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“Hey, sorry,” Tea said from behind him.

He didn’t look at her. “You’re late.”

It was obviously why she was apologizing, but setting up the circle took double the amount of time it should have without her. And he was pissed at her in general, but for reasons he didn’t dare voice to her. It was easier to blame the chairs.

“Nan insisted I wait until she finished the muffins.”

He whipped around to face her. She held a basket of blueberry muffins, steam rolling off the tops. “No.”

She frowned. “Archer, you can’t get coronavirus from food, you know that.”

He huffed.

“Plus, Nan said she does it every year, and I think having a few things that feel normal will help people feel more comfortable about the things that are not.”

He rubbed a hand down his face. “Fuck, fine.”

She didn’t respond as she handed him the stack of printed agendas. He placed a sheet down on each chair, Tea following from behind and securing each one with a warm muffin. Butter grease seeped from the paper wrappers onto the pages.

He sucked in a sharp breath.

“Comfort,” she reminded him. “It’s like this every year.”

“Oh yeah, and how would you know that?”

She stood up straight, giving him that stubborn Tea expression he knew all too well. “Because Nan and Pop used to come home with a grease-and-coffee stained agenda every year.”

He grunted and rolled his eyes.

Her brow pinched. “What’s up with you? Can you handle this today?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

He gave her a curt nod. “I…didn’t get a good sleep last night. That’s all.”

It was actually the past few nights, but he didn’t want to admit that to her. I had a few flings. Her words made his blood boil after she said them, leaving his anger at a constant simmer. The idea of some other prick putting their hands on her made it impossible to fall asleep. The first night he got out of bed and did seventy-five pushups before collapsing on the floor. Last night was eighty-three. He lay there after, in the dark with only the moonlight streaming through his window, still wide-eyed as the same thought haunted his ability to sleep: It should have been me.

She had made her choice, and he already promised himself he wouldn’t go through that again. Even if the way she looked in her summer dress made him do a double take. He busied his hands with straightening the chairs when he caught himself counting the freckles dotted across her shoulders.

“Need to make a coffee?” she asked. “I could probably hold down the fort for a bit if you need it.”

“No, it’s fine.” He flashed her a smile that he knew she wouldn’t buy, so he ended the conversation by snatching a muffin out of her basket, peeling off the paper wrapper, and shoving the whole thing in his mouth.

She smirked, then took a seat in her chair, unwrapping a muffin herself. She picked at the top as she read through the agenda on her lap.

The Wild Pines crew was punctual, as usual. By ten o’clock, everyone was sitting in their respective spots. Jorge and Lily laughed at Rhonda as she finished off a joke then leaned back in her chair and flung an arm around Steph’s shoulders, who was rolling her eyes. Sandy read through the agenda with glasses perched on her nose, tutting at whatever discussion point she was clearly disappointed by. Kelly was shouting the measurements and ingredients for her muffins to Victoria Jansen across the circle. Wayne sat beside her with a comical frown, like a kid who had a lollipop stolen from him. He looked out toward his docked boat and sighed audibly.

Archer coughed, then coughed louder to get people to shut up. They eventually did. “Morning, everyone. Thank you for coming. I know this year looks a lot different than others—”

“Astor, are you seeing this?” Sandy interrupted. “We’re talking about—”

Dad silenced her with a swipe of his hand. “I’m sure Archer has it all under control, Sandy.”

His chest tightened. He sounded supportive, but his use of I’m sure didn’t exactly instill confidence.

Tea cleared her throat. “We only have an hour, so let’s get to it. Our first point of business is figuring out who isn’t cleaning the fishing cabin.”