“Let the countdown to chaos begin,” Morgan titters, before hitching up the bag again and loping down over the grassy knoll that leads down to the forested area where all the cabins are, away from all themain buildings and gathering holes. Every summer, she elects not to sleep in her own room up in the main house, opting to stay buddied-up in the cabins so she can ‘get the whole experience.’ An idea I can get on board with, because I know the independence is good for her.
It’s not CHW’s opening day yet. Today is just the day that all the work-campers I’ve managed to secure for camp counselor positions arrive and get settled in. To say I’m shocked that we’re fully staffed, and on such short notice, is an understatement. Kai broached the idea, Morgan and I did a little research on it, and then we went ahead and implemented it—much to my initial hesitation, because I worry about having those who are still kids themselves overseeing so many others.
Morgan assured me they’d be fine, though, and I want to trust her judgement. She is the one who proposed that we reach out to high school guidance counselors all over the state and hand out paperwork advertising the job. Brilliant young businesswoman in the making, if that’s the route she chooses to go with her life.
I got nine new recruits out of it, filling all twelve counselor positions. Morgan recruited the other two, as well as herself. Aspyn, her best friend since the day Morgan started school in Alder Notch, is already down in their cabin setting up. Since this is their last summer together, before Aspyn goes off to college, they wanted to spend as much time as possible together. So, she spent the night last night, and I’m not sure either of them got a wink of sleep.
I know, because I certainly did not get any—I, instead, was up all night listening to them gossip about boys. Rather than using that time to be productive, however, I resorted to emailing someone I’ve gotten unexpectedly curious about lately. We started chatting initially about his concerns over hiring his son, but quickly it morphed into his own issues.
Concerned after our initial discussion, I have been checking in with him, though he’s often distant and closed off. Last night, I guess he’d had a little more to drink than his norm—he admitted to such, when I called him out for being more talkative than usual. We stayed up far too late bantering back and forth about stupid things, but never really getting too in-depth about his own issues.
Then, over breakfast, Morgan was quick to point out that I am aSour Patch Kidwhen I’m overly tired. Not my fault the rust bucket decidedtodaywas going to be the day when it needed a bit of respite, and didn’t perk up when I went to start it. I have a right to be grumpy—I’m working on limited sleep, I’ve got a mountain of camp repairs that I know need to be made but haven’t had the time, and now my car decides that it’s not up to the task of starting.
And to think, I still made her and her friend their favorite banana pancakes… because I’m such a grouch, you know.
The other of Morgan’s recruits is now pulling in and sauntering over to me. Great, I didn’t even get time to change. Or to attempt coffee numero dos. Oh well, time waits for no man, and it’s not like he’s a complete stranger to me.
I pop up from my rocking chair on the porch to greet him, setting my mug of coffee on the railing. “Isaac! Great to have you back, kid!”
The revenant expression on his face gives way to a huge grin, as he steps up and gifts me with a hug. “It’s good to be back.”
Isaac Donahue was a camper here for many years. He was one of my more memorable youngsters, so weighed down with the burden of grief. Over the summers spent here, I watched him flourish, and I often wondered how he was doing after he aged out of the program.
I’m glad Morgan kept in touch with him and reached out to see if he wanted to work here now. I think his ‘having been a camper here before’ experience will help tremendously.
Maybe trusting high schoolers, instead of college-aged kids, won’t be as worrisome as I’d initially thought. I know Aspyn is responsible, and Isaac was always a good kid too. Admitting Kai may have been right is a stretch, though. We shall see.
Already, we’re saving a bunch of money with work-campers whose stipends are significantly less than full-on staff. And with the fact that none of them needed a sign-on bonus to tempt them here, plus if no other big expenses come up, I think we’ll be in the clear for this season, at least.
I don’t even want to begin to fret about what we’ll do after this, though.
After I walk Isaac down to his old cabin and let him get settled in, I hike back up to attempt finishing my coffee. I’m stopped short when the whistle and rumble of a big diesel pick-up rolls in the driveway—the kind of truck many like to joke about, saying those with ‘little man syndrome’ enjoy driving. Except the man who hops down out of the driver’s seat isn’t who I would describe as being alittle manat all.
No, he’s a burly looking bear of a man. From his tousled, slightly gray-tinged onyx hair to the rough stubble on his chiseled jaw, all the way down to his steel-toed boots—the man looks like a stereotypical alpha man specimen. I forget all about introducing myself like a normal person, while I all but open-mouth gape at the sight of his broad chest in his snug-fit navy blue Henley tee—the top unbuttoned just enough to let a little, obviously trimmed, dark chest hair peek out.
I hardly notice the two teenage boys that hop out of the truck, because I’m too distracted by his thick thighs, which are hardly contained in those battered, grease-stained jeans that cling tightly to his legs. And let’s not even touch on those narrowed, yet muscular, hips.Those are thrusting hips, probably honed with years of workouts or college football or something.
Thrusting hips? Seriously? Ugh, who even am I?! Head, get out of the gutter, right this instant!
“You Brooks?” his deep voice cuts through the awkward silence I’ve created with my staring. Crap, even his voice and his brusque delivery has me regarding him as if he’s a caveman.
It’s kinda hot, though, not going to lie. Like, I’d let him narrate a dirty audiobook for me. Oh, and now I’m certainly blushing. Great. Always have been a telltale blusher.
“Yeah, I’m Brooks,” I reply sheepishly, extending my hand for a shake. He returns it, gripping tightly with his calloused hand.
“Evan,” he replies simply, before adding, “Colt’s dad.”
I’m sorry, say what?!Thisis Evan… the guy I’ve been talking to online? He doesn’t even look old enough to be the parent of a teenager, for crying out loud! Oh shoot, I’m staring. The hot guy standing in front of me definitely isn’t the fifty-something year old I thought I was talking to. Oh, this is embarrassing.
Evidence of my embarrassment licks like flames, creeping up my neck and burning into my cheeks. His cool blue eyes narrowing on my face does nothing to quell the heat I’m currently breaking a sweat from. Though Maine weather can change at the drop of a hat, not a single ounce of me believes it’s gone from a cool seventy-four degrees out here to one hundred in a blink of an eye.
“So you’re the one I’ve been emailing about my son for the past month?” he adds, letting his gaze sweep over me.
I feel myself shrinking in on myself, under the weight of his assessment. I wonder what he must be thinking. I haven’t even had a chance to guzzle my coffee yet, much less get dressed in anything other than my sweats and a hoodie. I look like a frump—a stark contrast to this man, who doesn’t look put together suavely per sé, but just ruggedly handsome in a way that looks effortless. Not to mention, I think I’m wearing the sweatpants that have a hole in the seam of the butt. I probably should have checked that before people—namely hot dads—started showing up.
I probably should have done a lot of things, if only I had time.
Like mustering up some professionalism.
