Page 20 of Camp Help Falling

But as much as I’m wishing Oliver would be more straightforward, I’m also a huge hypocrite. As we walk arm-in-arm to the men’s section of the store, I have all the time in the world to pipe up and ask Oliver if he like-likes me, but I’m too chicken to bring it up and potentially push him away, creating an awkward summer for both of us.

So,” I lead with instead, “What are you planning on getting?” Is talking about clothes shopping the new weather small talk? My version of “So how ‘bout them Yankees?”

“Jeans,” Oliver responds without looking at me. I look down at the pair he’s wearing—disgustingly well-fitting as well as disgustingly dirty. If what he said earlier was true, he’s been wearing this same pair all week, and after our little dip in the lake on Tuesday, they’ve attracted every ounce of dust they could.

“Although,” he continues, “I’m thinking about some shorts. Maybe hiking boots, too.”

I raise a brow at him. “That sounds like you’re planning on staying at camp for a while.” Linda said he had a couple weeks. I assumed he’d be heading back to where he came from after those weeks were up.

“I have my reasons,” he says, glancing down at me. I need to start keeping tally marks of his loves me, loves me not comments. That way, by the end of the summer, I’ll be able to look at the big picture and clearly extrapolate his feelings. Yes. Sounds like a plan.

I slip my hand out of the crook of his elbow as he steps closer to a rack of shorts. “I’m going to grab a watch. I’ll be right back.” I turn to head back the way we came, but I can’t resist throwing a jab over my shoulder. “Don’t get lost.”

Oliver’s clear laughter follows me to the jewelry section. I spend a few more minutes than necessary picking out a watch. As soon as I see it, I know I’m going to pick the one labeled “water resistant up to 25 feet,” but I need an extra minute away from Oliver to regain my footing.

Do I like him? Yes. Is he smoking hot? Also yes. But am I going to do anything about it? Well, that’s where things get fuzzy. I can’t do anything more than the verbal flirting we’ve had going on over the last week while I’m—we’re—at camp. But while we’re here, off Camp Brower property…I still don’t know.

I’m still mulling over my “will I, won’t I” thoughts as I walk back to the men’s section and find Oliver missing. Leave it to that man to get lost in a Walmart. I wander from one end of the area to the other before I spot him across the way into one of the shoe aisles, several pairs of shorts—no jeans—in his arms. I don’t know what surprises me more, the lack of jeans, or the fact that this man is going to buy cargo shorts.

“The early 2000s called. They want their camo cargo shorts back.” I slide next to Oliver, bumping his camo-covered elbow with mine, but he doesn’t look down at me.

“Do you think these ones will hurt my feet?” he asks, like I hadn’t just trashed on his clothing choices.

“What, nothing to say about the shorts?”

He shrugs, tilting his head to look at another pair of hiking boots. “They have good pockets.”

He’s got a point there. The phrase, “Thanks, it has pockets,” has been spoken by every pocket-deprived woman in the world.

“They won’t if you break them in properly,” I say in response to his question, like our brief discussion on pockets didn’t happen. I glance between the two pairs he’s been eyeing then point to a different style near my eyeline. “What about these ones?”

“How do you break in hiking boots?” Oliver crouches near my side to examine the boots I pointed out—similar to the ones above, but in a darker brown material.

“You walk in them.”

Oliver turns his body to face me, propping his hands on his knees, like he’s going to be crouching for a long time while I explain the details of breaking in boots. “Please, tell me more.”

But it’s the grin that does it. That stupid little grin that says he’s standing like that to taunt me.

“You go on walks and hikes.”

He says nothing, just waits for me to elaborate.

“You don’t go on a ten-miler or anything like that. Something like three or four miles with a gentle incline. The more you walk in your boots, the more you break them in. Simple as that.” I plant my hands on my hips and narrow my eyes a bit. “Now will you stand up? You’re gonna break your knees waddling around the store like that.”

Oliver smiles and winks at me before standing to his full height and slipping a pair of boots in his size off the wall of shoes.

“Alright, Pipsqueak, let’s go.”

He strides away, leaving me in the dust, trying to catch up and sputtering, “I am not a pipsqueak!” which just makes him laugh harder. If he wants to make fun of my height, I’ll just have to show him exactly what this pipsqueak is capable of. “Actually, I know a good hike back at camp that can help you break in your boots. It’s an easy hike. Pretty flat in the beginning. It would be perfect.”

Oliver steps up to a self-checkout and methodically begins scanning all of his items, nodding as I speak. “Could we go this afternoon?” He eyes the hiking boots critically one last time before scanning the barcode and finishes checking it out.

Yes, we could, but I have a better idea.

“Actually, it’s best as a sunrise hike.”

“What’s a sunrise hike?”

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