.
“That sounds positively peachy, Sis,” I replied with sarcasm. “I’ll just check my catalogue of romantic interests and see who’s available.”
“Oh, that reminds me! Do you think I could borrow you again this coming Saturday?” Summer asked as she suddenly bounded to her feet.
I was already frowning and I hadn’t heard any details of her proposition yet.
“I have this thing…it’s a late cocktail party,” she began with enthusiasm. “A lot of the who’s who are going to be there and I haven’t managed to find a date yet.”
“It will give me an opportunity to introduce you to my publisher,” she added slyly.
Summer not finding a date was like a bee not being able to produce honey. For the past sixty days, and for all outward appearances, I had been dating my sister exclusively, acting as her official escort to every social event in town. At this point, it was downright embarrassing, but Summer couldn’t quite seem to grasp the level of my personal humiliation. The dismal silence that ensued her request should have been hint enough.
“Come on, Sonny. Please say, ‘yes’. It’ll be fun. You’ll see,” she coaxed.
“We should light the tiki-torches,” she mused as an afterthought. “Help me.”
She reached for a box of wooden matches from the patio table and fumbled with an attempt to light the torches on her own. The wind promptly extinguished the flame and she gave me a look of exasperation. I couldn’t help but grin at her ineptness. Summer was most appealing when she was helpless.
“Matches aren’t going to work in this wind,” I declared with a disparaging shake of my head. I rose to my feet and headed towards the kitchen.
“Hold on, I’ll be right back.”
By the time I returned, she’d abandoned her quest and sat sprawled in one wrought iron chair, while her feet rested on the seat of another. Her glass was nearly empty, as was mine, and I refilled them both from the pitcher I retrieved while in the kitchen. I set about lighting the torches around the deck while I gave some thought to her earlier request.