Miles reached in and twisted it one way and then back the other. It opened.
“I hate you did it in one try.” She smirked as she switched off the light and stepped outside.
“I got lucky,” he said.
When their eyes met, she could have sworn he was referring to something else. The amber glow of the setting sun had turned his eyes the color of maple syrup. A tingle let loose somewhere deep inside her.
“I’ll put the doorknob on Wes’s fix-it list.” She swept a stray hair behind her ear.
Miles placed a hand on Avery’s shoulder and circled his thumb under her clavicle.Fireflies. They had never called this buzzing sensation in her stomach butterflies. After the day a lightning bug landed on him, they’d felt fireflies. It had been a long time since she’d felt them.
“We’re making progress now that we’re in cahoots,” he said, lifting his hand.
“Cahoots? We are not in cahoots.”
“Oh, we are in cahoots. We’re opening a resort, remodeling dusty cabins, and collaborating on a website.” He counted on his fingers. “That’s cahoots.”
Avery giggled. “No one, except maybe Lorelai Gilmore, says cahoots anymore.”
“I’m bringing it back,” he said as he followed her up the path.
They might not be in cahoots, but if they got the website and social media accounts up beforeBright and Earlyfilmed, the resort might fill for the summer.
“Us being in cahoots only happened because I want to finish whatI started. For our friends.”
“Ayuh, so do I.” He pivoted toward the path that led off Montressa’s property, past Loon Cove, and out to the point. To the Red House. His broad shoulders, those jeans that hung just right over his hips. Avery was glad she’d be around until mid-August. Maybe he would finally tell her whatever he’d started to say back there in the Boathouse. Wondering about it sent a firefly thrum through her middle as heat rose in her chest. She needed to tamp those thoughts down. This guy ghosted her for ten years.
The more time Avery spent with Miles, the more it felt like he held a lit match, the flame flickering while he decided which of two firecrackers to light. One would make her glow, the other would burn her whole world down. Again.
Chapter Eight
Miles
Monday, May 29
Miles had been grating cheese when his father called to say he and Lily’s mother, Dorothea, had reached the Appalachian Trail’s halfway point in Pennsylvania. In keeping with trail tradition, they’d each eaten half a gallon of ice cream. Miles hoped his father had chosen the lactose-free version.
Dorothea had never tried to replace Miles’s mother. If anything, she’d done everything she could to honor her, including accompanying Mark Magrum on this hike. Thirty-two years ago, Mark had met Maisie out on the trail. Halfway through their trek and halfway through their half gallon of ice cream, Mark Magrum had proposed to Maisie with a paper ring he’d fashioned from a trail map. They’d married atop Mount Katahdin, at the journey’s end. A year later, they’d named their son after the miles they’d walked in the woods. Today’s stop made Mark missMaisie and Dorothea had encouraged Mark to call the other person who missed her just as much—his son.
Miles relayed the promising news about Sam, who had moved to a rehab facility a day ago. If his healing continued, Sam could come home to the lake in a couple weeks.
Miles had also been thinking of his mother when his dad called. Before she left this world, Maisie Magrum taught her son how to make his favorite dish, macaroni and cheese. It was also his father’s favorite.
Upon hanging up, Miles whisked the roux. Milk and the heap of shredded Maine cheddar sat nearby, on the counter Wes had installed three days ago. As Avery had promised, the white granite with gold specks brightened the space. She had a gift for finishing a room, and Miles had enjoyed seeing the sparkle in her eye as she’d reimagined the Boathouse the day before. He’d been thankful she’d diffused the tension Wes created with his not-so-subtle innuendos.
Wes could be bothersome in more ways than one. As soon as the counters were installed, Wes started sending reminders to pick a backsplash. Ten texts in the last day. Samples sat propped against the wall, but every time Miles considered them, he became more confused. The one he’d picked in the morning grew too dark in the evening light. If only he could convince Avery to come to dinner, he could get her input. But she remained insistent on keeping some distance between them.
A heat rose in his cheeks at the memory of Wes noticing the condoms and embarrassing Avery and Miles. And it wasn’t just Wes. Nate had hinted at them getting back together in the staff meeting. If it struck Miles as invasive, Avery must be feeling it too. Everyone should respect her privacy, especially if she didn’t want to get back together. The next time he saw Wes, he’d ask him to tone it down.
In that awkward moment, Avery’s diversion tactics had worked. The tension evaporated when she’d enlisted Wes’s help with the magical tree bed. Miles couldn’t figure out if she wanted to erase the memories they’dmade in that bed or lovingly care for their special place. Either way, a wave of guilt and regret over how he’d ruined their euphoric summer washed through him, and he’d shut down. When she asked if everything was okay, he’d awkwardly brought up her painting to hide his anxiety. He should talk to his therapist about why he’d frozen and disengaged, but it had been a while. Maybe when he returned to the City.
His phone vibrated on the counter, breaking his spiraling thoughts. His realtor had promised to get back to him today. Maybe she finally knew whether the corporate retreat was for sale. On his morning paddle, he’d sat offshore in his blue canoe and envisioned the healing that could happen there. He and Hayes wanted to call it Camp Luciole.
Hayes was FaceTiming him. They’d been phone-tagging all week. Miles answered, propping his phone against the backsplash samples so he could keep his hands free.
“Miles! What up? What up?” Hayes’s million-dollar grin filled the screen. “Our late-night idea over grilled cheese sandwiches is gathering enthusiasm. Every day we get closer and closer to opening our camp. NYU has four grief counselors willing to come to Maine next summer. They suggested rounding out the staff with graduate students.”
Hayes lifted his arms in victory.
