Page 83 of Save Me

Behind us a round of “Ewwws” and “Agaaains?!” sound off.

Kennedy and I both laugh at the group of children watching us. We wave goodbye to them as they pile into the Spring Days van.

“How long have you worked with this organization?” Kennedy asks as we walk to my car.

“I’ll tell you on the way to our next destination.”

She lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t ask the question out loud. She’s learned that I’ll answer when I’m ready.

On the drive, I share with her that when I first moved to Williamsport, I volunteered with a local children’s camp that worked exclusively with foster kids. Over the years, I continued to invest in the camp, and it eventually became Spring Days Community Camp.

“The president asked if I wanted to change the name due to how much I invested,” I tell her.

“Naturally, you chose Spring Days,” she finishes my sentence.

I nod and squeeze her hand because it feels as if she knows me and why I chose the name.

“Throughout the summer, they go to a three-week sleep-away camp and then an all-day camp here in Williamsport for the rest of the summer. Throughout the school year, we do activities with them two weekends out of the month. We’re in the process of starting an after-school program.”

Kennedy turns her body toward me and lays her head against the headrest. She doesn’t say anything as she stares.

I give her a sideways glance. “What?”

“You’re amazing.”

My hands tighten on the steering wheel. “You think so?”

Her lips capture my attention as they spread wide. “I think so. And I think you enjoyed that aquarium almost as much as the kids.”

Holding up a hand, she shakes her head. “No. Scratch that. You enjoyed it more than they did.”

A memory from my past comes flooding back. It almost drowns out the sound of her laughter, but I don’t let it.

“I love aquariums,” I say, my voice low.

“You think?” she asks, her voice going almost shrill. “You could’ve invited the children home to see your aquarium, and they would’ve had just as great of a time,” she jokes.

“I don’t have stingrays,” I remind her.

She laughs, and for the remainder of our drive, she talks about how funny the kids were when it came time to feed the stingrays.

“The farmers’ market?” Kennedy asks as I hold the car door open for her and take her hand into mine.

“We’re having dinner in,” I tell her. “I need to get the ingredients.”

Her eyebrows lift. “What are you making?”

“Who says I’m doing all of the cooking?”

She slaps my shoulder playfully. “You can’t invite me to your place and expect me to cook.”

I resist the urge to tell her it’s our place. That would sound a little too crazy, right?

“I didn’t invite you. I had to drag you kicking and screaming,” I remind her.

She rolls her eyes. “Because you’re a bully,” she grumbles.

I pause in front of her and take her face with one hand. The other hand wraps around her waist and brings her up against me, holding her in place.

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