It seems to work as she blinks and tells me about it. We used this model in the second restaurant I worked in, but I listen like it’s new information. By the time we’ve moved on to the wall ovens, she’s speaking more naturally, her enthusiasm for the ovens shining through.
Honestly, I don’t blame her. They’re gorgeous, and they get a love pat too.
The tour takes fifteen minutes as she explains the finer points of her pantry system and demonstrates the state-of-the-art dishwasher setup.
“I can’t believe the upgrades, Nat. You guys did good. It’ll be a pleasure to work in here this week.”
Confusion ripples across Lisa’s face, and she turns to Natalie, but Natalie is already looping her arm through mine. “You guys can get into the nitty-gritty details tomorrow. You need to see the dining hall.”
Like everything else at the camp, their makeover has worked wonders. And like everything else I’ve seen, I experience a pang for the old version of it. I let myself feel it then release it. Upgraded tables sporting durable vinyl tops have replaced scarred wooden trestle tables in here. It makes sense. They have to withstand a lot during the summer, from kids banging silverware during camp songs to rainy day crafts.
After Natalie walks me through the other changes—a new PA system, a slightly raised stage, roller shades so the late afternoon sun doesn’t blind the kids at dinner—we walk outside, and she checks her watch.
“I need to call a parent who’s trying to get a solo bunk for their child because she’s sensitive to other people’s auras.”
“Um…”
“I know. But Lisa usually cooks dinner for us, so how about if we meet back here in an hour to eat, then Ben will put Juniper down for bed, and we can do our fire ceremony?”
“Sounds great.”
I pedal my bike to the cottage, enjoying the late afternoon warmth, gentle in late May. It will become heavier as the summer wears on, but right now, it’s perfect.
I remember this so well. Even with the sun up, I can almost feel the gathering dusk, and I’m surprised I’m still calibrated to the rhythms of this place. I guess nine years away wasn’t enough to overwrite the nine years I spent coming here as a camper then counselor.
There’s nothing I need to do for the next hour before dinner and our fire ceremony, so I want to check out the private trail behind the cottages.
I know Natalie said not to, but ten years ago, this had been part of the camp’s property, left undeveloped so the kids could have land to range in and practice their nature skills. I need to reassure myself it’s not turning into a horrific subdivision back there.
I park the bike and fetch a flashlight from my cabin. I haven’t forgotten my woodcraft, and I’m too smart to head out to a new trail without one. I won’t be going far, but it’s better to plan as if I am. Lack of preparation is a breeding ground for emergencies, in restaurant kitchens and summer camps.
No warning or trespassing signs tell me to stay off the trail, so I don’t. I’ll give it twenty minutes before I turn around and get ready for dinner.
It takes about ten minutes before the path lightens ahead and leads me to a clearing. I peer through the trees and stifle a gasp. Did I get the wrong kind of mushrooms in my omelet this morning?
Because I had expected to find a house standing there.
I just didn’t expect to find Sawyer Reed sitting on its deck.
Chapter 6
Ten Years Ago
Sawyer’skiss—ourTruthorDare kiss—stuck with me for days after I got home from camp.
I relived it multiple times an hour, trying to remember every detail. Where had his hands been? And mine? What sounds had he made? Did I make any noises? Did they sound stupid? Was he really into me?
As if it wasn’t bad enough that I was torturing myself this way, I seemed to be the only one doing it. Our Instagram group chat was the same as it ever was, complaining about the days we were stuck at home with nothing to do before we could go back to school.
Why was he not suffering? He should be suffering.
I was suffering.
Everyone must suffer.
I might not have said this aloud, but my dad for sure picked up on my vibes because he stuck me in the stockroom to do inventory where I couldn’t interact with other humans. I counted screws with a vengeance, because screw them. Honestly. Stupid screws.
Then the third day after camp dawned with a bright and glorious message. In my DMs. From Sawyer.
