The Kiss Keeper
Krista Sandor
Candy Castle Books
Copyright © 2020 by Krista Sandor
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Krista Sandor
Candy Castle Books
Cover Design by Tracey Soxie Weston
All rights reserved.
ISBN 978-1-7343629-3-0
Visit www.kristasandor.com
This book is dedicated to bug juice, sailboats, campfires, first kisses, and endless summer days.
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Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Natalie—Present Day—Denver
Chapter 2
Jake
Chapter 3
Jake
Chapter 4
Natalie
Chapter 5
Jake
Chapter 6
Natalie
Chapter 7
Jake
Chapter 8
Natalie
Chapter 9
Jake
Chapter 10
Natalie
Chapter 11
Natalie
Chapter 12
Jake
Epilogue
The Inside Scoop
BONUS: A Love Letter from Jake to Natalie
Also by Krista Sandor
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Natalie—13 years old—Camp Woolwich
“Natalie, we know you’re not asleep. Stop stalling and get down here!”
“Yeah, what Les said! We know you’re awake, Nat. We can hear you breathing,” her cousin Lara chimed, always piggy-backing off Leslie and never the sharpest knife in the drawer.
Natalie pulled her sleeping bag over her face, debating whether or not to break it to Lara that people do breathe while sleeping. Instead, she tried to remain as unconscious-looking as possible, despite her heart beating like a drum.
Could her cousins hear the blood whooshing through her veins or sense the frantic energy crackling through her like a downed powerline?
“You don’t want to keep the kiss keeper waiting, Nat!” Leslie whisper-shouted.
“Yeah, it’s your turn. Get down off your bunk and meet the keeper,” Lara added.
Natalie cracked an eye open and peered down at the girls. Leslie and Lara had managed to rouse their entire cabin without the knowledge of their camp counselor, still sleeping peacefully on the other side of the rectangular room. The campers stood around her bunk in their nightgowns, staring up at her with bedhead and bleary eyes.
It was their last night at Camp Woolwich. Cozied up to the Maine coastline, their grandparents had been running this summer camp since the early seventies when her grandpa, Hal Woolwich, had won the land in a card game.
Her mother and her uncles had grown up here, spending their summers exploring the woods, swimming in the ocean, and sailing the short distance to Woolwich Island, their tiny private island across the cove. And while she hadn’t grown up in Maine, she’d spent her childhood summers here as a camper, and now, at thirteen years old, Natalie had moved up from the children’s cottage and into the teen girls’ cabin.
And boy, oh, boy! Along with the lip gloss and nail polish, the mean girl claws came out!
Back in the children’s cottages, nobody would ever think of leaving after lights out. Nope, all those nine to twelve-year-olds were snug, dreaming away in their cots while she looked down on the gathering of hormone-ridden, boy-crazy teen girls congregating near the ladder that led up to her top bunk.
Leslie held a flashlight to her wrist, illuminating her watch. “Come on! It’s almost midnight. You don’t want to be late.”
“Yeah, you don’t want to miss your date with your keeper,” Lara added.
The kiss keeper. Ugh!
Natalie had about had it with this silly camp legend.
“Natalie Callahan, if you don’t drag your ass off that bunk, I’m climbing up there,” Leslie hissed.
Natalie ran her hands down her sleep-deprived face. “Fine, I’m coming,” she muttered.
Out of all her cousins, Leslie and Lara were the ones closest in age to her.
And in addition to being her kin, they were also the worst human beings ever to walk the surface of the earth.
Okay, maybe not the worst, but pretty close.
Leslie clocked in at two years her senior while Lara was barely a year older. But from the way they harped on her, you’d think they were decades older.
Another point of contention—these two had a combined intellect rivaling that of a salad spinner and only cared about two things these days: boys and boys.
Natalie climbed down from her bunk and glanced over at the counselor’s bed. But it was no use hoping the woman would wake up. After all the shenanigans her cabinmates had been up to that summer, it was clear that the chick could sleep through World War III.
Nat brushed her hair out of her face as Leslie shoved a pair of rain boots into her chest.
“Put these on. It’s time to go,” her cousin ordered.
“Why boots?” she questioned.
“Duh.” Les scoffed. “You’re going out into the woods. You need decent foot protection.”
Natalie hugged the boots to her chest and shivered as the chilly night breeze blew in through the window screens. “Do I have to do this? It’s kind of stupid.”
Leslie gasped. “You know the legend. It’s your first summer in the teen girls’ cabin, and every newbie has to pay tribute to the Kiss Keeper. It’s a camp tradition, and you’re the last one, Nat. No more stalling.”
“But I won’t even know who I’m kissing,” she protested, trying to buy herself some time.
Lara grabbed a swath of cloth and tucked it inside one of the boots. “That’s the whole point. You go to the old well with your eyes covered and wait for your kiss keeper.”
Nat tightened her grip on the boots. “But the kiss keeper is just some guy from the teen boys’ cabin.”
Leslie stared at the ceiling. “Right, moron! You’re his kiss keeper, and he’s yours. You’ve been coming to camp almost as long as we have. You know what you have to do.”
Nat stared at the shadows playing on the worn wood plank floor. “But I don’t want to kiss anyone.”
That wasn’t exactly true, but she certainly wasn’t about to clue her cousins in on that little tidbit.
“That’s why the kiss keeper is so great. It’s like it never happened because you don’t know who he is, and he doesn’t know who you are,” Lara offered.
“What if I blurt out my name?” Nat countered.
Leslie pointed the flashlight’s beam at her chin. Her nostrils flared as the orange glow illuminated her cousin’s face in a demonic shade of orange.
“The last girl who did that is at the bottom of the well,” Leslie answered, eyes wide, with all the theatrics afforded to a teenage drama queen.
Natalie let out
a long sigh. “I’m pretty sure Grandma and Grandpa would know if there was a camper chilling out at the bottom of the well. I mean, wouldn’t she yell up for someone to get her out?”
Leslie groaned and swished her ponytail over her shoulder. “Like always, you’re missing the point, Nat.”
Lara glanced at her sister, tried to swish her ponytail, then pulled the poorly swished hair out of her mouth. “Yeah, Nat, all you do is climb trees and walk around with that sketchbook, drawing pictures and staring at flowers. What guy is going to want to hook up with a girl who’s totally obsessed with colored pencils?”
Natalie shrugged. “Somebody into art or nature or even pencils?”
Unlike her guy-obsessed cousins, parading around camp in barely-there jean shorts and tank tops, she had no interest in attracting the attention Leslie and Lara craved.
Well…maybe not no interest.
After her parents divorced six months ago, her life had split into two parts. Half of it was spent in a tiny town in southern Vermont with her mother not far from her grandma and grandpa Woolwich, while the other half was spent with her father across the country in California. She knew her parents loved her, and the whole situation was quite amicable as far as divorces go.
But she craved to be part of a cohesive unit again—to feel whole again—and not live as this fragmented girl who spent her weekends flying as an unaccompanied minor across the country when an idea sparked on her last flight from California.
Seated next to a newly married couple, all googly-eyed and completely in love, on her flight to camp, she started wondering if a boy could fill that void for her. Then she remembered that a boyfriend would probably want to kiss her. It wasn’t like it was a huge deal. Kids at her school would go and kiss behind the bleachers all the time, but she certainly didn’t want to kiss a stranger tonight.
Leslie crossed her arms. “You don’t have a choice, Nat. It’s your turn, and you’re going.”
“At least, let me change out of my nightgown, Les,” she said, conceding to the inevitable.
Another swish of ponytail. “Nope, it’s pajamas and the bandana for you, missy,” her cousin replied, plucking the square of material from the boot and fashioning it into a blindfold.
“What about when I have to walk back?” she murmured.
“Just don’t fall in the well or walk off a cliff. It’s not that far. You’ll be fine,” Lara said with a giggle.
Fine?
Alone and wandering near an abandoned well in the middle of a heavily wooded area off the coast of southern Maine didn’t seem like the kind of place a pajama-wearing girl would be fine.
To be totally honest, this whole kiss keeper business constituted the complete opposite of fine.
“Put on your boots,” her elder cousin ordered as Nat contemplated a last resort tactic.
She gave her cousin a sugar-sweet smile then dropped the bulky footwear to the floor. The rubber boots hit the ground with a sharp thud as everyone’s head swiveled toward the counselor’s bunk.
Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!
Natalie channeled all the psychic energy she could into rousing the counselor, and…oh my, God…had it worked?
Her heart nearly stopped as the woman snorted in her sleep while the campers looked on, wide-eyed, and barely breathing.
“Oh, no! Is she…?” Lara began before Leslie clamped her hand over her sister’s mouth.
But her little boot stunt was all for nothing. Unaffected by the crash, the counselor rolled onto her side then continued snoring softly.
“Scientists should study this woman’s uncanny sleep skills,” Nat said, her shoulders slumping forward as the hint of a smug grin pulled at the corners of Leslie’s mouth.
Her cousin shined the beam of light into her eyes like a seasoned interrogator. “Put on the boots, then turn around. Pull another stunt like that, and we’ll send you out in your underwear.”
Natalie tried to bat the light away and catch the eye of any of the other girls, hoping to find an ally. But nobody dared to defy Leslie Woolwich. The girl seemed to know how to kiss up to her grandparents to always get out of trouble.
Nat released a low, resigned sigh then pulled on her boots, and before she was even upright again, Leslie didn’t miss a beat and secured the bandana around her head with an extra little tug.
“Good luck, Nat,” Lara whispered through giggles as Leslie led her out of the cabin and onto the trail leading to the well.
Their feet crunched along the path littered with pine needles, and Natalie tried to slow her breathing. She knew that the kiss keeper was a childish legend, but the boy making his way to the well was going to be very much real—and she’d never even practiced kissing before. Sure, she’d kissed her mother and father, but that was on the cheek.
Her mouth went dry, and she licked her lips.
What if she ran out of saliva and she and whoever her kiss keeper was got stuck together?
What if he bit her or tried to feel her up?
A million nightmare scenarios tumbled through her mind when she nearly fell to the ground. Luckily, Leslie grabbed the collar of her nightgown and kept her upright.
“You’ll walk from here on your own, Nat. Keep going straight and stay on the path.”
“How will I know I’m there?” she asked, suddenly, for the first time all summer, craving her cousin’s company.
Leslie hadn’t always been so awful. When they were younger, they were inseparable when they were in the children’s cottage together. But that seemed like lightyears ago.
“You’ll either fall into the well or bump into it. I’d suggest bumping into it,” Les answered through a yawn.
“And the guy?” Nat asked, working to keep her voice steady.
“Yeah? What about him?”
“I have to kiss him?” she asked, knowing it was a stupid question.
Leslie let out a weary huff. “Yes, this is not something to mess around with, Nat. This is like ghosts and legends and shit.”
The girl wasn’t wrong. The way they told the story around the campfire was that, years ago, there was a lighthouse not far from Camp Woolwich. That part was legit. And while the campers weren’t supposed to leave the camp property, to this day, kids would still sneak away to explore the crumbling relic. It’s the next part that Nat had trouble wrapping her mind around.
“You know it will upset Otis if every girl in the teen cabin doesn’t offer up a kiss to the keeper,” Leslie continued.
Otis.
“Who was he again?” Natalie asked, hoping her cousin would take the bait and keep talking.
“Seriously, Nat? You need to stop climbing trees, pull your head out of your sketchbook, and pay attention.”
Natalie crossed her fingers behind her back, hoping her know-it-all cousin would keep talking.
“Fine, here’s the story—because you need to understand why this is so important,” Leslie began.
“Thanks, Les,” she murmured, grateful for another few minutes.
“All right, Otis Wiscasset was the only son of the man who used to run the old lighthouse a gazillion years ago. He was supposed to take over for his father, but Otis had other ideas. Kissing ideas,” her cousin added.
“I think I remember that part. Keep going,” Nat replied, wondering how long she could stall. Maybe after Les recounted the Kiss Keeper Tale, she could ask her about nail polish or push-up bras.
“One summer night,” Leslie continued. “It’s said that Otis Wiscasset and Muriel Boothe were supposed to meet at the well to have their first kiss and then run off together. But the Boothe family was all hoity-toity rich and didn’t want their daughter attached to a lowly lighthouse keeper’s son. Well, on the night Otis and Muriel had planned to meet at the well to have their first kiss and then elope, Muriel didn’t show up. It’s said that her parents had put her on a boat back to stay with relatives in England to keep them apart. Otis was delirious with the grief of not ever kissing Muriel. He cursed this well, then
disappeared. And now, every summer, all the Camp Woolwich teen girls have to meet their kiss keeper at the well and offer a kiss to appease the Kiss Keeper—or else.”
“Or else, what?” Nat asked.
“Jesus, Nat!” her cousin exclaimed, then bonked the side of her head. “You know this! If you take off the blindfold or don’t offer up a kiss, you’ll have bad luck, and you’ll never find true love, blah, blah, blah! You have to do it.”
“Are you going to follow me?” Natalie asked, hating the treacherous shake in her voice.
Leslie bumped her shoulder. “Hell no! Do you think I want to watch you and some loser lock lips?”
But before she could get in another word or ask another question to stall the inevitable, the sound of Leslie’s flip-flops clip-clopping down the path faded away as her cousin booked-it back to the teen girls’ cabin. Natalie took a steadying breath, her senses heightening, as the forest came alive. The scent of the salty sea and wild blackberries washed over her while insect chirps and frog calls peppered the air as she carefully took one tentative step, then another, then another.
“Calm down,” she whispered, her voice cutting through the nocturnal soundscape.
She knew these trails. She’d sketched a blackberry bush near here just the other day. And, as far as the well, it was simply a circular rock formation with a little wooden roof. Nothing scary. Nothing out of the ordinary. But when the wind picked up and whistled through the thick Maine foliage, her rational brain took a back seat to that little part of her that believed in the folklore of the Kiss Keeper.
Was the ghost of Otis Wiscasset out here, waiting to collect his summer kisses? Was there someone behind her? A spirit? A ghoul? Were they all skin and bones, floating inches above the ground, glowing in that horror movie haunting shade of electric blue? Her pulse kicked up when a voice brought her spiraling thoughts to a screeching halt.
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