Write Me Home

by Crystal Walton

  She breathed in the aroma rising from the pan. “Don’t worry. I’ll eat her portion.”

  And he’d try to hold a halfway normal conversation while sitting opposite eyes greener than he’d ever seen them.

  On the floor, Jax extended his hind leg, stretched his paw apart, and gnawed on his fur. Nothing like a little ambiance. At least Cass didn’t seem to mind.

  “You think the guys at the station are missing you?”

  He dished out a piece of lasagna. “Shoot, as much as I watch their backs, they better be.” He laughed, missing them, too.

  “You really wanted to get out of Haven’s Creek, didn’t you?”

  “Left the first chance I got.” He cut into the pasta with his fork to release the steam.

  “Any regrets?”

  He shook his head.

  She kept her eyes on a cucumber she swirled around her plate. “What if you had a reason to stay?”

  Almost choking on a bite, he bumped his fork onto the floor and bent under the table for it. Regrets? Not as many as he’d have leaving now that he’d met her. He could hardly keep his cool sitting across the table from the girl.

  If she meant stay for her—that she wanted him in her life—there was no way he’d make it through the rest of dinner without telling her how much he wanted that, too.

  He banged his head on the way up. Way to pull off the Rico Suave smoothness tonight.

  “You all right?”

  Nowhere close. He grabbed his glass. “I’m just gonna . . . get some ice.” And maybe lock myself in the walk-in freezer for five minutes. At the fridge, he considered dumping the entire ice tray over his head but dropped a few cubes in his cup instead.

  “You could run this place, you know,” she said between bites. “If you wanted.”

  He poured a bottle of water into his glass. “And manage together?”

  “I’m selling, Ethan.”

  She’s said it so softly, he whipped around to make sure he’d heard her right. Chin lowered, she rested her hands in her lap.

  Selling? So, that was his reason to stay. Business. His chest caved. And here, he’d been ready to pour his heart out to her. He stared at the ceiling and shook his head. Mom told him he’d end up making a fool of himself by letting his heart lead like he did. She’d gotten one thing right, at least.

  He turned toward the wall and flexed his palms on the counter. “Looks like I’m not the only one anxious to get out of here.”

  “It’s not that. It’s . . . complicated.”

  Always was. He never should’ve hoped that would change. He chugged his water, the rejection harder to get down.

  Her fork clinked against her plate. “You’d be so much better at running the camp than I would.”

  And better off alone, apparently.

  “You have my grandpa’s same drive. That strength is one of the reasons he named the camp Misneach. He loved his Irish proverbs.”

  A light smile in her voice drew him around. “The man of courage has never lost,” she said with what must’ve been her grandpa’s Irish accent. She looked up at him, eyes full of courage of their own. “He could’ve named it after you.”

  Courageous? She had the wrong guy.

  “Or you could go to Cornell,” she said softly. “Have you thought any more about that?”

  He returned to his seat. “Nothing to think about. Life moves on.”

  She set her fork down again. “Too bad it can’t move backward.”

  Her words held enough ache to override his own. Especially now that he understood the extent hers reached. He was supposed to be helping her without expecting anything in return. Yet, that was exactly what he’d been doing. Expecting her to want more than a business relationship.

  Was that what she’d been stressed about earlier? Worrying he thought this was a date? Or was it financial pressure? If she wanted to sell, she had a reason. It wasn’t his place to pry. But if she needed a night free of tension, the least he could do was not add to it.

  He buried his feelings and set a hand over hers. “Your grandpa’s not the only one who’s pushed through uncertainty. Whatever happens, I’m sure he’s proud of you.”

  She batted away the beginning of tears and returned his smile. “I hope you’re right.”

  He didn’t get much right, but that he was sure of. If she needed a friend to lean on until she believed it herself, he’d spend all summer trying. Starting with tonight.

  Easy conversation carried them through the rest of dinner until she finally stretched away from the table. “Pretty sure I’m not going to need to eat for the next month.”

  “I’m with ya.” He winked. “Except for dessert, of course.”

  She stopped him halfway out of his chair. “Dishes first.”

  “You kidding me?”

  “C’mon.” She grabbed his hand and led him over to the three-sink setup. “It’ll take five minutes.” She turned on the hot water, swirled dish detergent into the first sink, and squirted some kind of cleaner into the third.

  “Why do I get the feeling I’m about to be schooled?”

  She edged closer. “Jack of All Trades isn’t intimidated, is he?” She unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves, soft fingertips grazing his skin.

  His pulse doubled. Intimidated? More like incapacitated.

  “First step is washing.” She pushed up her own sleeves and scrubbed their plates in the soapy water. “Then rinse,” she said while swishing them in the next sink. “And sanitize.” She dunked them in the third.

  “Easy, right? Oh, and don’t forget to air dry. Never use a towel. I don’t know if the head cooks will be like they were back when I was a dishwasher, but trust me. You don’t want to be on their bad side.”

  Standing there with soapsuds crawling up her forearms, she flashed a smile that made Ethan’s skin flush without getting near the hot water.

  “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

  “Aw, c’mon.” She reached for his hands. “These calloused fingers can use some softening.”

  “What, you don’t like a man with tough hands?”

  “I like a man who’s willing to make sacrifices.” Her green eyes were two seconds away from consuming any shred of willpower he had left.

  He backed away.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making a sacrifice.”

  Hand on her hip, she cocked her head. “By not doing the dishes?”

  “By not kissing you.”

  Her pink cheeks lured his focus to her lips even more.

  Ti trekked in from outside.

  He tipped his head back, relieved for the interruption. God really did have a sense of humor if he thought Ethan could handle not acting on his feelings.

  Ti set her camera and a paper grocery bag onto the counter. “Two words. Chubby. Bunny.”

  “No, you didn’t.” Cassidy jogged over and peeked into the bag. “You did.”

  He looked between them. “Chubby what?”

  They both laughed. “It’s time we show DeLuca, here, how to be a camper. I’ll officiate.” Ti steered him to his seat, dumped a bagful of marshmallows into a giant bowl, and assumed a position at the front of the table like a referee.

  Marshmallows weren’t the dessert he’d planned, and definitely not the one he craved, but he’d take the distraction. “Okay, what are the rules?”

  “You and Cass alternate adding a marshmallow to your mouth and saying Chubby Bunny.” Ti stuck one into her mouth to illustrate. “Whoever can’t fit any more in or can’t say Chubby Bunny loses.”

  Cass scooted in her chair. “Maybe you should play instead of him. It’ll be unfair otherwise.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll go easy on you.” He flexed his laced fingers.

  She flaunted that sassy look again. “I meant it’ll be unfair for you.”

  “You’ve got a bit of a competitive edge, don’t you?”

  “You’re in for it now.” Ti laughed. “By the way, when are you two
getting married?” she said right before snapping a picture. “That one’s definitely going in the scrapbook.”

  Shaking off any embarrassment, Cass snagged the first marshmallow, tucked it behind her cheek, and grinned. “Chubby Bunny,” she said like a pro.

  After three, she could’ve passed for a chipmunk who’d had her wisdom teeth pulled. Her carefree laughter sang over him. Regardless of how crazy he looked, too, he’d stuff five more in his mouth if it’d keep that sweet sound lingering.

  Seeing her like this—full of joy, reliving her childhood—drove an unexplained sense of loss onto his shoulders for all the years they could’ve spent together if he’d kept coming to the camp as a kid.

  Her cell buzzed from the corner of the table. “Hewwo.” Her smile fell as she hustled to free her mouth. “Yeah, hey, Britt. Sorry. What’d you find?”

  Her face paled whiter than the bowl of marshmallows. “What? Are . . . are you sure?” Her gaze ping ponged from Ethan to the table. “I understand. . . .Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for checking on this for me. I appreciate it. . . . You, too. Bye.” She hung up but didn’t move.

  He slipped a hand over hers. “What is it?”

  Her lashes lifted slowly. “I know where the money’s been coming from.”

  Ethan set the last dish in the drain rack and stared out the window. Cass hadn’t moved from her spot on the hill for the last thirty minutes. “Should we check on her?” he asked as Ti walked by.

  “You’re the bold one.”

  Or the naive one. What could he say to comfort her after the bombshell she just received? Did she even want his comfort? Regardless, he couldn’t leave her out there alone.

  He dried his red hands, draped the towel over the sink’s edge, and winked at Ti. “If I’m not back in an hour, send backup.”

  “Ten-four.”

  Outside, Sandy rose to his feet as Ethan approached. “You’ve got a good watchdog, there.”

  Cass rubbed Sandy’s head. “A good friend, too.”

  Ethan sat on the other side of her. Humor had defused her before. But in the silence, something told him not this time. He gently pressed his arm against hers and motioned to the dark sky. “It’s pretty amazing, isn’t it?” He clasped his fingers behind his head and reclined onto the cool grass.

  She followed and peered above them. “The stars always felt so close up here. Almost close enough to touch.”

  “But still out of reach.”

  “Exactly.” She turned, eyes full of hurt and longing.

  Releasing a breath, he forced his gaze from her toward the sky. “It’s like this giant mystery. As a kid, I used to think if I stared at the stars long enough, I’d figure it out.”

  “Ever find any answers?”

  “Not the ones I was expecting.” He twirled blades of grass around his fingers. “But I guess I finally accepted I’m not supposed to have all the answers. Without mystery, there’d be no awe.”

  In the quiet, her soft inhale drew him near. He leaned on his elbow beside her, not wanting to push.

  Her lashes squeezed shut. “How can it be my dad? All this time, he kept the camp running yet never once invested in me. Why?” She faced him. “I don’t want awe, Ethan. I want answers.”

  And he wished more than anything he had them to give.

  A tear coursed down her chin and mixed with the dew on the grass. “I just wanted him to love me.”

  Forgetting boundaries, he tugged her close. “Sometimes we express love the only way we know how.”

  More tears soaked into his shirt. “I wish I could believe that.” She rolled back and brushed off her cheeks. “You know the last thing he ever gave me was a journal. I opened it every day the year he left us, but I never wrote in it. Not once. I kept thinking, if I could just figure out how to rewrite my story, it’d be good enough that he’d come back.”

  Ethan could’ve decked her dad for letting her think that. He met her eyes so she could see his sincerity. “You have one of the most moving stories I know. Full of bravery and sacrifice. That life’s worth sharing, Cass.” Even if it wasn’t with him.

  Rather than say anything, she rested her head on his chest and simply let herself be held.

  Maybe it wasn’t fair to judge her dad. He’d probably supported the camp all this time for her. Not that money made up for leaving, but who was Ethan to talk about letting people down?

  He ran the backs of his fingers over her soft hair. “Have you thought about calling him? I’m sure he’d reinstate those deposits if you asked.”

  She shook her head against his shirt. “I can’t. I promised myself I’d never ask him for money.” A sad laugh followed her admission. “He doesn’t even know I’m here.”

  Ethan lowered his lips to the top of her head before he could stop himself. “Then we’ll figure it out together.”

  Her warmth blended into his as she clutched his shirt tighter. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  The trees stirred above them, minutes drifting. His embrace didn’t offer answers. It couldn’t restore what she’d lost. But if it brought her any comfort at all, he’d hold her all night.

  She peeked up at him with a genuine smile returning to her eyes. “Can I show you something?”

  Sandy hobbled to her side at the same time she pushed to her feet. “I’ll be right back.” She ruffled his ears. “Stay.”

  Sandy whimpered as she disappeared into the mess hall.

  Ethan angled his head the same way Sandy always did to him. “Thought I was your favorite.” Chuckling, he gave the dog’s shaggy head a good rub. “I don’t blame you, buddy. There’s something about her.”

  He smiled at the strands of red hair left on his shirt, pressed his palms into the cool ground, and lifted his gaze toward heaven again. This was one time he wouldn’t mind an answer. Or at least a little extra strength. ‘Cause if she was selling and leaving, he had to get control of his feelings.

  And fast.

  chapter sixteen

  Escape

  Cassidy returned to the hill five minutes later, blinking a flashlight on and off. “Up for an adventure?”

  Ethan stretched an arm in front of him to block the glare. “As long as you stop blinding me.”

  She turned off the light, but her impish expression continued to glow as she brandished a hammer.

  What was she up to? “Should I be nervous?”

  Tight-lipped, she shook her head and nodded toward the cabins hidden in the far corner of the property. Traces of the earlier moment still lingered around the corners of her eyes, but it was clear she’d tucked it all away. At least, for now.

  Twigs and pine needles crunched along the path. Slightly ahead of them, Sandy dragged his nose on the trail until something scurried in the bordering woods. His head shot up, ears at attention, but Cassidy didn’t flinch. She was becoming more at home here than she probably realized.

  Her face beamed with something palpable when they reached the steps to the second cabin. Not mischief. Something deeper.

  “Maybe it sounds corny, but this camp was sort of a safe haven for me growing up. This cabin, especially. Dreams were never out of reach here.” The leaves rustled again. She laughed. “Bats either.”

  “Bats?”

  Sandy followed her up the stairs. “I don’t mind them outside. But when they get caught in the rafters . . . Ever hear thirty girls scream at once? Brings a whole new meaning to acoustics.” She handed him the flashlight and unlocked the door. “But that’s how I figured it out.”

  “Figured what out?” Behind her, Ethan rubbed Sandy’s head.

  She raised a brow and grinned—this time, definitely full of mischief. “The secret.”

  He crossed his arms. “Let me guess. Vampires live in the cabins.”

  Without denying it, she grabbed the bottom of his shirt and tugged him inside. A dim overhead light barely added to the glow coming through the windows.

  Sandy only made it a few steps inside before backing out to the porch. E
than didn’t blame him. As the floorboards creaked under their feet, he couldn’t help glancing up at the rafters. Just in case.

  In the back left corner, Cass scooted one of the bunk beds to the side and knelt to the floor. She pulled the hammer free from her belt loop, jimmied the claw in between the boards, and pried one up.

  “Okay, now you’re sorta freaking me out.” He peeked into the darkness below. “You’re not seriously gonna stick your hand down there, are you?”

  “Are you volunteering?”

  “And give up my flashlight duties? Not a chance.”

  “Mm hmm. Then shine that light over here, will ya?” She tugged on his pant leg until he knelt beside her. Her whole arm disappeared into the hole. She really was tougher than he thought. “Got it.”

  The light reflected off the non-rusted portions of a tin container the size of a shoebox. He scratched his head. “Time capsule?”

  “More like buried dreams.” She sat back and set the dusty box on her lap.

  The slight quiver in her hands sent nerves fluttering all the way across Ethan’s chest. He backed up to the bed behind them, wanting to give her some space.

  The container’s hinges squeaked open. She laid the box aside, carefully unrolled something wrapped in plastic, and smoothed out a stack of papers. Whatever it was had to be special.

  He gripped the bedpost to keep from moving toward her. He had no right to know her dreams, no right to ask.

  She met his gaze and handed them over freely. “Please,” she said as if reading his mind.

  Torn between reluctance and curiosity, he scanned the pages. “Songs?”

  “Handwritten originals. Every one.” She rose to her feet and brushed dirt off her thighs. “I used to come here to play the guitar because of the acoustics.”

  “You’re a songwriter?”

  “Was.” She crossed the cabin to a window by the door and leaned on the sill. “I knew once I outgrew coming here, it was time to let go of childhood dreams. Face the real world. But I couldn’t get rid of them.” She turned as he reached her side. “It probably sounds silly. But I guess I thought if I buried them, I wasn’t fully letting go.”

  It took herculean strength not to pull her into his arms when she stood before him with such vulnerability.