“To jump?”

“Don’t know yet. If it’s bright enough, yeah.”

A tiny thrill swirls inside at his insistence. “If I can get away. Avery said Christa’s going to be a problem.”

“Whatever. You heard Darian at orientation. As long as we’re not being idiots, she doesn’t care.”

I wonder if she’d think jumping off a thirty-foot cliff—at night—would qualify as being an idiot.

“Please?” he whispers, leaning in farther, until his mouth is a mere inch from mine, so close that I sense rather than see his smile, his breath kissing my skin.

He must be able to hear my heart pounding.

Finally . . . finally . . . he presses his lips against mine in a sweet, slow kiss.

“Did you guys see the other tub of paint in here?” Christa’s sudden voice at the doorway makes me jump.

I silently curse her as Kyle takes a step back, weaseling the tub from my grip. “The orange one in the corner.” With a wink my way, he saunters out of the supply room, leaving me light-headed.

“There’s no PDA in front of campers,” Christa scolds.

I grab the last container. “Do you see any campers here?” I throw back over my shoulder as I hurry out, not giving her a chance to get the last word in.

Through the small window beside our bunk, I spy two tall figures trudging along the path. Is one of them Kyle? We agreed to meet by the fork in the path toward the girls’ cabins at ten. That was almost half an hour ago.

He’s probably gone already.

I pull my weary body to a sitting position and pause a moment, to listen to ten little girls, breathing deeply. Kyle was right; tonight was nothing like last night’s horrors. After a full day of sun and heat and excitement, the kids curled into their sleeping bags and didn’t utter a sound. At one point I thought I’d have to carry Izzy from the campfire to bed, her tiny body melting with exhaustion into mine.

Below me, Christa is quiet as well, having finally tucked away her book and shut her flashlight ten minutes ago. I know because I’ve timed it, and it’s been the longest ten minutes of my life.

It’s now or never.

With a stir in my stomach, I ease myself down the ladder and grab my hoodie and my bathing suit from my hook.

“Where are you going?” comes Christa’s rushed whisper the moment my hand touches the door handle.

I stifle my curse. “Restroom,” I lie, and duck out. I’m ten steps away when I hear her footfalls on the gravel pathway behind me.

“You can’t just take off like that and not tell me.”

I roll my eyes before turning to face her. She’s standing just outside the cabin door, arms crossed, pajamas rumpled, her jaw set with hard determination. My guess is she’s been lying in wait, knowing what I was planning and determined to foil it.

“I don’t care if no one likes me because I follow the rules. We’re here to take care of the kids, not get drunk and fool around.”

“Who’s getting drunk? I’m meeting up with Ashley and a few others. I’ll be back soon.” It’s not entirely a lie, as Ashley said she’d come out.

“And what if one of our kids has to go to the bathroom?”

“They’re in comas. They’re not waking up—”

“But what if they do?”

“Then you take them! It’s right there!” I gesture over my shoulder in the direction of the restrooms, not bothering to hide my annoyance. “I’ve got to go. I’ll be back in a bit.” I turn to leave.

“Don’t hook up with him,” she blurts, as if unable to keep it in any longer.

So this is really about Kyle. I sigh. “Why? Because you don’t like him?”

“No.” She closes the distance. “Because you don’t know him.”

I can’t help it. I laugh. “And you do?”

Her brow tightens. “No. I just know things, okay?”

My curiosity gets the better of me. “Like?”

“Like . . .” She looks ready to swallow her tongue, keeping whatever’s on her mind from spilling out. “You have to be around him for the next two months, you know.”

Something tells me that’s not what she was going to say.

Now it’s my turn to fold my arms over my chest. “And?” Two months of seeing Kyle every day doesn’t sound like a hardship. It’s what happens after those two months that should worry me. What happens when we both go home? I guess we can drive back and forth to see each other. I’ll have my shiny new car . . .

Christa interrupts my daydream with, “What happens if it doesn’t work out and he hooks up with someone else?”

“Oh my God. Okay.” I laugh, raising a hand. “You have got to learn how to chill, Christa. I’m not gonna think about ending things when I’m not sure if we’re even together yet.” Though hopefully that will change tonight. If Christa would just go back to sleep.

I turn to leave again.

“Ask him about his father!”

And I’m reeled back in. “What do you mean?” I frown. “What about his father?”

She lifts her chin in an indignant way. “No one else around here knows, but I do. And that story about the robbery? That was the real lie. Well, technically it was the truth, but he left out the important details . . .”

Something small cuts through the air behind Christa’s head and swoops past the cracked door into our cabin, distracting me completely. “What was that?”

Christa pauses. “What was what?”

“I think a bird just flew into our cabin.”

“A bird . . .” Two beats pass and then Christa’s eyes widen. “No! No no no no no . . .” She bolts inside. I run in after her, just as the interior of our cabin is bathed in light. Her sharp gaze searches the ceiling’s corners. “There!” As sleeping bags begin to rustle and squinty-eyed faces emerge, she points to the far corner, where a small, wiry black body clings. “It’s not a bird. It’s a bat!”

In those few seconds of calm before reality registers and mass pandemonium explodes, I let out a disappointed sigh.

So much for seeing Kyle tonight.

Chapter 9

 

NOW

“No!”

“Come on . . .” David’s on my heels as we enter the building after an industry breakfast meeting. “Just lend him to me for the day!”

“Mark is not a damn pen to be passed around!” I take a calming breath as my gaze settles on the cluster of people loitering around the front desk. Visitors, waiting to get signed in. Kyle sits somewhere behind them, taking down information, handing out badges. Offering them polite smiles and banal greetings, with no more familiarity than he has shown me these past two weeks since he started working in the building.

My intelligent, mature self keeps telling me to let it go. That what we had was thirteen years ago. We were teenagers then. Stupid kids, really. We’re adults now, and complete strangers. If Kyle wants to keep it that way . . . fine.

Except he was the first boy I ever loved—my first in many ways—and he crushed me. How can he keep treating me like I mean nothing to him?