Summertime Nostalgia Novels & Stories

But today, he looked different—almost wistful, like he was seeing ghosts of the past. “You remember those summers at Nonna’s house?” he asked, his eyes distant, like he was looking at something only he could see. I couldn’t help but smile, just a little. “Yeah,” I said quietly. “I remember.” We used to spend every summer at our grandmother’s house in the countryside. It was the one time of year when we could forget who we were supposed to be, when we could just be kids. We’d spend the days swimming in the river, racing through the woods, getting into trouble and laughing about it later.

she murmured, her voice softer now, “my mom, Agatha, would take Caroline and I to Riverbend every summer. It was our grandparents’ hometown, this small, peaceful place with a ton of farms and sunflower fields.” Zayn listened, his expression thoughtful, eyes steady on hers. “My happiest memories come from those summers,” she continued. “My grandmother’s apple pie, her mashed potatoes—things always tasted better there, like the air itself made everything richer.” She chuckled lightly, shaking her head. “She used to joke that love was her secret ingredient. I believed her.” Zayn’s lips curved slightly. “She sounds like she was special.” “She was.” He held her gaze for a beat before asking, “Is

He doesn't want to be judgemental, but a few of them might be delinquent from appearance. He took the liberty to watch from above, his mind wandering who those new faces were around. He hasn't gone outside in a while, the community lacks children playing outside and the nearest park is across the highway he doesn't have a heart to take a leap into. "Don't you think the coach is working us out early? Tomorrow's the practice match and this is a 3-week training camp." "I'll be skin and bones if we continue to run in this humidity." "I never liked Summer."

"To new beginnings." Summer touched her glass to mine, her eyes shining with emotions too complex to name. "To finding our way back to each other." We ordered a feast—oysters, followed by perfectly seared steaks, and decadent chocolate desserts that had Summer making almost indecent sounds of pleasure. The conversation flowed effortlessly, sometimes serious as we discussed the past, but often light and teasing as we rediscovered the easy rapport we'd had as teenagers. "Do you remember Mrs. Haverford's face when she caught us skinny dipping in the pack lake?" Summer asked, laughing into her third glass of champagne. The alcohol had brought a lovely flush to her cheeks.

He can do everything because there is no obstacle for him to do it. There is no obstacle. No torture. I am not in his life. I continued scrolling and stopped when I heard a familiar song. That song echoed throughout the supermarket. "Feel like summer and I don't wanna miss you If we don't touch lips not an issue I don't wanna talk 'bout nobody else Know I said no love but I want to Feel like summer and I don't wanna miss you If we don't touch lips not an issue I don't wanna talk 'bout nobody else

I took a couple of pictures of us, dance with Kal on my arms as I planted a kiss on his forehead. We headed home and I went inside my room to change and took a long bath. That night my parents went in my room when I was about to sleep. We talk about the deal and that I should prepare for Mr. Cold-foot, I mean Mr. Cole Ford will be coming any day this week. I sighed as they took their leave. I guess my freedom ends as summer starts. Summer, it’s like my favorite of all the seasons but at the same time I hate it.... •••

Way to bum yourself out, idiot. Sashenka rolled her eyes. "Trust me, this place can get old fast." Right. The clubs and the parties and the food and the endless summer. Compared to humdrum, boring, oh my swearword we're going to die, yawnfest. And cold. I shivered in the sun at the memory of snow. Just seemed like sacrilege to even consider going home.

He was driving me insane with that slurping sound, sucking on the watermelon with juice dripping from his chin, targeting his seeds like a sniper. People's obsession with talking loudly and making wild hand gestures, the crowd smelling of sticky sunscreen, skin rubbing against skin... Welcome to the sensory overload capital of the world. And of course, my sunscreen wasn’t one of those "tear-free" formulas either—it was burning its way right into my sandy eyes!

I still didn't get why they liked him. He was handsome, but well… I couldn’t quite get it. Maybe because he was my brother. Summer break was getting close in California, and there was something about the way the sun made everything smell that I loved. I had decided to spend June at my elder brother’s apartment before I resumed college. My brother, Davis, had moved out when he was nineteen and had been living alone ever since he started college. He was pissed off when I told him I was coming over, but what could he do to me?

I hate summer. Don't get me wrong - I love sunshine. I love fireflies and clear, starry nights and drinking iced tea in the shade. I'm not usually a grouch, I swear. But people who believe that's what summer is - the iced tea and fireflies and all that - haven't experienced a real Atlanta summer. Or at least they haven't inherited the overactive sweat glands that I did. Thank you, Blankenship genes.