“What?” Joe looked over at Krista.
Heat colored Krista’s cheeks. “I may have hit a button or two and all the photos look…”
“Brighter than the sun,” Elsie answered for her.
Joe chuckled. “Yeah, that can happen. Looks like you might need another lesson or two.”
“Perfect. We’ll make that the theme for tomorrow: Krista’s second chance. People will love it. Just like they’re going to love these photos.” Elsie didn’t wait, snapping a photo with her phone of Joe and Krista behind the bar. “In two seconds half the town will know Joe survived his first shift. And they’ll be even more excited to help your”––she motioned to Krista––“grandparents by sponsoring the next task.”
Krista shook her head, but Joe didn’t miss the way her shoulders loosened, just a little.
“Congratulations,” Elsie added, lifting the drink Krista slid her way. “Summer Swap has officially begun. And tonight is your first official swap night! I want pictures. Lots of them! Promise?”
Krista shared a look with Joe. “Ah, yeah. Promise.”
With Elsie off mingling with the other locals, Krista poured two more margaritas and handed one to Joe.
“To surviving my life,” she said, raising a toast to him.
Joe clinked his glass softly to hers, but didn’t pull away right away. His fingers brushed hers. His gaze caught and held hers. The look was intent, unhurried, and a little too intense for daylight. “Here’s to you, Queen Bee,” he murmured, voice rougher now.
The air between them stretched, something warm and electric settling in.
From a few stools down, Mrs. C. arched a brow over her lemonade. “Well, well,” she whispered to Mrs. Bishop, who fanned herself with a drink menu.
Joe didn’t notice. Or maybe he did and didn’t care.
Because it didn’t just feel like he’d survived a day in her life. It felt like he belonged here, beside her. In this small town where, despite himself, he found himself wishing he could put down roots.
This wasn’t his home. But it sure wasn’t going to be easy to leave…
TWENTY-ONE
KRISTA
Friday, Day One of the Summer Swap
Krista had thought about inviting Joe back to Hidden Hills for the night—or even slipping back into her own bed, rules be damned.
But after Elsie had made such a show of “officially swapping sleeping spots,” snapping photos forcontentthat would get loads of people donating, backing out felt like cheating. Or worse—like admitting she couldn’t handle one night apart.
Krista could handle it.
Soon she was zipped into Joe’s sleeping bag, the nylon pulled snug up to her chin, even though the air inside the tent was still warm. Cicadas screeched from the trees around her, a steady electric buzz, and mosquitoes whined outside the mesh. Every so often, a lightning bug flashed against the canvas like a tiny, misplaced star.
She missed her soft pillows. Her lavender spray. The familiar weight of her duvet. She shifted, trying to settle, then considered grabbing Joe’s camera and trying to take photos. But they hadn’t covered nighttime photography yet. She had no ideawhat to do with the flash or how to capture anything in the dark.
So she lay there, letting the dark press in, replaying the night. The way she and Joe had worked together, sharing looks, brushes of hands. Him working at the Hot Honey Hideaway was just part of the swap—but she’d liked him there, beside her. Something had clicked. And yes, she could admit it: She’d been more than a little proud of that margarita he’d made for her.
Thunder rumbled somewhere across the lake, low and distant.
“At least I’m tucked inside,” she muttered.
The storm rolled in fast, the way summer storms in Maple Falls always did. One restless breeze, then suddenly the sky opened. Rain slammed down in sheets, drumming against the tent until the sound swallowed everything else. The canvas shuddered with every gust, guy lines snapping tight.
Krista stared at the arched ceiling, counting seconds between thunderclaps. Joe had chosen the site carefully with its higher ground, good runoff, and the tent angled just right. She trusted him.
Even so, with lightning flashing white against the canvas and thunder rattling straight through her ribs, the tent felt thin, and she wasn’t sure it would hold.
