That Second Chance

by Quinn, Meghan

  “Dude, we’re not talking about ice cream right now,” Reid says. “This is serious business.”

  Beck just leans back and chuckles, wrapping his arm around Rylee.

  Ren continues with her story, the smirk on her face never leaving. Damn, she’s so not a good liar, but the guys are falling for every second of it.

  “So you were at the general store,” Reid prompts.

  “Yes, and I was making my way through the aisles when I heard two women talking about one of the Knightly brothers. Naturally, I stopped my cart and pretended to look over the Pop-Tarts while I listened.”

  “Excellent detective work. Well done. Breakfast pastries to the rescue,” Brig says, getting into the story.

  “I couldn’t catch much, but what I heard wasn’t really flattering. They were talking about . . . Reid, and some kind of mole on your leg with a black hair sticking straight out of it. She said it kept poking her while you were fooling around. All she could think the whole time was if the mole was growing with each pass her leg made over it.”

  Reid’s mouth drops open, but before he can say anything, Ren turns to Brig and continues her lie, her fucking fantastic lie.

  “And when I was over at the harbor, doing a little reading, I heard another set of girls talk about Brig, the guy who runs the automobile shop.”

  “What did they say?” Brig is practically on top of Ren, waiting impatiently for the rest of the story.

  With a finger to the sky, Reid interrupts. “Uh, I think we need to clear the air about the whole mole thing.”

  “Shhh.” Brig waves his hand at Reid. “We’ll get to your mole in a second. Please continue, Ren.”

  Still smiling, she obliges. “They said you were hitting on them, but they couldn’t get over the piece of food stuck between your two front teeth.”

  “What?” Brig shouts as the rest of us split a gut, my hand falling to Ren’s thigh, unable to control the laughter pouring out of me. She moves her hand down to mine, linking our fingers together. It’s the first time she’s initiated any sort of hand-holding, and I’ll admit, I like it a lot. “What was it? When was this? Was it when I had crab cakes? Jake puts so much goddamn seasoning in those things; they’re fucking delightful but require a teeth check after every serving.” He slaps the table. “Damn it.”

  “Uh, back to the whole mole thing,” Reid says.

  But Brig is still too focused on himself. “I bet it was last Tuesday. I had the cilantro cake, and I bet that did it to me. Cilantro will get you every time. I should have known.”

  “About the mole.”

  “Was it last Tuesday I had crab cakes? Hell, my days are getting all mixed up. What did the girls look like?”

  “For the record, there is no mole.”

  Reid and Brig start badgering Ren with questions, one right after the other, and all I can do is laugh next to her. I lean in close to her. “You brought this upon yourself.”

  “Yeah, but it was so worth it,” she replies from the side of her mouth.

  I can’t argue with her about that. And for the record, I think it’s extremely sexy that Ren can hang with my family and has no problems teasing them. Large families can be intimidating, especially to only children, but Ren is different. She’s holding her own and even throwing some shade. Life certainly isn’t dull when she’s around.

  And in this moment, as I watch Ren battle with my brothers, I can’t help but think how similar she is to Claire. The smile she wears, the laughter in her voice, the light-hearted feeling she carries around. But instead of the usual pang of grief, this realization warms me, reminds me that maybe I’m really not that alone after all.

  “Do you have any thoughts?” Reid asks, picking at his plate.

  Leaning back in my chair, I take a sip of my beer and shake my head. “Not a lot of ideas. I’ve done some brainstorming, but I feel like I’m falling short. I didn’t think putting together a theme for our Lobster Fest booth was going to be so hard.”

  “What do you mean by a theme?” Ren asks with a cute crinkle in her brow.

  I lean toward Ren but speak loudly enough for the group to hear. “Every year, every booth sponsors a group in town to raise funds for. The Lobster Landing gets to sponsor the teachers of Port Snow again this year. Each booth is focused around a fall theme. We’ve done some pretty cool things to entertain visitors, sell our product, and raise money, but this year I’m in charge, and I really want to go all out.” I neglect to say why for a reason: it’s not something I want to get into right now in front of my brothers and Ren.

  Trying to understand, Ren says, “So you need to think of something that will raise money for the teachers and something that will be fun and exciting.”

  “Exactly.”

  The tip of her finger taps her chin as she looks up at the canopy of the maple trees providing a natural ceiling. “Pumpkin carving.”

  “We did that two years ago.”

  “Ugh, okay. Hmm, how about . . . something with a scarecrow.”

  Reid perks up. “We can do a dick-in-a-box-type thing with scarecrows—guess which scarecrow is locked and loaded.”

  “Are you fucking insane?” I ask, genuinely concerned for my brother. “You’re eliminated from making any other suggestions.”

  “What? Why? That was a great idea.”

  Stepping in, Brig says, “Dude, it was disturbing. I’m with Griff on this one.”

  “Hey. What happened to younger brothers sticking together?”

  Brig’s face says it all. “Not when you say fucked-up shit like that.”

  “What about apples?” Ren cuts in. “The classic teacher gift is apples, so maybe you can frame everything around that.”

  Shit, that’s a good idea.

  A really good idea.

  “I like that a lot,” I say, pressing my hand to her arm, my mind starting to whirl with ideas. “We can do apple-cider pairings with treats from the shop. We can do a flight of cider, nonalcoholic, and pair the drinks with fudge, scones, and maybe our cider doughnuts. Charge a flat rate, and half goes to the teachers. For the kids, we can do lobster stamp carvings in the apples, and they can decorate their own bags with them.”

  “Like how Mom used to make stamps out of potatoes?” Brig asks. I nod. “Dude, that’s a great idea.”

  “We can get ciders from Hollows Eve up north. They have many different flavors we can choose from, like cherry, pear, and raspberry apple ciders. Maybe we can strike up a deal with them to get some donations.” I rub my hands together. “I feel really good about this.”

  “And you can decorate with apples, do bushels in baskets, maybe a few fake apple trees climbing up your booth. Could be really cute,” Ren cleverly adds.

  “Bobbing for apples,” Reid shouts, one hand in the air. “Bob for a discount on your next Lobster Landing purchase.”

  Like the supportive brother he is, Brig leans over and pats Reid on the shoulder. “See, now that’s a good idea.”

  Reid smirks. “I was due for one.”

  Happy, I stretch my hand out to Ren and squeeze her hand in mine. “Thank you,” I quietly say. “You don’t know how much you just helped me.”

  The tips of her lips curve up into a beautiful smile. “I’m glad I could help.”

  Cutting in, Reid says, “Now that we’ve figured the theme out, let’s get back to that whole mole thing . . .”

  “How long do you think they’re going to keep bringing up the lettuce and the mole?” Ren asks as we sit in front of the fire, s’mores already consumed. Rylee and Beck are in their tent, and Brig and Reid are playing cards at the picnic table, giving the two of us some semiprivate time.

  “Most likely they’re going to mention it every time they see you for the next couple of months, but hell, it was worth it.” I chuckle. “Fuck, the looks on their faces were priceless.”

  “They’re too easy.”

  “They are. Wait until I tell Rogan and Jen; they’re going to wish they were here now.”

&nb
sp; “Why aren’t they?” Ren turns a little more in her camping chair, bringing one of her legs up to her chest, bending at the knee.

  “Camping isn’t Rogan’s thing. He likes his creature comforts, and sleeping outside in a tent holds no appeal for him. As for Jen, she has three young kids, and if she’s going to spend time away from them, it’s not going to be in a canvas triangle out in the woods. She’s going to spend the money on a nice room at a fancy hotel in Bar Harbor or Ogunquit.”

  “Ahh, that makes sense. I think I would probably be the same way, even though I love being outdoors, especially out here. The trees make it feel so private. When we would camp on the beach, it was wonderful falling asleep to the waves, but you always felt exposed, almost naked out in the open.”

  “I could see that. The trees provide a sense of protection.”

  “Exactly.”

  Ren has to be one of the most down-to-earth women I’ve ever met—honest and true to her word. She said she likes camping, and she was right. She showed up prepared and ready for the outdoors, not a drop of makeup on her face or one of her usual dresses in sight.

  And if she hadn’t been told she didn’t have to bring camping gear, I’m almost positive she would have brought everything necessary. Just from the conversations we’ve had so far, it’s obvious how much we genuinely have in common, and it’s obvious how my resolve keeps slacking where she’s concerned.

  “Do you have a favorite camping story?” I ask. “Or maybe an embarrassing one?”

  She chuckles. “Oh, I like how you threw that in there, or an embarrassing one. Let me guess which kind of story you would rather hear . . . hmm.” She taps her chin.

  “Hey, if you tell me an embarrassing camping story, then I’ll tell you one of mine.”

  “One of them? Meaning there are more than one?”

  “I grew up with three brothers. Of course there are multiple embarrassing camping stories.”

  She rubs her hands together. “Well, if that’s the case, then I’m ready to spill.” She points her finger at me, a slight tilt to her head. “But you promise you’ll tell yours right after mine? None of this ‘just kidding’ crap, right? A story for a story.”

  “Promise.” I give her a curt nod.

  Not satisfied with my answer, she holds out her pinkie to me. “Pinkie promise.”

  “Are you twelve?”

  “It’s the only way to ensure a story for a story. Only heathens break pinkie promises. Are you a heathen, Griffin?”

  This girl, I swear.

  “No.”

  “Then you should have no problem doing a pinkie promise with me, right?”

  I hold my pinkie out to her, a grin pulling at my lips. “No problem at all.” We shake, followed by a gleeful clap from Ren.

  “Your story better be good, Griffin, because I’m about to deliver some embarrassing stuff. Top-notch blushing kind of tale.”

  She’s so goddamn cute.

  “I’ll deliver. Now lay it on me.”

  She sits up in her camp chair, turns it to face me completely, and then crosses her legs, her little body folding together.

  She’s so relaxed and happy; it makes me think that even though I’ve been out of the dating cycle for a while, I’m doing something right.

  Not that we’re dating.

  A cold chill runs through me, the thought of pursuing something with Ren exciting and scary as fuck.

  I want her.

  But I don’t want her to get hurt.

  I want to know what it’s like to spend a night with her in my arms, and right about now, I don’t think there is any way I can stop myself from staying away.

  “Are you ready?” she asks, her eyes fixed on mine.

  “Ready.”

  “Okay.” She clears her throat, and I get ready for what I can only assume is going to be one amazing story. “I was fourteen, an impressionable age for any girl. I was camping with my family up in Idyllwild, one of my favorite places, but this time, my parents decided to try out a new campsite because it was next to a pond.”

  “Seems nice.”

  “It was. So nice, and we returned many times after.”

  “So whatever happened couldn’t have been that bad.”

  “It took me a year before I went back,” she confesses. “A year before I felt like I could revisit those bathrooms.”

  The way she says bathrooms with such menace in her voice—I can’t help but chuckle.

  “I was young, naive, and ignorant about my actual shower time. I thought I was a two-minute-shower kind of girl, when in reality, I was a ten-minute-shower kind of girl.”

  “Oh shit,” I mumble, unable to hide the smile pulling at my lips.

  “Midshampoo, the shower cut out, and I didn’t have any more quarters. Head soaped up and body drenched, I reached for my towel . . .”

  “Fuck, did you forget your towel?”

  She slowly nods, eyes closed, lips pressed together. “Yup,” she answers with a resounding pop. “Forgot a towel, forgot extra quarters. All I had were my T-shirt and shorts, which horribly clung to my soaking-wet body. I made the walk of shame out the bathrooms and past the campsite of high school boys who were on some Eagle Scout field trip—mind you, I had no bra on—and made it to my parents’ campsite, where I grabbed a towel and more quarters. I wanted to pretty much die on the walk back when every single guy at the Eagle Scout campground watched me head into the bathroom. It was mortifying.”

  “Hell, that is mortifying. Did you hide behind trees for the rest of your camping experience?”

  “Pretty much. I didn’t want to go anywhere near the Eagle Scouts. And I faked sick to get out of the pancake breakfast that Sunday.” Sincerity laces her voice. “And do you know how painful that was? I love a good campground pancake social. All-you-can-eat fluffy magic, ugh.” She slaps the armrest on her chair. “What a world.”

  I chuckle, loving how animated she is.

  “Okay, your turn. What’s your story? And make it good, Knightly.”

  The way she calls me by my last name sometimes, especially when she’s joking—I fucking love it. She’s got me hook, line, and sinker.

  “Sudsy teenager doing the walk of shame is pretty hard to beat, but I think I have the story to destroy yours.”

  “We’ll see about that.” She folds her arms across her chest.

  I so have her freaking beat, and if I really wanted to preserve the image she has of me in her head, I would not tell her this story, but I’m going for broke here.

  “I was with my brothers and my dad; it was a man’s weekend,” I say with a gruff voice to really exaggerate how manly of a weekend it was. “Which meant we were going natural.”

  “Like no clothes?” Her eyes widen.

  “No.” I chuckle. “Not that natural, but Dad wanted us to learn to live off the land in case we were ever, in his words, ‘abducted and dropped off in the middle of nowhere.’”

  “Well, that makes sense. Smart parenting.”

  “Agreed, but there were some things my dad failed to mention.” I grab the back of my neck, the story so vivid in my mind. “That weekend my brothers and I were pulling pranks on each other every chance we could get. Just stupid shit, like scaring each other in the woods and stealing each other’s underwear. Really mature stuff that I won’t go into.”

  “Thank you for sparing me.” She chuckles, her smile beautiful, her lips distracting me for a brief second.

  I clear my throat and continue, “We were all making dinner, and I had to go to the bathroom, so I went off into the woods, near the designated bathroom area my dad marked off, and started taking a leak, only to have Reid come up behind me and screech like a giant owl, which scared the living piss out of me.” Ren covers her mouth and giggles. “Naturally, I got pee all over myself, and since we were using the land as our only resource, I grabbed a leaf from the ground and started wiping up.”

  “Ohhh noooo.” Her chuckling turns into a fit of laughter.

  “It w
as almost instant. Poison ivy spread all over me, everywhere I touched, including . . .” I lift a brow at her.

  A burst of laughter pops out of her. “You poison ivy-ed your penis.”

  “And it wasn’t pretty. Red-and-white blisters for weeks. All I wanted to do was dip my dick into a cup of calamine lotion, but that was just asking for a UTI, so I had to resort to stroking my damn dick with anti-itch.” She’s laughing so hard tears are coming from her eyes. “I couldn’t look at calamine lotion the same for a very long time; the mauve bottle brought back odd sensations. Talk about confusing.”

  “Oh shit.” She’s wiping her eyes, her laughter musical. Hell, it might be embarrassing, but it’s worth it to see her so happy, to see joy take over her entire body.

  It’s sexy.

  It makes me want to take her into my arms tonight, in our tent, the stars twinkling right above us.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  REN

  All throughout my shower and while brushing my teeth and getting ready for bed, I kept chuckling at the thought of poor Griffin and his poison ivy penis.

  I couldn’t imagine that kind of pain, but hell, it’s comedy gold.

  But now that I’m making the walk back to the campsite—dry and sans soap in my hair—I can’t help but sober up.

  I know I said I was cool with sleeping in the same tent as Griffin, but I’m all of a sudden extremely aware of the close confines we’ll be in. Over the last month or so, I couldn’t think of a better situation than sharing a tent with the kindest and hottest guy I’ve ever met, but now that it’s D-Day, my nerves are eating me alive, my will to be cool, calm, and collected quickly vanishing.

  Is he going to be wearing clothes? What if he goes shirtless? I’ve never seen him with his shirt off; am I going to be able to not stare? What about shorts? Pants? Will he wear underwear only? Should I wear underwear only?

  What am I thinking? Of course not. We’re camping, not having a sleepover.

  This is a friend offering another friend space in his tent. That’s it, nothing more.

  But then again, he held my hand tonight and gave me a hug for the first time, reassuring me I was welcome on this camping trip and melting my heart.