Honey was dying to know what kind of profession had left him with the ability to casually lift insane weights—Lumberjack? Personal trainer? Circus strongman?—but Buck clearly wasn’t in the mood for conversation. Under the clinging black fabric of his t-shirt, his spine was a tense, rigid line.
They passed a few other counselors as they crossed the camp. Honey noticed a few curious glances flung their way, but nobody stopped dead to stare, or walked into a wall, or pointed with cries of amazement. Apparently, no one found Buck’s ridiculous feat of strength at all noteworthy. Maybe it reallywasjust her.
Buck led the way to a group of cabins clustered together at the edge of the camp. They were bigger than Honey had expected; long, low log structures, more like dormitories than rustic huts. Each one had a shallow shingle roof, and long porches wrapping around the front and sides. Stacks of folded deckchairs leaned against the railings.
“This is you,” Buck said, nodding at one of the cabins. The distinctive pointed shape of a maple leaf was carved into a plaque under the eaves. He stalked up the stairs, somehow managing to stomp even in bare feet. “Maple Cabin. Junior girls, dog help your soul. You gonna get this door?”
“Hmm?” Honey said, momentarily hypnotized by the denim-clad posterior now at her eye level. She started, coming back to herself. “Oh, right. Sorry.”
From the way Buck’s jaw tightened, he knew exactly what she’d been staring at, and hadn’t taken it as a compliment. Flushing, Honey fumbled with the door, holding it open for him. Buck edged past, clutching the suitcase in front of his body as if it was all that was protecting his modesty.
Be professional, Honey,she told herself as Buck led the way inside. She did her best to arrange her face into a pleasant, neutral expression, not allowing her gaze to drift down again.The man’s your colleague, and you have to work with him all summer. Don’t make things weird.
The door led to a narrow corridor that opened out into a big room at the end. Honey glimpsed ranks of bare bunk beds and neat, empty cubbyholes before Buck shouldered open a door to the left.
Beyond was a small but cozy bedroom, with a rag rug on the wooden floor and cheerful leaf-patterned curtains fluttering around the window. Shelves ran across one wall, along with a short rail with a couple of empty hangers. The only piece of furniture was a narrow, metal-framed bed.
Right.Honey swallowed, trying not to look at this last item.Bed. Right there. Two of us, alone, with a bed. This is fine.
Buck also seemed a bit unnerved at this unexpectedly intimate environment. Giving the bed a wide berth—well, as wide as the narrow space allowed—he dumped her bags in one corner. He cleared his throat.
“Well.” Buck gave her a brief, grudging nod, edging toward the door. “I’ll leave you to settle in.”
“Wait.” Honey started to reach out to catch his arm, then thought better of it. “You said you wanted to talk.”
Buck glanced at the bed, and quickly away again. He blew out his breath.
“Guess we have to do this at some point,” he muttered. “Might as well rip the Band-Aid off now.”
Well, that’s not ominous at all.
Honey didn't know what could be bothering him, but it was clearly serious. Her mind spun, trying to figure out what she’d done wrong. Okay, she’d gaped at him like an idiot, but surely he must be used to women temporarily losing the power of speech in his presence. He couldn’t have beenthatoffended, could he?
She attempted to smile, hiding her surge of trepidation. “Whatever’s bothering you, you can tell me. We have to be able to trust each other. We’re meant to be partners, after all.”
Buck did not seem to find this reassuring. If anything, he went even more tense. His gaze flicked to the bed again. “Look, can we have this conversation somewhere else?Anywhereelse?”
Honey was only too glad of any excuse to escape close confines with Buck. For lack of other options, they went back out onto the porch. Honey unfolded a couple of chairs, while Buck stalked around peering under the deck and behind the cabin like a bodyguard sweeping the area for snipers.
“I think we’re okay,” he said, rejoining her at last. He subjected a passing butterfly to a suspicious glare. “No sign of eavesdroppers. Though you never really know in this damn place.”
“Buck, you’re starting to make me nervous.” She sat down, gesturing him to take the other chair. “What’s this all about?”
Buck did not sit. He stayed at the opposite end of the porch, as far away as he could get, fidgeting with an odd, heavy bracelet around his right wrist. Catching her looking at it, he hid his hand behind his back.
“Look, uh.” He stopped, an expression of consternation flashing across his face. “Oh, squirrel nuts. I think Zeph said your name, but to be honest at that point he could have marched around the room playing a trombone solo and I wouldn’t have noticed. Sorry.”
She had to laugh at that. “No need to apologize. If it makes you feel better, I didn’t catch yours the first time either. I guess we were both kind of distracted.”
“No kidding.” Buck’s mouth twitched, for an instant lifting from that harsh, fixed scowl; the closest she’d seen him get to a smile. “So, what do I call you?”
She smiled back at him, heartened by this tiny crack in his armor. Maybe things would be okay after all. “Honey.”
That faint trace of wry humor vanished instantly. “Absolutelynot.”
Honey sighed. It was not the first time this had happened.
“No, that’s my actual name,” she said patiently. And then, bracing herself for his inevitable reaction, “Honey Bunch.”
