Page 31 of Kind of a Bad Idea

Seven never groans. He never complains or shows any sign of weakness, and I hate that he’s starting to break because of me.

I want to break through his defenses; I don’t want to break the man himself.

I promise myself I’ll find some way to help him feel better as soon as we get to the cabin. I think I threw my stickable pain strips into my bag last night, just in case my lower back started acting up. I can offer to stick them where it hurts for him.

Buoyed by the thought, I waddle a little faster, counting my steps the way I used to do as a kid when forced out of our cozy house to hike with my family. I hated hiking back then—probably because I was one of the youngest, and the older kids never slowed their pace for me or Wendy Ann. Every time I was forced out into the woods, I would make up games to help the time go by faster.

If I counted to one thousand in my head without missing a number or saying anything aloud to my siblings, the hike would be over by the time I reached one thousand one. Or, if I walked backwards for one hundred steps, then forward, then backwards again, then skipped sideways, I’d find a shortcut and be able to sit on a bench and wait for everyone else to catch up.

I never “won” these games, but they served their purpose. They kept my mind from fixating on my discomfort.

Now, I’m up to six hundred and twenty-seven steps on my third count to one thousand, when Seven glances over his shoulder with a relieved smile. “We’re here. The cabin’s just over that ridge.”

I practically sag to the ground with relief. “Oh, thank God. I’m so tired. I didn’t want to admit it until I knew we’d made it, but I think I could sleep for a thousand years. And eat an entire buffet all by myself. But since food is in short supply, I’ll settle for the sleeping.”

“Same,” Seven says, starting forward with a bit more spring in his step, me finally beside him on the trail now that it’s wide enough for two. “Though I was thinking, I’d love a hot bath first, if you’d like one, too. If we can get a fire going, I might have enough pots and pans to heat up water for the old tub on the porch.”

I frown up at him. “On the porch?”

“The former owner, the one who bought it from the Boy Scouts originally, liked to bathe outside. Apparently, she was a bath influencer.”

I laugh. “A bath influencer? As in she…influenced people to bathe regularly? Is that really something we need persuasion from strangers on the internet to do?”

“I think she convinced people to take pretty baths? Or something?” He shakes his head, looking so adorably confused that I want to kiss him again. But that’s nothing new. I’ve wanted to kiss him again all day, even when he was being a big old grouch. “I don’t know,” he continues, “but there’s a giant, clawfoot tub on the back porch. Sprout went ‘swimming’ in it a few times before the weather got too cold. She thinks we should leave it there, but I don’t think a fancy bath is going to match the rustic design we’re going with for the rest of the buildings.”

I shrug. “Who cares? It sounds cool. Better to have cool quirky things than matching things.”

He makes a doubtful sound. “I don’t know. I don’t want to scare people away by being too quirky, and you can see the back of the cabin from several of the guest cottages.”

“How are bookings so far?” I ask. “You opened the website for reservations, right?”

He nods, some of the weariness fading from his expression. “Yeah, I already have three bookings for corporate retreats next summer. They booked the entire camp with the bonus adventure package.”

“That’s amazing! Congrats.”

He fights a grin. “Thanks, but don’t get too excited. I have to sell at least four more to break even for the year. Even with keeping most of the building and renovation in the family, this hasn’t been cheap.”

“But it’s smart. You’re building a business that’s going to be profitable for years to come. Once the initial investment is over, you’ll have a cash cow on your hands.”

“I hope so,” he says, “but don’t jinx it. This is Sprout’s college fund. The adventure tours pay for everything we need, but this is going to take my ability to save to the next level. I’m hoping to have enough stashed away that she won’t have to take out a single loan.”

“That’s smart. My loans are a pain in my ass, and I won’t even be using my degree once I start tattooing.” I smile. “You’re a good dad. Sprout’s lucky to have you.”

He grunts, his smile fading. “I try.”

“You succeed.”

He presses his lips together, his brow furrowing. For a moment, I think he’s going to argue with me, but then the cabin appears over the next rise, and he heaves a giant sigh of relief. “Fuck. I’ve never been so happy to see this place.”

I echo his sigh, relief making my knees wobbly. “Me, too. I would race you to the porch, but I’m injured and your spine is probably never going to be the same again as it is.”

He laughs. “My spine is fine, but that bath is sounding better and better. There’s the tub. Fancy, right?”

I glance in the direction of his nod, spotting a dark green clawfoot tub that blends in with the peeling green paint on the porch. But it’s white on the inside and looks gorgeous. “I bet that bath lady sold a lot of bath bombs. Or salts or soap or whatever she was peddling on social media.”

“Bath potions,” he says. “That’s what Sprout told me, anyway. She looked the woman up online. She’s now moved into a bigger, nicer cabin, with two outdoor bathtubs to choose from.”

My brows lift. “Wow. Maybe I’ve picked the wrong job. I mean, I love tattooing, but full-time taker of baths sounds like an amazing gig.”

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