I’d tuck you in, he’d said.Tuck you in. Pull you close. Hand right on your ribs…
Outside, the storm cracked and muttered across the lake. The tent felt smaller with every thunderclap.
Krista hugged the sleeping bag closer and let herself pretend.
Tomorrow, she thought.I’ll see him first thing tomorrow…
TWENTY-TWO
JOE
Saturday, Day Two of the Summer Swap
Day Two was just beginning when Joe arrived at the campground. Frankie trotted at his heels, ears flopping, nose twitching as they followed the damp trail. The storm had blown through overnight, leaving everything washed clean. Grass glittered with moisture and mist curled off the lake like white smoke.
He’d tried calling Krista before leaving the apartment, but her phone went straight to voicemail. Dead battery, he’d guessed. Or she’d been blown away in the night—but he trusted his camping skills enough to believe the tent was still standing.
And it was. Still staked, still standing, no obvious sagging or flooding. Relief loosened the tightness in his chest.
“Morning, camper,” he called.
The zipper scraped. The flap peeled back.
Krista poked her head out, blinking at the sunlight. Her hair was a wild halo of curls and waves, like she’d tossed and turned before waking up. She wore flannel pajamas patterned with tiny gold stars, sleeves shoved to herelbows.
He’d seen her dressed up, polished and in control. This soft, sleepy version hit him low and unexpectedly.
Frankie, naturally, had no such internal crisis. He launched himself at the tent opening, barking like he’d just discovered long-lost family. Krista laughed, widening the flap. “Okay, okay, I missed you too,” she said, scooping him up and kissing his head. “Even if you are a traitor.”
“And a bed hog,” Joe added.
“I should’ve warned you about that.” Krista set Frankie down.
Joe stretched his back out, remembering the way Frankie had pushed his little paws into him all night long. Who knew a ten-pound dachshund could take up so much space?
Krista clocked the cup in his hand. “Is that…?”
“Honey latte,” he confirmed. “Thought you might need the good stuff after last night.”
The sound she made was borderline indecent. “I could marry you.”
He lifted a brow.
She flushed. “Figuratively.”
“I’ll take it,” he said, grinning as he crossed the clearing.
She stepped out of the tent, barefoot on the cool grass, flannel hems brushing her ankles. He handed her the cup, and she wrapped both hands around it like it was sacred.
“You’re my favorite person,” she said after the first sip.
“If you think that after just the coffee,” he said, lifting the to-go box in his other hand, “wait until you see this.”
Krista eyed the box like she might climb into it. “Please tell me that’s breakfast. Cowboy coffee was a bust, and I can’t bring myself to even attempt the oatmeal.”
“An omelet with feta and roasted veggies, homemade biscuits, and a fancy jam I can’t pronounce.”
She lit up. “God, I love Kit.”
