CHAPTER 7
PEYTON
The restaurant I recruited for the picnic meal is one of my favorites. I’m a regular patron, so I’m not entirely surprised that they filled the tote with more food than two people can eat during a single date. I guess they wanted us to have leftovers. I’m not mad at that.
We’re quiet as we share the dishes I pulled out. There were dry ice packs at the bottom of the tote that were still frozen, so I’m not worried about the contents I left inside. Just in case, I pulled out the ones I thought should be eaten first.
I glance at Dana, admiring his profile. He chose a shirt and long shorts. His dark hair is still stuck to his head as it slowly dries. He’s tall and soft. He’s about as opposite to the crush I’ve nursed for the past several years as one can be. He’s literally everything Coach Lemon isn’t. Quiet, shy, masculine.
As I study him, I realize that he’s far more my type than Coach Lemon ever was. I’ve never crushed on a guy like Coach. I know there’s a term for the reason. I went through a very difficult time during my first year, and he showed me the type of kindness you rarely receive from someone in a supervisory role over you.
Somehow, my brain decided to translate that into meaning he obviously had feelings for me. Therefore, I was going to crush like no one’s business.
Look where that got me.
I think about this date and how disastrously it’s gone. Coach would be pissed. He wouldn’t be sitting here beside me, rolling with it in the same way Dana is. I can’t imagine Coach Lemon Frost faring well, stranded in a storm like this.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
Dana’s eyes meet mine. “For what?”
I wave around. “This. As the date planner, it was definitely my responsibility to check the weather when our entire date depended on it. Obviously, this turned out a lot differently than I hoped. Probably not at all what you signed up for, huh?”
The corner of his mouth rises, and he looks down into the bowl in front of him. “Are you kidding? This is an actual, real-life adventure. People these days don’t have adventures of any kind.”
“You’re a very good sport. I’m still sorry it turned out this way. This date should have been fun, light, and memorable.”
His eyes meet mine again. “I’ll remember it forever.”
A beat passes. “As the worst date? Not my goal, dude.”
He laughs and shakes his head. Dana doesn’t answer for a few minutes. “I’m having fun,” he says, voice quiet.
“Yeah?”
He nods, meeting my eyes once more. This time, I get the distinct impression that it’s bashful.
We talk about school for a while. The classes we’re taking, football, the café, and our friends. There are bouts of time when the thunder is so loud and constant that we can’t hear each other without yelling. In the moments when the thunder isn’t filling the room, the rain doesn’t stop. It rarely gets lighter.
There’s a analog clock on the wall, so when it reaches six, I make the call that we’re going to be hunkering down for the night. I’m a strong kayaker. I’ve gone out in the moonlight many times. But only ever when I’m intimately familiar with my surroundings.
Not that it matters. The rain hasn’t stopped. We can hear the wind whistling outside, too. Branches of the trees touching the cabin scrape against the side and roof as if they’re trying to get in.
I move the tote of food as far from the woodstove as I can get to keep the ice from melting. We remain on the blanket for quite some time, talking about nothing. Anything. Everything. It’s been a long time since I’ve done this with anyone.
Okay, not exactly this. I’ve never actually been stranded in a storm before. But this, as in chatting for hours with someone in complete comfort.
The clock reads nine when we decide to get into bed. There’s only so long that the floor is comfortable. I stock the stove with more wood and shut it tightly while Dana folds the blanket and towels and sets them on the chair.
We take turns in the attached outhouse while the other makes the bed.
“You want the wall or the edge?” I ask.
He looks at me and then at the bed with a dubious expression. “We’re not exactly small guys. Are we even going to fit on the bed together?”
“I’m not volunteering for the floor,” I say, laughing. “I’ll help you make a bed if you’re more comfortable. We’re certainly going to be cuddling on the bed.”
“You’d think they’d at least have bunks in here,” he says as he climbs onto the bed and moves toward the wall.
