Page 8 of Camp Help Falling

“And you’ve met Oliver?”

I nod and smile, glancing between Linda and Oliver, waiting for someone to make the connection on how they know each other. Linda is a few years older than my parents, and Oliver looks to be only a few years older than me. He could easily be—

“My son.”

Oliver rolls his eyes, his grin growing into a smile, revealing those dimpled cheeks, before he turns back to me with a sheepish shrug.

“I didn’t realize—” How was I going to finish that sentence? Because now that I know the family link, I can see bits of Linda and Paul when I look at Oliver. Linda’s hair color. Paul’s face shape. And now that they’re both smiling at me, I can see they share the same cheek dimples.

“Oh don’t worry about that, Sadie.” Linda steps closer and bumps my shoulder with hers. “He doesn’t come around much when we’re at home, either. It’s a wonder I remember that I have a son!” Her jesting is lighthearted, and the way Oliver blushes and shakes his head, this is something he’s heard from her before.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” Oliver slips one of his hands into a pocket, and I quickly look back to Linda before I start ogling him. It’s bad enough that he’s freakishly attractive, but now he’s the son of my bosses. Isn’t there a rule or something about that? But with the way Linda keeps looking back and forth between us—with hope in her eyes—maybe that rule isn’t as universal as I thought.

The main lodge door swings open slowly, and a tired Paul steps in, rubbing at his forehead. Linda is immediately at his side, concern etched on her features. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and steers her back to me and Oliver before speaking. He rubs his hand down his face, and when he opens his eyes and his mouth, he’s looking at me.

“Landon has a family emergency. His parents need him at home, so he’s packing up his things to leave now.”

It’s my turn to rub my hands over my face. I push my fingers into my hair, knocking loose even more strands before returning them to my temples.

What am I going to do?

We have participants arriving tomorrow. It’s late. I don’t have the time to find a new lead counselor. Even running through my mental list of the handfuls of people I’ve worked with over the last ten summers, I can’t come up with a name of someone who would be able to immediately drop everything and fill Landon’s spot.

But instead of saying that to Paul and Linda, I say, “I’ll go through my contacts and see who I can talk to on such short notice. I’m sure I can find someone.” Because I have to. I can’t let Paul and Linda down like this, not when they were so confident in me to begin with. “It might take a few days, so we’ll have to run short-staffed until someone can fill in, but we can do it.”

“There’s no need to worry about finding anyone, Sadie.” The evenness of Linda’s voice has me looking at her with What? written all over my face. But she’s not looking at me. She’s looking at Paul, and the two of them seem to be having a quick silent conversation of raised brows and pursed lips. Paul nods, and Linda looks at me.

At Oliver.

“Oliver can fill in.”

Oliver walks behind me, huffing and puffing, as we walk across the field to the far side of the lake. The boys cabins—including the male adult staff—are on the east side of the lake, while the girls cabins are on the west side. I offered to take one of his bags, but he waved me off and slung a duffle bag across his body, slipped on a backpack, and hefted a garment bag over one shoulder.

I don’t know why someone would need a garment bag—most likely full of button up shirts and slacks, maybe even a suit, if what he’s wearing right now is any indication—out here in the trees and the dirt and the wide open sky. But Oliver is still wearing dress shoes as we follow the dirt path to the cabin he’ll be sharing with Austin now that Landon is on his way back to Ogden to help his family.

I was skeptical when Linda offered her son as a replacement for one of my lead counselors. The guy doesn’t look like he’s ever done anything outdoors beyond walking between his car and the building he’s walking into. But I’m short on time—Camp Brower’s summer program starts tomorrow. Forty-eight participants will be showing up shortly after breakfast. There’s no way I’ll be able to find a replacement that quickly unless I have a miracle.

And that miracle’s name is Oliver.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take one of those bags?” I ask over my shoulder, stopping long enough for Oliver to catch up.

“I’m…fine…” he puffs, hoisting the garment bag higher on his shoulder.

Either this guy doesn’t do much cardio, or isn’t used to the higher altitude, or both, judging by the way he’s breathing. I hold out a hand, waiting for him to give me a bag. I don’t care if the guy wants to “be a gentleman” and save me from carrying this, I’m taking something so we’ll make it to the cabin without him passing out.

“Give me the garment bag.”

If anything, Oliver clutches it tighter.

I step toward him and close my hand around the handle, ignoring the way my body reacts to our fingers brushing, giving it a little yank. I don’t have to fight hard for him to relent. He exhales in relief, and I don’t wound his pride more by pointing it out. Instead, I lift the bag over my own shoulder and continue toward the cabins.

I set the bag down when I get to the front step of the male adult staff cabin. The light is on, and the sounds of Austin moving around inside filter out through the open windows.

“Okay, Oliver, here’s the rundown. Set your alarm for six o’clock. I come around and do a wake-up call at six-thirty for the stragglers. We’re meeting up at the lodge by seven to unload the food truck. Breakfast is after that, and then it’s go-time. The participants will start showing up between eight and nine.”

I hold up the staff shirt I picked up off the table as we left the lodge, and he cautiously takes it from my hand. Oliver’s eyes are wide from the barrage of info I’m dumping on him, and I instinctively want to reach out to assure him, but I catch myself and lower my hand to my side before I let it linger on his arm or something.

Oliver is on staff now. No matter that we were flirting less than half an hour ago, he’s completely off-limits now. And with the way he’s looking at me with big, panicked eyes, I sort of hate the purple rule.

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