Elsie slowly surveyed the Hideaway. “We’ve done plenty in here.” She shook her head. “No, I want something different.” Her gaze shifted left, where lights and laughter floated from Hidden Hills. “What if we shoot at the campground? So much of the swap happened there. And we’ve been raising money to help your grandparents keep it afloat.”
Krista blinked. “Now?”
“Yes, now. Golden hour. Storytelling. Branding. All the things.” Elsie gestured toward the dock. “Come on. Joe, grab your camera. Cassidy, Madison—hold down the fort.”
Joe pushed away from the bar and found Krista’s eyes. “What do you say? One more photo op?”
She exhaled. “Fine. Five minutes. Then we’re back for Cocktail Club.”
They headed out together, Elsie walking backward down the path, snapping photos as she went.
“Elsie, we do not need photos of me walking,” Krista said.
Click.
“The people want authenticity.”
Krista rolled her eyes, though her hand brushed Joe’s as they passed the main campground drive. Instead of turning toward Walt and Alice’s cabin or the little swim beach, Elsie veered onto the narrower path that cut through the trees.
“I figured we’d grab something down by the lake. Very ‘iconic Maple Falls summer,’” she said casually.
The branches arched overhead, swallowing the last of the road noise. The path curved toward the far southern edge of the campground—the tucked-away clearing they usually saved for big bonfires and community events. It was well out of sight from the office and cabins.
“Why are we going all the way down here?” Krista protested. “Couldn’t we just?—”
“Trust the process,” Elsie said mysteriously.
Krista frowned. “Those are some of my least favorite words.”
“Just humor her,” Joe murmured, falling into step beside her. His hand brushed the small of her back, warm and steady.
The trees thinned.
The beach came into view.
And Krista stopped.
Fairy lights were strung from trees to dock posts, glowing soft against the deepening blue of early evening. Mason jars lined the path, tea lights flickering in the breeze. A small, makeshift stagestood near the water, where a guitarist played something easy and warm. Tables were scattered across the sand and grass, draped in mismatched cloths, dotted with jars of wildflowers.
And people. So many people.
Campers. Locals. Friends.
Mrs. Bishop and Mrs. C. sat front and center with frosty margaritas. Mayor Bloomfield wore a blindingly pink jacket with matching shorts. Kit waved from behind a table piled with cupcakes that Emma was helping to set up. Zoe and Jackson stood near the dock, fingers intertwined.
Walt stood near the porch ramp. Alice was in her wheelchair beside him, a light blanket over her lap.
In the center of it all, a banner hung between two trees, painted in Elsie’s looping, cheerful script:Maple Falls Summer Swap Party
Krista couldn’t make her feet move.
“What…?” The word came out thin. “What is all this?”
Joe’s smile was soft at the edges. “Surprise,” he said.
Elsie darted ahead, hopped onto the makeshift stage, and grabbed the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen of Maple Falls and unsuspecting campers who just wanted a quiet evening,” she called, her voice booming through the portable speaker, “welcome to the first—though hopefully not last—Maple Falls Summer Swap Party!”
The crowd cheered.
