by Ellie Hall
He shrugged. “Pride. I wanted to earn my own way. I wasn’t dumb enough to turn down paid college, but I earned my living expenses in the summer. I picked camp counseling because room and board is free, and there’s really nowhere to spend your money here, so it was easy to save. Then I lucked out and really loved the work.”
“So you were, what, Richie Rich the whole time?”
He pointed his fork at me. “That is exactly why I never told anyone.”
“Is real estate development the family business? Is Camp Oak Crest now a Reed family holding?”
“No. I inherited a trust fund from my grandmother when I turned twenty-five. We’re not talking millions here. But enough to get me started in business.”
“How much are we talking?”
He sighed. “Do you have any idea how judgy you sound right now?”
“How much?”
“We each got a half-million dollars.”
I blinked at him. “My grandma got me six pairs of socks for my twenty-fifth birthday. But they were warm.”
“You’re kind of being the worst right now, Tab.”
I was. I knew I was. “That’s fair. Sorry. It’s…I don’t know. It’s like finding out your college boyfriend had a superhero alter ego.”
“I don’t fight crime. Just city zoning boards and municipal tax commissions.”
I ate a few more bites, studying him in open fascination. He let the silence lay between us and put up with the staring. “Are you creeped out that I keep staring at you?”
“Is that your third question?”
“If you want to be cheap, it is.”
“I do. And the answer is no, I’m not, because I’ve been able to watch you whenever I want over the last five years, so I figure turnabout is fair play.”
It was my turn to blush. Five years ago was when I started the YouTube cooking channel that led to my network show. He was openly admitting that he’d been tracking me closely for a long time. I’d done the opposite, unfollowing him on social media back then, and avoiding any mention of him since.
“What you’ve built, it’s incredible,” he said. “You did that on your own with a cell phone and an internet connection. I admire the heck out of that.”
My blush deepened. “I’m pretty proud of it.”
“You should be. I knew when you had to step in the third week of camp that final summer when the cook quit and run the whole kitchen that you were going to do amazing things. And you have.” He paused, like he wanted to add something. Finally, he said, “I was sorry you didn’t come back the next year.”
I shifted in my seat. Now we were getting to the real stuff, the stuff we’d been dancing around. “I was afraid you’d be here.”
“I was, hoping you’d come back.”
I took a deep breath, trying to process this. “Question four: why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I was an idiot.”
I pushed some fettucine around. “It’s okay. That summer worked out for the best.” I’d gotten a job as a dishwasher in one of Charlottesville’s fine dining restaurants, and I worked my way up to line cook by August. I commuted almost forty-five minutes each way from my sleepy hometown in Creekville, but it was worth it when the executive chef ended up writing me a recommendation for culinary school. I’d missed the Oak Crest crew that summer, but in a very real way, that kitchen job I took instead had helped launch my career.
“I’m glad to hear it went well for you. But I’ve had nine years to think about how our last summer here was one of the worst mistakes I ever made.” He looked down at his plate which he’d cleaned. “Are you still hungry? Because if not, maybe we can take that walk down to the dock and you can ask me question number five.”
“Why you’re really here?”
“Why I’m really here.”
I was halfway to the sink with my plate before he even finished the question. “Let’s go.”
“Great,” he said. “Can’t wait to spill my guts on why I blew the best thing I’ve ever had.”
Oh, dang. I turned so he couldn’t see my expression and led him out the door. I didn’t want him to read in my face how close I was to forgetting the way everything had ended and rekindling the good part. The part where I kissed his face off and forgot about everything else.
But that wasn’t possible, no matter what his explanation was, and I squared my shoulders as we walked toward the dock.
There was no way to forget that kind of pain.
9
Nine Years Ago
I stared down at the sunrise picnic I’d prepared for Adam. It was the last day of camp. The campers had gone home two days before, and the counselors had been prepping the camp to close.
In another hour, the whole place would be a hive of activity, but in this last rosy pink hour before the leave-taking started, Adam and I would have the camp to ourselves, the only ones crazy enough to get up this early on the one morning we could sleep in a little.
I watched as the pink of the sky lightened, wondering where he was. He was never late, but it was almost fifteen minutes past when he said we’d meet, and the stuffed French toast I’d gotten up in the dark to make him was getting cold.
Finally, he appeared at the end of the dock, and I stood, ready to be wrapped in one of his hugs, the kind where every inch of us pressed together and made my stomach flip.
Last night had changed everything. We’d sat out on Moon Rock looking over the lake, and I’d never felt a moment so perfect, so injected with the magic that happens when everything is exactly right, the kind of right that you feel in your bones and the roots of your hair. I’d looked over and said the words that had been simmering beneath the surface since the middle of summer.
“I love you.”
His eyes had darkened, his head had dipped toward mine, and he gave me a kiss that whispered I love you back without having to say a word.
But now, watching him walk down the dock, something wasn’t right about the tight set of his shoulders or the way he wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Adam? What’s wrong?”
“I’m taking the early shuttle out.”
“What? Why?” We’d both planned to take the last run on the Rust Bucket to squeeze every minute out of our last day together. He still wasn’t meeting my eyes, and I had the first inkling that he had meant our kiss last night very differently than I’d taken it. “Talk to me. Is this about last night?”
“No.” He sighed. “Kind of.” He ran his hands through his hair, his eyes finally meeting mine but sliding away a moment later. “I think I’ve given you the wrong idea this summer. I’ve loved every minute of hanging out with you, but—”
“But you don’t love me.” My voice was flat. It was obviously what was coming next.
“I mean…not like that.”
“Like what then?”
“It’s like…” He waved his hand as if he were encompassing the whole camp. “This is here. And real life is out there. And it’s time to go back to real life.”
“And ‘I love you’ doesn’t belong there. Got it.” I gathered up the edges of the blanket I’d laid out, hauling the whole thing into a bundle, not caring that the food was tumbling off plates and making a mess inside.
“Tabby, don’t.”
“Tabitha,” I spit at him. “And don’t tell me what to do. I don’t live two lives. I live one. Me as I am, all the time. I’m sorry it wasn’t enough for you.” I shoved past him to head back toward the mess hall.
“Tab. Tabitha, wait,” he called.
“See you never, Stretch,” I said over my shoulder.
And I meant it.
10
Now
We stood on the new dock beneath the quarter moon now, but it was enough light to see the silvery shape of the other dock across the water.
“Do you remember the last time we were standing over on that dock?” Adam asked.
I snorted. I’d spent literally the entire walk over here remembering.
“Right,” he said. “So ask me your final question again.”
I took a moment, trying to decide if I was ready for the answer when I had no idea what it would be. Finally, I nodded. “All right, Adam. Why are you here? Why did you buy this place? And why am I standing here now?”
“That’s three questions,” he joked, but when I didn’t laugh, he sighed again. “All fair ones.” He slipped off his shoes and sat at the end of the dock, letting his feet dangle in the water. “Join me?”
I wanted to pace while I listened, get out some of the tightly wound energy that had been building inside me, but I followed his lead and sat beside him without a word.
“It took two years before I regretted that last morning on the old dock,” he said.
I tensed. Whatever explanation I had expected, it wasn’t this.
“But once I woke up to what an idiot I’d been, I’ve regretted it every day since. In fact, the more time goes by, the more I regret it.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” I said, and I was, in the way you sort of feel grim satisfaction when one of the mean girls from high school has an ugly kid.
“Then you’ll love the next part.” He met my eyes. “The reason we’re here right now, you and I, is for me to say I’m sorry.”
A tiny bit of the tension seeped from my shoulders. I hadn’t realized how much I’d wanted to hear those words all this time. And also because I finally understood why Natalie had agreed to this nonsense. She was big on apologies, and she’d always felt like Adam owed me one, even when I’d insisted I was over it and didn’t care.
“Two years after our last summer here together, I started dating a girl,” Adam continued. “I really liked her. I was twenty-three, and I figured it was time for me to fall in love for the first time.” It surprised me how much that twinged to hear him say. I guess we always want to believe that our first love is their first love too. “But the longer we dated, the more I realized that wasn’t possible. Because I had already fallen in love. With you. Two years before.”
I sat with that as he fell into silence. That was a big thing to hear, and I wasn’t sure how to take it in.
“I’ve had a couple more relationships since then, but both of them kind of lost steam.”
“Because you were chasing the high of summer camp?” I made the joke because the tension felt almost unbearable.
He turned his head to face me directly, the moonlight glinting in his eyes. “Basically. You laugh, but it’s true. When I found out this place was for sale last year, I came to see it, mostly for the sake of nostalgia. I don’t know how to explain it, but the second I turned onto the camp road, it stripped the last decade away from me, and I was eighteen-year-old Adam, heading into an adventure I had no idea if I could handle.”
It was an echo of my feelings when I had driven in.
“Anyway, as I walked around, looking at the creaky old bones of the place, I couldn’t separate myself from the past anymore. None of us can, can we? That’s what Natalie says. That it shapes us no matter what. And Camp Oak Crest is a big part of who I’d become. I dreamed of my future here. Started figuring out who I was and what I wanted. Found my best friends here. And the only girl I ever loved.”
“Adam…” But I didn’t know how I wanted to finish my thought.
“It’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to say anything. But I have two requests. First, see the moon up there?”
I nodded. “Can’t really miss it.”
“That’s a third quarter moon. It signifies forgiveness. I want to say again that I’m sorry with all my heart for the way I treated you back then. You gave me your heart, and I didn’t take care of it. You didn’t deserve it, and if I had it to do over again, I’d do it very differently now.”
“Yeah?” I asked softly. Maybe the moon was working its forgiving magic, but I found myself wrapped up in the spell of his words. “What would you do?”
“I’d say I love you too.”
I let the words settle over me, imagining how it might have changed everything if he’d said this nine years ago. “I think that would have been good to hear back then.”
“Yeah.” The word was more of a sigh. Then he shifted, turning to face me more fully. “I wasn’t kidding about the backup plan. Everything in me says I took the wrong fork in the road back then, that this is where you and I were always meant to be.”
“But—”
“I know that sounds crazy but hear me out.” He reached over and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. The familiar feeling of goosebumps from his touch prickled down my arms. “Tabitha ‘Tabby Cat’ Winters?”
I swallowed. “Yes?”
He leaned forward until we were at eye level only inches apart. “I double dog dare you.”
“What?” I squeaked.
“I double dog dare you to give me three days. Lisa is actually an extremely skilled chef. She ran the food services for the local county schools until she went to culinary school and became a chef. She’s going to do an amazing job, and you can help her or not. But what I really brought you to Oak Crest for is to convince you to give me three dates over the next three days.”
“Wait, so you never needed my chef skills?”
“It helps having your name on the gala for fundraising. But no, it was never the point.”
I tried to digest the lengths he’d gone to, turning so I sat cross-legged, facing him. He did the same, our knees touching. “Natalie thinks this is a good idea?”
He cleared his throat. “She might have the impression that I wanted you here to apologize and that’s it.”
“She might kill you.”
He rested his hands on his knees, palms up, and crooked his fingers slightly in an invitation. I slid my hands into his. “That will come down to how you feel about this. Say yes and I live.”
“Manipulative.” But a smile threatened to escape me.
He gave a small shrug. “Maybe. But Natalie can be scary when she’s mad. I might be fighting for my life here.”
The smile broke free. “You’re ridiculous.”
“What do you think?” he asked quietly. “Give me three dates?”
“And then what?”
“And then at the end of our third date, we end up back here, on this dock. And I kiss you. And if that doesn’t convince you that we’re meant to be, then I never bother you again.”
My heart raced so hard now that I wondered if he could feel it in my palms. “And if it does?”
“And if it does, then the backup plan is in full effect.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it, and it came out as a wild, giddy sound. “This is insane. You know that, right?”
He smiled at me. “Is that a yes?”
I shrugged. “It was a double dog dare. Of course it is.”
11
I got up the next morning early again and foraged in the mess hall kitchen for some food to cook breakfast for Ben and Natalie.
Their house was set well back from the camp so you wouldn’t even know it was there if no one told you.
“Knock knock,” I called, already opening the door. Natalie was sitting in a rocking chair, Juniper on her lap, playing with the lapels of Natalie’s fuzzy bathrobe.
“Hey,” she said, smiling at me. It was a slightly nervous smile. “What are you doing here?”
I set my bag of goodies on the counter and plopped down on the sofa across from her. “I assume the reason you went along with Dumb and Dumber’s insane plan is because Adam told you he wanted to apologize?”
She sighed. “Yeah. I know you’ve needed closure all these years. The plan was that I was going to use our fire ceremony last night—the one with just the two of us—to help you work through any memories this place was bringing up for you. Like exposure therapy for anxiety patients. Let you process, throw them away in the fire, and then evaluate how you felt about seeing Adam face to face.” She leaned forward, her face serious. “But you have to believe me, I was never going to sprin
g him on you if you weren’t open to it. And I definitely had no idea he wanted to resurrect the backup plan.” She covered Juniper’s ears and called Adam a rude name that made me smile.
“It’s okay. I know you’re always looking out for me.”
“I am. One hundred percent. So…on that note, how are you feeling? Things go okay last night?”
I paused, considering the answer. “I need to cook while I think. You in the mood for breakfast?”
“If it’s served in anything besides a sinking canoe, then yes.”
“You deserved it,” I said with no guilt as I dug through her cabinets and drawers for the tools I needed.
“Fair.”
“Last night was okay. Maybe even good? To be honest, once I figured out Adam was on the premises, I went up to Moon Rock and had a mini fire ceremony by myself.”
“Really?” She sounded impressed. “Tell me about that.”
So I did, concluding with the feeling that had been growing in me since I’d watched the ashes of old hurts float away. I folded cheese into my egg batter as I thought about it. “Running around here yesterday, my old self and new self met in the same place and kind of…became one.”
I had to laugh at myself for words as cheesy as the omelet I was making. “This place totally messes with your head.”
“But in a good way?” Natalie asked.
I nodded. “So anyway, Adam double dog dared me.”
“Uh oh. To do what?” I explained, and she shook her head. “There is so much that idiot did not tell me when he hatched this stupid plan.”
I grinned. “It’s okay. I think I’m going to take him up on it.”
“Seriously?”
I shrugged. “I mean, it’s a double dog dare. I still owe him for running our bras up the flagpole.”
That made her laugh, and Juniper reached up to pat her cheeks.
“I’m going to let him shoot his shot, then I’m walking away. But at least we can part as friends, and I close the book on that chapter but with a better ending this time.”