by Zoe York
“She did all right out there, didn’t she?” The question came from one of the counsellors as Frank leaned his oar back in its spot on the wall.
“She sure did.”
“You had good eyes. We thought, uh, she had more experience than that.”
“She was fine,” he said brusquely. He wasn’t their commander. It wasn’t his place to dress them down for the minimal instruction they’d given a total beginner. And Grace had a way of carrying herself that hid any discomfort.
He caught himself up short.
Huh.
Yeah, she did. And he’d spent yesterday thinking the worst of her for being manic and forceful, but she wasn’t really either of those things.
Sarcastic, lippy, and pessimistic…she was all of those things. But he knew how to handle that kind of personality.
And he kind of liked it.
Grace stepped out of the boathouse, dressed again, her tote bag swinging loosely on one shoulder. The only sign of her adventure on the lake was her damp hair piled high on her head in a loose bun.
“What’s next?” he asked, holding his hands wide.
She looked at him up and down. “Do you want to change into something dry?”
“Nah, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
He shrugged. “We could find some drinks and sit in the sun for a while. There’s a breeze. I’ll dry out soon enough.”
So that’s what they did. They stopped at the picnic table he’d been sitting at when he’d realized she didn’t know the first thing about how to paddle a kayak, and he grabbed the bottle of beer he’d abandoned. It was warm now, so when they got to the main lodge he traded it for a cold one.
Grace ordered a gin and tonic, with extra lime and extra tonic in a highball.
“Complicated order.”
She smiled faintly. “I’m a complicated woman.”
He learned more about how complicated she was over the rest of the afternoon, after they found a sunny spot behind the main lodge. Somehow, in short, self-deprecating bursts, she revealed a bit about her divorce—mutual and a long time ago, but still a source of some understandable resentment—and a lot about her life choices since then, which she’d learned to prioritize around the equal and hard-to-balance values of frugality and luxurious reward.
“I bet you’ve travelled a lot with the navy,” she said as she sipped her drink. “Anywhere amazing?”
“More intense than amazing, although I always enjoy visiting Hawaii and Japan.”
“Japan is on my list.”
“Where have you gone so far?”
“Anywhere backpacking hostels are cheap.” She grinned, looking very youthful. Not younger than her age, exactly, but young for her age. “Belize was a favorite. Iceland was another, although that was only three days.”
“Why only three days?”
“I got an insane deal on airfare two years ago, and those were the dates.” She shrugged. “Better something than nothing.”
But his favorite insight was around her rules for pizza toppings, because make-your-own-wood-fired-pizzas were on the dinner menu.
“Wait, let me get this straight,” he said as he rolled his now-empty beer bottle back and forth between his fingertips. “You will eat pineapple on a pizza—in a pinch—but only with barbecue sauce and chicken, no ham in sight?”
“It’s weird with tomato sauce.”
He chuckled. “And the ham thing?”
“I’m just saying it’s not really Hawaiian pizza. Did you know a Canadian invented it? To me, the true island taste is chicken and a spicier sauce.”
“That is complicated. What are your rules around pepperoni?”
She grinned. “You’ll find out at dinner.”
“I guess so.” He laughed. “Cliffhanger.”
She stretched her arms high above her head. “Would you like another beer? It’s almost happy hour.”
He did.
But he also didn’t. “I might take a break before dinner.”
She nodded, her gaze already locked on the main lodge below them. “All right. See you later. I’m going in search of another G&T.”
He walked her as far as the back door, then cut around and skirted along the edge of camp until he found his cabin.
But when he stretched out on his bed, he didn’t like the silence.
He closed his eyes and tried to find some stillness in his thoughts. He failed miserably. Instead of peace, he had pain and confusion and, in an unexpected twist, some curiosity too. He wondered if Grace had already found a new drinking buddy at the bar.
What sort of insanity did StarCrossed-inspired campers get up to at Happy Hour?
He lay there for another fifteen minutes before giving up. He wasn’t going for pre-dinner drinks. He was going to dinner, just a few minutes early. And if he found Grace again, well, he’d have someone to eat dinner with, which certainly wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
Plus then he’d find out what her deal was with pepperoni.
He found her in the lobby of the main lodge, listening with obviously polite-but-not-genuine interest to a group conversation. Her nods were too regular, her gaze not sharp enough.
And when he walked in, her eyes flicked in his direction. She smiled and he returned the gesture.
She excused herself, and relief coursed through him.
“Hey,” she said quietly as she came abreast. “Hoping to be first in the pizza line?”
“Damn straight.”
She laughed, and just like that, he had a dinner date.
No, a dinner partner.
They headed to the dining hall and were the first through the doors when they opened. After setting their drinks on a table, they headed to the pizza stations. It was quite cleverly set up so multiple people could be assembling a pizza at once, which meant Grace disappeared around the far side of the station as he was building the world’s best deluxe pizza.
When she returned, he realized her pepperoni quirk was in fact super weird.
And she was grinning because she knew it.
He looked at the pizza tray in her hand, then up to her face. “That’s not how you assemble a pizza.”
“Says who?”
He pointed to his own pizza, with all the ingredients evenly distributed. “Says everyone.”
She shrugged. “Everyone is wrong. Pepperoni is hard to cut, and it falls off the tips of a pizza slice. It only belongs within an inch of the crust.”
So he could see. Her pizza was concentric circles of toppings. Pepperoni around the perimeter, then green pepper, mushrooms, and finally onion in the center.
It was, technically, the same pizza he’d assembled.
But it was completely different. Just like Grace.
“Each bite only has one flavour to it,” he said, still hung up on her design. “That’s not how pizza works.”
“No? We’ll see. I’ll let you have a bite once they’re cooked.”
They got in line for the ovens, and while their pizzas were baking, they loaded up their plates with side salads and garlic bread wedges. Once they were back at their table, she cut him a small piece of hers—and it was, in fact, delicious. Each bite was a distinct taste, but they built up, and when he finished, he eyed the rest of her pie.
“Do you want more? I won’t eat it all.” She took a big bite of her garlic bread and gestured for him to take another slice.
He did, but he set it to the side, and ate it last after consuming his more conventional version.
Hers was better.
He told her as much, and she smiled like she’d been given a gift.
After dinner, people spilled out onto the lawn, which ran down to the lake. There would be a bonfire after dusk, but for now, there was more drinking and flirting.
“Do you have a StarCrossed profile?” Frank asked as he watched Grace watch the rest of the campers.
She gave him a surprised look. “No. Why?”
“Just curious. I don’t
either.” He felt his neck heat up. “Wyatt wasn’t exactly clear on the fact that a dating app was sponsoring this week.”
She made a face. “Sorry. I knew, but Tegan promised that part was optional.”
“So far it has been, so I guess she was right.”
“That must have been an unwelcome shock when you realized.”
“It contributed to my grumpiness on the first day.”
Her lips quirked. “You mean yesterday?”
“Jeez, was that only yesterday?” He barked a laugh. “Yeah. That.”
“You’ve survived thirty hours of dating camp,” she said with mock-solemnity. “Well done.”
He dragged in a breath. “Thanks. Today wasn’t so bad in the end. After breakfast, I thought the whole peace and quiet thing was a non-starter, but then I got to chill out, and then there was the whole fun kayaking thing…”
Grace laughed.
“And really, it’s not like everyone is hooking up.”
“Ah.” Her tone gentled, like she knew romance was painful for him.
Frank did his best to ignore the sound. Sweet, soft. Understanding.
He hated understanding sounds. Had heard enough of them for a lifetime.
But then she squared her shoulders and gestured at the milling crowd in front of them. “Are you sure about that, though? Most are pairing up—and good for them.”
“Sure, there’s some of that,” he said gruffly. But then he pointed at a pair of women at the next bench over. “But we’re not alone in dodging the meat market.”
Grace choked on whatever was going to come out of her mouth next. “Uh,” she finally said, her voice raw. “Uh…”
“What?”
She turned her head and lowered her voice, her eyes sparkling. “They’re totally hooking up, Frank. You know? With each other.”
Well, damn. “Good for them,” he muttered.
“There’s nothing wrong—”
“Jesus,” he spit out. “No, of course not. That’s not how I meant that. Love is love. I’ve had lots of gay service members serve under me. Don’t you think I have a problem with that.”
“Okay.” She nodded. “Good.”
He sighed. He wasn’t great company at the best of times, and now he’d made things awkward because he couldn’t spot a lesbian at a thousand paces. “I’m going to head back to the cabin.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Have a good night.”
He wouldn’t. He didn’t, ever.
It wasn’t until he got back to his quiet, sad, empty bed that he realized he hadn’t acknowledged her frustrated good night.
Grace watched Frank stalk off, then slowly made her way to the main lodge. She needed a pot of chamomile tea. It was a stark contrast to the night before, but all in all, she’d take today over yesterday.
Tomorrow was a whole different story. She wasn’t going to spend the whole day with Frank. He didn’t need that, she didn’t want that. She needed to find something to do on her own.
She found Michael Tully behind the bar.
“What can I get you?” he asked.
“I was hoping for a pot of herbal tea.”
“Coming right up.” He lifted a tray from behind the bar and set it out for her to choose. “Pick your poison. I’ll be back with a hot water thermos in a minute.”
She looked at the options and stuck with the chamomile she’d originally wanted.
When Michael returned from the kitchen, he had an insulated thermos in one hand and a mug in the other. “You can have it here, of course, but I thought you might want to take this to go. Chamomile is nicest when you’re already tucked into bed, isn’t it?”
Grace exhaled happily. “Yes it is. Thank you.”
On her way to the exit she spied a bookshelf in the corner. A sign encouraged her to take a book, so she picked a lovely looking romance with a larger-than-life pirate on the cover.
But when she returned to the cabin, there was a larger-than-life SEAL sitting on her porch. Their porch. No reading just yet.
“I thought you were off to bed,” she said, coming to a stop in front of the steps.
“You said good night, and I just stomped off. That was rude of me.”
“It’s been a long day. Don’t worry about it.”
He frowned. “Okay.”
But he didn’t move.
She held up the Thermos. “Do you want some tea?”
“Nah, I’m fine. Never been much for tea.”
“It’s chamomile.”
He burst out laughing. “That doesn’t make it better. I don’t want to drink flowers.”
She poked her tongue into the inside of her cheek and counted backwards from ten. She got to seven. “Are you always this much of a grumpy curmudgeon?”
He hesitated before nodding. “Pretty much.”
“Wow.”
“Are you always a predictable hippie?”
She gave him a rueful smile. “Pretty much.”
“Well then, we’re an interesting pair of neighbors.” He shifted to the side. “Come and sit. Drink your tea.”
She didn’t bother to point out that he barked orders. He knew it, and she was going to sit anyway. So, she sat. She set her book on the step, and twisted the top off the Thermos. The immediate hit of floral warmth made her smile. Yep, she was a hippie. Yep, she liked flowery tea.
Frank picked up the paperback.
She poured herself a cup and waited for his gruff response to the pirate cover.
He didn’t say anything.
When she glanced over, he was rubbing his thumb over the raised letters of the author’s name. “My wife loved historical novels,” he said. “She read these all the time. I think I have some by this author on my coffee table at home.”
She didn’t know what to say.
He looked sideways at her. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It sounds hard.”
“It is. And it’s also not something I’m supposed to wallow in so…” He set the book down. “I think you’ll like that one. Bianca always did, anyway.”
“Do you want to talk about her?”
“Always.” He laughed hollowly. “But I don’t want to be a conversation killer, either.”
“You aren’t. Did she like flowery tea?”
His laugh was more genuine this time. “No. We were both coffee drinkers. And cold drinks. She made a wicked lemonade.”
“And now? What do you like to drink now?”
“Always coffee. Still and forever. I’ve discovered iced coffee. Cold brew. That’s a whole new thing that happened while B was sick which I missed. She would’ve liked that.”
“It’s good stuff.” She sipped her tea.
“How about you? What do you like?”
“Other than flowery tea? Coffee. Juice. Mmm, I love fresh-squeezed or fresh-pressed anything. Fresh apple cider in the fall is the most amazing taste. Maybe it’s an east coast thing.”
“Cider’s good, yep.”
The conversation faded there. Small talk. Empty, simple words. Meaningless. But they also weren’t loaded with angst, which was nice.
After a bit, when her cup was nearly empty, she picked up the book. “Thanks for the recommendation on this author. I’m looking forward to reading it even more now.”
He nodded. She stood up. She was almost to her door when he asked an unexpected question. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
She paused. “Not sure yet.”
“Maybe we could try the kayaks again?”
Another beat. What harm was there in that? “Sure. Sounds good.”
Chapter 6
For the second day in a row, Grace was woken up by the breakfast bell, followed by a knock at the door.
Today, though, the knock was a hard, unyielding tap against the frame. Not the happy bounce of knuckles by a camp staff person.
Nope, that was Frank, and she knew that before he even announced himself with a clearing of his throat. “Grace? You up?”
She sho
ved her blankets off her legs and padded over to the door in her pajamas. “Morning,” she said as she pulled it open.
He gave her a tight smile. “Are you going to breakfast?”
“Looking for company?” Breakfast and kayaking would mean they were spending the whole morning together.
He hesitated. “I guess so. If you want company, that is.”
She thought about it long enough that he got a sheepish look on his face. She couldn’t handle that, so she held out her hand and touched his forearm. His skin was warm and tight in the early morning cool, and his muscles flexed under her fingertips. “Sure. Give me ten minutes to get ready?”
He nodded, and she gently closed the door, keeping her confusion off her face until she was alone again. In the bathroom, she sighed at herself in the mirror. What was happening?
She didn’t know. And thinking about it too hard made her head hurt.
At breakfast, all the tables for two were taken, so they sat with a woman named Ruth who had to be in her eighties, although she was full of energy. She had big plans for a tennis lesson with Nate, which she raved about for most of the meal.
“If you want a lesson, you’ll need to sign up soon,” Ruth said.
“We’ve got kayaking this morning, but we’ll put it on the list for later,” Frank told her.
We? List? Later? Grace did a double-take as Ruth turned to flag down a waiter for more coffee. Frank winked.
That didn’t help her confusion in the least.
After Ruth finished eating and excused herself, Frank leaned in. “Beard coverage goes both ways.”
She couldn’t help but smile at that. “Okay. Thanks for saving me from the agony of spending an hour with the hot tennis instructor.”
He chuckled. “Come on, my friend. Let’s go grab two kayaks before the rest of the campers steal the chance from us.”
In fact, they had the lake to themselves. Grace was already wearing her swimsuit under her clothes, so she stripped down in the boathouse again and put on a life jacket. When she came out, Frank had two kayaks in the water next to the dock and two paddles waiting as well.
“All set?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she said bravely.
But this turn on the kayaks went better than the day before. No tipping, and her paddling was getting smoother. She even returned to the dock relatively dry, enough that she could have left her shorts on if she didn’t mind a bit of dampness.