Page 5 of Camp Help Falling

The guy behind me is most definitely not one of the parents. I look up, up, up—holy crap, this guy is tall—to meet the sparkling blue eyes of a younger man whose cheeks are as pink as mine feel. He rakes his fingers through his sandy blond hair, tousling his already disheveled locks. When my eyes meet his, his face visibly relaxes, and mine does the same. His smile widens, pulling a set of dimples from their hidden spot in his cheeks.

He is cute. More than cute. He’s handsome. Gorgeous.

F-I-N-E.

“Hi!” I push down my embarrassment and refuse to acknowledge that I’m sporting camp chic—cut off jeans with frayed edges, a faded camp staff shirt, and a messy ponytail with bits and pieces falling out everywhere thanks to my struggle in the trunk—while this guy looks like he stepped out of a Nordstrom catalog. He’s certainly not dressed for camp. His white button down is pristine and tucked into well-fitting navy blue slacks. I’m assuming he has on a pair of dress shoes to match, but looking down would only make it look like I’m checking him out.

Which I am, but I don’t have to be obvious about it.

I prop one hand on my hip and cock my head at him. “Can I help you?”

“What makes you think you can help me?” The mystery man’s wide smile slips into a wry grin, and although his dimples go back to hiding, his eyes sparkle, making this smile just as cute as his other one.

In a bold move, I drop my eyes down his body, taking note of his fitted dress shirt and slacks, both of which look tailored perfectly for his not-small frame. I chuckle at his shoes, which are indeed a nice-looking pair of dark brown dress shoes, now covered in a thick layer of dust.

I drag my eyes back up to his—noting the way his shirt clings to his arms and chest in all the right places—and tilt my head toward my other shoulder. “Well, you’re certainly not here to clean out cabins. And even if you were, I’m your girl for that, too.”

His eyes flash as he smoothly tucks his hands into his pockets. “Alright, my girl.” He laughs and a pleasant shiver runs up my spine. “I’m looking for Paul and Linda Evans. Do you know where I can find them?”

“Of course.” I raise my arm and point down the hill. “They’re in the lodge.” We both turn to look at the building at the same time Tyler starts leading another, even louder verse of “Oh Helena.” “They should be easy enough to find.”

The tall man nods, offering me a, “Thanks,” with a quick smile before he turns toward the path to the lodge, leaving me standing by my car, watching him walk away. And dang if that’s not a nice view.

I shake my head, mentally chiding myself. He might not be a parent, but he’s probably the brother of one of the staffers. While it’s not against the rules to flirt and date the siblings of the staff, it’s probably not the best idea to get tangled up in a relationship with someone whose younger sibling I have to supervise for the rest of the summer.

I turn back to the box of shirts that looks more massive now that it’s not tucked in the very back of my trunk. Maybe I should have said yes to that cute stranger’s offer of help. I shake away the memory of his smile and those distracting dimples before hoisting the box onto my hip and closing my trunk.

It’s a small camp. I’ll probably catch up with him in the lodge. And maybe by the time I do, I’ll have made up my mind about whether or not getting mixed up with someone is a good idea for my last summer here.

Chapter Four

Oliver

A petite woman hanging out of a car’s trunk is not the first thing I expect to see when I pull into the gravel parking lot at Camp Brower, but I’ve never been to a summer camp before. Maybe that’s the norm.

As I walk down the dirt path toward the lodge, the source of an enormous racket, I shake my head to rid myself of the image of the woman I just met. I tried really hard not to stare, but she didn’t give me much else to look at before she finally wiggled her way out of the trunk. Lithe, tanned legs, frayed shorts, and a soft-looking t-shirt. A beautiful face crowned with hazel eyes and short, wild brown hair.

She’s practically the exact opposite of the ex-girlfriend who dumped me like yesterday’s trash. Reese and I nearly stood eye-to-eye because of her affinity for sky-high stilettos. The nameless girl didn’t even come up to my shoulder. Long, blonde, and curly versus short, dark, and straight. Reese almost always had on eyelashes that put the fuzziest spider legs to shame and her signature red lip. The nameless girl didn’t have a lick of cosmetics on her.

I really need to learn her name.

Purely because I feel bad for calling her “the nameless girl” in my head, and not because I want to get to know her better. I’ll only be here a few days to “get out of my funk,” according to my mom, and then it’s back to Virginia.

The cacophonous noise gets louder the closer I get to the lodge, but I can’t clearly make out any of the words that are being sung. If you can call this scream-shouting singing. I quietly pull open a door, and the full force of the song hits me like a bag of bricks. They’re screaming—singing? Scringing?—that this song is “much too quiet,” but if they get any louder, they’ll wake every sleeping creature in the forest. Mom and Dad are easy to spot near the back of the room, singing along with the room full of teenagers and a few scattered adults. Their eyes brighten immediately upon seeing me, and Mom turns toward a hallway that leads farther away from the noise, waving a hand for me to follow.

I slip in, unnoticed by anyone but my parents, and hurry down the hallway as the song reaches an ear-shattering volume.

Mom motions me into a small office, and she and Dad follow me in. She grabs me around the waist in a hug, pressing her face into my chest.

“I’m so glad you made it, Oliver!” Mom pulls back with a smile that makes the laugh lines around her eyes and mouth stand out even more. She looks a little rosy, possibly from a sunburn, but also possibly from the exertion of that song that’s finally winding down.

“It’s good to be here, I guess?” What else can I say when it comes to the place that—now that the screaming is over—is sort of saving me from my messy life back home? No job, no girlfriend, no house…maybe getting lost in the woods isn’t such a bad idea.

“Well, your dad and I are happy you made it here safely. How was the flight? The drive?”

“Long, on both counts.” I chuff a laugh that is void of humor. I was squished on the flight to Salt Lake City, thanks to booking last-minute tickets, and spent most of the time reaching out to old contacts from my masters program. I was bumped and jostled in the rental car as I drove over washboard roads. I stretch my arms behind me and my body protests like it’s not done reliving the physical journey it went through.

“I have one of the lodge rooms set up for you. It’s not very big, but at least you’ll have your own space. I can show you where it is once the staff meeting ends and the youth head back to their cabins.”

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