Match Cut: A Standalone Small Town Romance (Foxe Hill Book 1)

by Julie Olivia

  Ten

  Keaton

  I was close—too close. Nature is my sanctuary, the place where I can find my center and clear my head. Some people like yoga; I rely on the outdoors—but this camping trip is far from meditative.

  How did I take two steps forward then three steps back? I always assumed that was just a saying, and yet I am literally getting closer to Violet and then farther away just seconds later. I was tempted, so tempted to kiss her. It felt right. I couldn’t have cared less about what we shouldn’t have been doing right then. All caution was thrown to the wind. I had the forest and Violet with her lavender scent and plump, red lips ready for the taking.

  But the second Asher’s name was mentioned, guilt washed over me and I knew the moment was gone. The entire situation felt wrong.

  What were we thinking? Only yards away from the campsite. What was going to happen, anyway? We’d make out against the tree and Joey, or Kayla, or—God forbid—Asher would catch us in the act?

  Irresponsible. Impractical. Reckless.

  We carried the wood back to camp without another word exchanged aside from me pointing out the type of sticks she should grab.

  Everyone suggested a hike when we returned, though Lily and Kayla insisted on staying behind. Violet joined them, maybe because she wanted to avoid an awkward situation again. Hard to tell what’s safe after someone you trust corners you in the woods.

  I’m such an idiot.

  Joey, Asher, and I follow a vague dirt path I’ve walked many times before. This isn’t a new campsite for me or Asher. We’ve frequented it often over the years, a way to escape, and there’s a small river nearby where we can fish. We never catch much and we forgot our poles anyway, but the sound of the running water makes me feel a bit better.

  “You’re quieter than usual,” Asher says once it’s just us. Joey has journeyed farther down the stream to collect water or something. I don’t even know—the guy is more of a wild card than Asher, and I don’t think he’s been on a genuine camping trip since the twins were born.

  I didn’t notice my arms were crossed, but then he glances down to the them. I drop them by my sides and try to relax.

  “Just enjoying the outdoors,” I say. “How are classes going?” It’s a forced conversation, but my mind is so clouded with thoughts of Violet that it’s the easiest subject to broach without seeming suspicious.

  “The usual. Students who try hard and those who don’t. The other day I received an essay written in crayon.”

  I chuckle. “At least they turned one in.”

  “It was one of the better ones too,” he says, placing his hands in his pockets.

  “You actually graded it like that?”

  “It was written in my favorite color,” he says. “What was I supposed to do?”

  That is Asher. He loves his job. He’s always only wanted to teach. I think he even enjoys the unpredictability of the freshman class and the even more challenging laziness of the seniors. He thrives on motivating the kids to do their best even if it means encouragement through leniency. And allowing crayons as writing utensils.

  I shouldn’t be the guy who wants to kiss his sister.

  “Dare you to swim!” Joey yells, running over to us. He has a fish in his hands, and it’s wiggling around. Given the absence of any fishing poles, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned.

  “How the fuck did you get that fish?” Asher calls.

  Joey shrugs with a large grin. “Caught it with my bare hands!” Animal. He is an animal. And then he jumps in the water without an answer. What a maniac.

  Then Asher yells, “I. Am. Man!” And into the water he goes.

  Disregarding my anxiety and the fact that the water is likely cold and dreadful, I take the plunge as well, because why the hell not.

  When in the wild…

  That night we gather around the bonfire as it crackles and billows smoke into the sky. We all clutch our alcohol of choice. A few of us idiots are still wrapped in blankets—Joey in his sleeping bag—in an effort to get dry from our earlier activities.

  Kayla is curled up next to Joey, leaning her head on his shoulder. She’s already had too many fizzy spritzers to count and will likely crash real soon. Lily doesn’t seem far behind, singing off-key karaoke to Asher’s unskilled playing on the ukulele Joey brought.

  I bob my head to the beat, trying not to steal a glance over at Violet. She’s occasionally joining in to sing backup with Lily, both of their arms slung around each other’s shoulders. Violet’s had maybe two small Solo cups of rum. I imagine there’s no way she’s exactly drunk, but she’s probably had just enough to feel as if she can figure out harmony notes to “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”—which, for the record, does not have a harmony part. Her performance isn’t half bad, and I can’t help but grin like a loon at each missed note.

  I sometimes forget this is not the norm. She’s sitting here with us after so many years just as if she belonged here the whole time. She’s developed this noticeable charisma that helps her fit in anywhere—a feat she couldn’t achieve when she was younger.

  I don’t want to look at her this way. I don’t want to feel my heart sink every time she gives me a sly, secretive smile. The flirtation is surely due to her slight intoxication, but every time she looks my way, I make sure Asher hasn’t noticed. He’s thankfully too involved in his struggle with ukulele plucking. I cherish being able to see her like this: carefree, happy, clear-minded.

  Joey and Kayla head to their tent with her giggling and indiscreetly pinching his butt cheeks as they crawl in. I can hear the distant smacking of kisses and hope to God they keep the rest of their activities to a respectable volume. With Joey’s laughing shushes, I’m thinking we’ll be spared.

  Around midnight, Asher gives a small salute. “Alright, I’m going to bed. Teacher sleep schedule is a-callin’.”

  “I’m pulling the teacher schedule card too, friends,” Lily says not even five minutes after Asher crawls into his tent. She plants a sloppy kiss on Violet’s cheek and blows me a kiss as well before crawling into her own tent and zipping it closed.

  Violet and I say nothing for almost a whole minute, and it feels like years pass. It’s awkward, and I hate it. The last thing I want is the whatever-that-was earlier forcing us to avoid each other all summer.

  I clear my throat, and she turns her head to me with a grin plastered on her face, followed by a tipsy giggle.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” she says.

  I can see the playful twinkle in her eyes, illuminated by the dying bonfire. Only small embers remain, and the cold starts to seep in through my jacket. She holds her own jacket closer to her body. It’s the camouflage one I picked out the other day and, while it engulfs her small frame completely, it somehow also suits her.

  She takes a deep breath in, a lopsided smile pulling at her lips. I wish there were some way I could scoot toward her, maybe put an arm around her to keep both of us warm, but with the circle of tents surrounding us, there’s no way I could do anything without someone noticing. All it would take is one person forgetting they needed to use the restroom before bed and I’d be caught red-handed, the creepy guy desperate to touch her.

  Violet smiles to herself, looking at the dirt ground and swirling her finger through it, drawing some type of pattern or words. It’s hard to tell from here.

  With a deep inhalation, she meets my eyes again and says, “Good night, Keaton.”

  Although I wish there had been more said before that statement, all I can do is return the smile and nod. “Good night, Violet.”

  She stands, dusting off her knees, and heads to her tent, not even exchanging one more look as she zips it closed.

  I stand as well, stretching and staring at the stars. It’s easy to see them out here. They’re visible in Foxe Hill, but it’s different out this way, more vast. More empty, but humbling.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Violet’s scribbles in the dirt and let out
an involuntary chuckle. Written in the sand is a small heart, and next to it is the word hi in perfect cursive.

  I take my foot and scuff it out with a smile, and if I didn’t know any better, I would swear I heard a drunken laugh from Violet’s tent.

  Eleven

  Violet

  I’ve never been camping before, but I can tell you there is absolutely nothing to do aside from lying in the sun and walking through the woods. By midafternoon, I’ve taken a nap and two strolls on the trails.

  I try to sit by a nearby stream with my notebook and pen in hand, but it’s useless. My mind is still blank, no inspiration even after attempting to bury myself in nature. I attempt to walk off the path for a few steps to see if the feeling of danger will spark some fight-or-flight instinct in my brain, triggering some aha moment, but I instantly choose flight when I remember Asher’s stupid bear stories again.

  At some point, I found myself chatting with Lily and Kayla. Kayla gossiped about people still in town from high school, but Lily commented on how those worth gossiping about had left town. Fewer and fewer people each year, she said. Foxe Hill just isn’t what it used to be. I chimed in that I’d noticed, but I think that only added to the depressing atmosphere. Kayla quickly changed the subject to celebrity news and grabbed a wine cooler to start her afternoon drinking.

  Keaton didn’t exactly avoid me all day, but he wasn’t making an effort to speak to me either. He mostly stuck with Asher as they went on a few hikes. He lay on a towel in the late afternoon and read a book.

  “Straying from your favorite genre?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. He tilted his sunglasses down with a smile.

  “Not in the mood for naked guys with gorgeous hair, unfortunately.”

  “Shame.”

  And that was the extent of our exchange for the day. I didn’t know how else to start a conversation with him. It’s easier when we’re alone, and the thought of that gives me a start. Maybe that’s a bad sign, a red flag, or maybe we’re just two quiet people who find solace in being alone together.

  I feel cheesy and dumb even thinking about it.

  That night, I conquer the task of preparing beans over the fire for everyone. It’s not much, but I do feel a bit proud of my efforts. Camping pro? Why yes, I am the queen of the outdoors, thank you very much. Joey says they’re wonderful beans, but he’s also a human garbage can who I’m realizing will eat anything placed in front of him. I’ll still take the compliment.

  When the sun goes down, Asher thinks it’s a good idea to tell scary stories, and I make a note to drink a little less if we’re choosing to up the fear factor. Lily is less than happy about it as well, especially when a tale about a serial killer lurking in the woods waiting to kill an unsuspecting late-twenties teacher emerges. She instantly crawls into her tent after glaring at Asher, who cackles like a maniac.

  I throw a stick at him. “Stop it.”

  “Maybe I should tell the one about bears next.”

  I point another stick at him. “Shut up.”

  Keaton chuckles, tipping back his beer. “Violet, I thought you knew—this is the home of the biggest bear population in the south.”

  I glare at the two of them, pointing back and forth. “No. No, no, no. Stop.”

  Joey tries to join in as well, but Kayla pops him on the head.

  An hour later, after trying to stay up as late as I could to be even remotely close to Keaton for as long as possible, I give up when it seems like he and Asher aren’t going to sleep any time soon. I say good night and rest in my tent, staring up at the mesh ceiling, hands folded over my stomach as they talk about this, that, and the other.

  It’s the rustling of tree limbs behind my tent that truly keeps me awake much longer than I intend.

  There are no bears. No bears. I am an adult. No bears.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, and only when I finally start to drift off do I hear scratching on my tent.

  Oh my god, oh my god, it’s happening. It’s happening. They’re here to kill me.

  “Violet.” The voice is so low I barely hear it, but then it registers that it is not in fact a ghost bear haunting me. It’s Keaton.

  I unzip the entrance slightly, peeking my eyes through the gap.

  “You don’t have a team of bears with you, do you?” I whisper. He grins and shakes his head, tossing it back toward the forest in the form of an invitation. My heart leaps.

  “Oh hell no,” I whisper back. “Dark forest in the middle of the night? Absolutely not.” His finger goes to his lips, and he looks over his shoulder at the circle of tents.

  “The bears are no match for me, I promise,” he whispers. He nods his head over his shoulder again, and in a second fight-or-flight moment of the day, my heart tells me not to flee this time.

  I roll my eyes in concession and try to quietly unzip my tent just enough to crawl out. Wordlessly we both tiptoe toward the dirt path and into the woods.

  We make it a good ways away from the campsite, me jumping at every sound around us.

  Keaton chuckles. “You’re like a scared rabbit,” he says.

  “Lest you forget that rabbits are at the bottom of the food chain,” I say, pulling my jacket tighter around me.

  “I was joking earlier,” he says. “Bears don’t even frequent this area.”

  “Seriously?”

  “No.”

  “Ass.”

  He suddenly stops walking, and it takes me a second to see that I should stop with him. He looks up to the sky, and I follow his eyeline upward as well. The stars are gorgeous.

  “You know, if you’re looking for a bear—” he starts.

  “Which I’m not.”

  “There’s Ursa Major up there,” he continues, ignoring my interruption.

  “Show me,” I say. He leans in closer, wrapping an arm around my waist. I try to ignore how quickly he can make my thighs shiver with just a hand placed in such an innocent area like my side.

  Keaton points to the sky with his other hand, tracing lines from star to star. “See there?” After a bit of coaxing, I can finally picture a faint outline to form the constellation, but his hand on my waist is slowly traveling down to my hip and my attempt to focus on the sky and stars is forgotten.

  I want nothing more than for it to travel lower and grab my ass as he kisses my neck, bites my lip, anything and everything I’ve imagined before—but his hand stops at my hip and we stand there paralyzed.

  “So you woke me up to show me the stars?” I ask.

  “Hey, I’m a fan of nature. I had to share it with someone.”

  “Could have picked Lily.”

  “Nah, she’s a teacher,” he says. “She would have schooled me on this.”

  “Pun intended?”

  “You bet.”

  We both laugh. His is so deep, so genuine, and I want to hear it more. I miss the days of working at the movie theater with him: stealing popcorn, playing music over the speakers while we closed up for the night, his cute dimpled smiles. Both of us were definitely quieter back then, but it was still nice, like we were in our own little world.

  “Do you ever miss high school?” I ask.

  He chuckles. “No. Not at all. You?”

  “No,” I answer, though that isn’t entirely true. Yes, there were too many hours wasted trying to get into my college of choice, earning a scholarship, and having no life outside of the library, but I did have the movie theater with Keaton. I want to mention how much of that time didn’t feel wasted, but I don’t.

  “I do miss how the town was,” he says with an exhalation, dropping his hand from my hip and crossing his arms. “More active. Busy. Thriving. Grandpa and I used to be slammed on Saturday mornings for breakfast. Now, it’s like a blip on the radar.”

  “Have you ever thought about moving the store?” I ask.

  He takes a second, possibly to mull it over, consider. I wonder if he imagines what life could be outside of Foxe Hill, or if he even cares. “No,” he says. “I love this town. I wo
uldn’t want to move. But travel? Absolutely.”

  I smile. “You’d like it.”

  “What’s your favorite place?” he asks.

  I tilt my head back and forth, considering. “I don’t know. Weirdly enough, I like all the different small towns. They’re always so cute. Where would you go if you could travel anywhere?”

  He hums to himself before answering, “Alaska, or anywhere way up north. I want to see the northern lights.” He smiles. “What makes the small towns cute?”

  I shrug. “Something about them. I dunno.”

  “Is Foxe Hill cute?” he asks.

  “It has its moments, I guess,” I say.

  He laughs, shaking his head at me. “And the people?”

  I side-eye him and nudge his shoulder with mine. “Not too shabby.”

  He grins. “I’ll take it.”

  Standing here with him is just the same, but there’s something more, a current of electricity running between us. I couldn’t step away if I tried, but moving any closer seems dangerous. Maybe I’m okay with a little danger.

  “You told your truth earlier,” I say. “I’ll tell you mine.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “You’re different in a good way. Not as quiet. Still pensive. You have that look about you like you’re always deep in thought. You’ve got that eyebrow raise too.” True to form, he mocks me by raising it. “It’s got…something. You’ve also got a beard now.”

  “New beard, new personality.”

  “No, it’s everything else too.” I swallow and let out a shaky laugh. “Must be all the heavy lifting at the shop or something.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment too.”

  “You should.”

  His hand bumps against mine and I let my fingers wrap around his. It feels taboo, but also so innocent, as if we’re back in high school again, just two teenagers sneaking out in the night. It’s not like I ever had any boys interested enough to grant me such a secretive experience, but I can imagine it must have felt exactly like this.