I choke a tiny bit on my cheesecake as I do the math. It means he raised over a quarter of a million dollars while overseeing a dozen other major projects.
Sawyer takes his place at the mic and smiles at the applause, even though it’s tight around the edges. He never did love the spotlight.
“Thank you to all of you for helping us meet our goal. I was a lucky kid and had a lot of advantages growing up, but I learned more from my summers at Camp Oak Crest than at any other time in my life. About friendship, loyalty, hard work, and honor.”
“And love,” Natalie whispers. “But we don’t want to remind parents of the possibility of summer romances.”
I hush her with a pinch and turn my attention back to Sawyer.
“Every year I was here, I watched campers leave this experience changed for the better with skills and connections they still use ten and twelve years later. I wish every kid who wants the experience could have a shot at it, and I’m thrilled a hundred more of them will get it this year.
"We hope to build a pipeline from camper to counselor so every Oak Crest graduate who wants to can come back to work and become a part of the next generation of campers’ growth.”
He pauses, and I get the feeling he’s managing his emotions. Then he fixes his eyes on me, and Natalie digs her fingers into my thigh. “Anyway, I experienced the greatest summer of my life here, and I believe that’s what’s in store for your kids. Thank you.”
“Oh, Tab,” Natalie says over more audience applause. “How can you not—”
I pinch her again. “Stop. I need to think.” Ben catches Sawyer’s sleeve and they have an off-mic conversation, each smiling slightly.
Sawyer meant every word he said tonight. And he’s meant every word he’s said in the last three days. As that sinks in, so does reality. No matter how much we talk about Oak Crest preparing us for real life, itisn’treal life. I know what I need to do.
“I have to check on Lisa,” I tell Natalie, rising as Sawyer makes his way back to us. “I’ll talk to you later.” I head for the kitchen, pausing long enough to scrawl a quick note before walking out the back door. And then I keep going.
Chapter 22
Untilthesunrisebreakfastsuggestion, Sawyer’s request for a do-over had seemed like a joke, or as fleeting as the summers here had been. I’d thought it would be a fun way to flirt and make him even sorrier for dumping me that summer before we’d go back to our own separate real lives.
I’d have an apology and closure, and that chapter would be done forever.
Every woman who matters to me is caught up in the romantic ideal of a rekindled first love, but the idea of seeing Sawyer in New York, of taking him to my favorite places…
It’s hard to imagine. One time, during a commercial break when I’d been doing a cooking segment on theTodayshow, I’d glanced at the live audience outside and seen a kid I knew from middle school at the front of the crowd. She was grown now, obviously, but it had taken me a full thirty seconds to process why I recognized her. She was so out of context that my brain sorted through a dozen possibilities of how I knew her before it landed on the right one.
Even then, it wouldn’t compute. I felt like I was living in a sci-fi movie where I was simultaneously experiencing the past and the present.
It felt weird then. It feels worse now.
I sit on the end of the old dock and wait, listening for Sawyer.
I left the gala over an hour ago. I’m beginning to wonder if Sawyer hasn’t gotten my note to meet here or if he did but isn’t coming, when footsteps sound behind me. I turn as Sawyer makes his way to me.
“Hi,” he says. “I feel overdressed.”
He’s wearing his suit from dinner minus the jacket. I’d gone home and changed to shorts and a sweatshirt, and I tuck my knees beneath it now as a cool breeze blows off the lake.
“Thanks for coming.”
“Sure.” He holds himself still in the way that hints at waiting, a coiled pause as if he’s unsure which direction he should go, forward to me, or back to shore.
I hug my knees, praying the words I need are waiting for me. “Coming back here was both better and worse than I expected it to be. It brought me right back to my time here as a kid, and that was mostly good. So much of my camp experience was the kind of thing the best movies are made of. But it also showed me that my last summer here—the last day of my last summer here—hurt me more than I realized.”
He toes his shoes off, removes his socks, rolls up his cuffs, and sits beside me, letting his feet dangle off the dock.
“I was hoping against hope I was coming out to hear you say something different than what you’re about to say.”
“How do you know what I’m going to say?” It’s a stupid question. A stalling tactic. He’s reading me correctly.
“Because you didn’t bring me to Creekville.”
