The Summer We Believed (Denim Days #1)

Day One -- Melody

PROLOGUE

If I told you true love was like your favorite pair of jeans, would you believe me? Three summers spent with Duncan convinced me of that. This is the story of our denim days.

DAY ONE -- Melody

"Melody, did Duncan arrive yet?" Mom unpacked a two-week supply of Greek yogurt and stacked them next to three cans of Deep Woods Off on the ugly Formica countertop. Dad gave me a sideways glance to see how I'd answer.

I shrugged, pretending to have no idea, but in fact Duncan arrived seven minutes ago, helped his family unpack the car, and since then has sent me two text messages. After graduation, in a moment of utter weakness, I'd leaked to Mom how I felt about Duncan. I was pretty sure she'd shared that news with Dad based on his inquiring look. It'd become incredibly awkward having a guy as your best friend when everyone kept watching to see if it would blossom into something more.

"I saw them pull in about five minutes ago." Dad inventoried his baking items. He usually made from scratch brownies, a pie or two, and cinnamon rolls when we were up here. I may have inherited my auburn hair and coloring from Mom, but I inherited my sweet tooth and pudge from Dad.

Seven. I peeked at my phone. Now, eight.

"Why don't you go see if they could use your help? Dad and I can manage."

I put the last bag of Sun Chips into the pantry. "After I finish dusting everything. You know how it grosses me out." For some reason I wanted to delay seeing him. I wasn't sure how I acted around him anymore.

Dusting provided a legit excuse.

Duncan knew only too well dust gave me the heebie-jeebies, ever since Mom dragged me to a pedicure party where the hostess was pimping lotions and sugar scrubs. The company rep said that ninety percent of dust was from dried skin cells, and that by using their lotions we'd have cleaner homes. It might have scarred me permanently.

I grabbed the Pledge and a few old rags and quickly worked my way around the den, dining room, and Mom and Dad's room. In the doorway to my room, armed with the weapons of dust destruction, waves of nostalgia washed over me. The old chenille bedspread that had been Nana's. Her old pine bureau, still topped with a Hummel dish she used for bobby pins. How many mornings up here had I climbed under those covers to snuggle up to her lilac powdery scent? How was it possible that this room, this place, felt more like home than home did?

I was more than half-way done when Duncan knocked on the backdoor. "Can Melody come out to play?" he joked with Mom. It was the same thing he'd asked since we were four.

"Of course she can, but you'll probably have to wait until she's done fixating on dust. Why don't you see if you can convince her?"

I heard the creak of the rusty screen-door hinges, the clomp of Duncan's footsteps across the worn oak floors, and him saying, "I got those Mr. B." Then his reflection appeared in my bureau mirror holding my suitcase and duffle. Since graduation, he'd played with different facial hair—today he was sporting longer sideburns and a soul patch. Other than that, Duncan's looks hadn't changed much since we were kids. His features had grown more angular, but he still had denim blue eyes and a long nose over full lips. I stared at those lips, which grinned at me in the mirror. One butterfly appeared in my stomach.

"Are you ignoring me?" he asked.

"Only until the dust is gone," I said without turning around. I was afraid if I faced him the butterfly might have babies. I was afraid he would know it. He knew me better than anyone.