Page 18 of My Star-Crossed Summer

Butshouldrarely happens the way I want it to.

“I think you and I should go together,” Noah tells me, sipping his coffee. “That way, I can help you as the kids arrive. We’ll load up your vehicle, and you can bring the first group back. I’ll hang back with the late arrivals.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I say. “That’s like three extra hours at the airport for you.”

He shrugs. “It’s okay. It can be a lot the first time.”

And now I understand—he thinks I need supervision because I can’t handle wrangling half a dozen kids on my own. Heat blooms in my cheeks again.

“Good idea,” Sophie says. “The airport’s small, but sometimes collecting the kiddos is like its own little scavenger hunt.” She looks at me and says, “Never hurts to have backup.”

I stab my fork into my omelet and muster up a smile. “Of course. Never say no to backup.”

Noah checks his watch—he’s one of the few men my age on this earth who still wears one that simply tells time—and lifts a brow. “We should take off in thirty. Meet you by the cars?”

“Sounds good,” I say, tamping down my frustration, reminding myself that Sophie and Noah have worked together before. They trust each other. I’m the wildcard here, the one who has to prove herself.

So that’s exactly what I’ll do. I’ll ace this transport duty and make Noah feel like a doofus for hovering over me like a helicopter parent.

“Pro-tip? Take a book and some snacks,” Sophie tells me. “There’s always at least one delay.”

“Roger that,” I answer.

Noah stands abruptly, grabbing his travel mug and avoiding my gaze entirely. I was just about to leave myself, but I decide to wait five minutes so we’re not walking out together and forced into idle chatter or deafening silence, pretending we haven’t made this awkwardness between us worse. As he leaves, I push my eggs around my plate while Sophie tells me about the icebreakers that she’s putting together for tonight. And I desperately try to forget how Noah’s thick lashes give his eyes a dreamy look—and how his intense gaze makes it feel like we’re the last two people on earth.

“How doesone kid have that many bags?” I ask.

Noah grunts, raking a hand through his unruly hair. “I’ve seen worse.” He seems crabby now that we’re alone, probablybecause he’s had a whole night to process the fact that he’s stuck with me for the next three weeks.

Across the way in the baggage claim, Derrick, a lanky boy with bright red hair and a million freckles, is pulling a fourth big duffle bag from the conveyor belt. He’s already checked in with us, but he didn’t mention bringing the entire contents of his home with him. He slings a big red bag over his shoulder and stumbles under the weight.

“Did he pack a moon rover in that thing?” I ask.

Noah snorts. “It wouldn’t surprise me if he did. Come on. Let’s put him out of his misery.” He grabs the nearest luggage cart, and we head over to where the kid’s mountain of bags are teetering on the edge of collapse.

Derrick unzips the largest duffle and riffles through it until he pulls out a dark blue ball cap that he shoves onto his head. When Noah and I approach, he crams the clothes back into his bag. By some miracle, it zips closed again.

“Ursa Major,” I say to him. “Cool.”

He blinks at me for a moment and then seems to realize that I’m talking about his hat. Tiny stars are stitched onto it, a faint outline of a bear stitched around them.

“It’s lucky,” he says. “I thought I shouldn’t wear it on the plane since I lose stuff a lot.”

“Wouldn’t want you to lose that one,” I say, and he gives me a tiny smile.

Once we pile Derrick’s entire life onto the cart, two young girls spot us from across the room and wave. Noah and I are both wearing our official neon blue staff tee shirts, so it’s easy for the campers to spot us.

The good thing about an airport this small is that the limited flights mean there’s a smaller window of arrival times, and all incoming children are funneled into this small baggage claim with only two conveyor belts. The bad news is that there is nokiosk with decent coffee, and Noah and I are stuck together like sardines.

Soon, we’re a cluster of six, waiting on five more. In the row of seats across from us, the kids have moved past their introductions and started passing phones and iPads around. The two girls, Layla and Priya, met each other on their flight from Atlanta. They’ve been giggling and playing some game on their phones together ever since. Meanwhile, Derrick and Ethan are sharing earbuds and watching something on an iPad screen that has them completely entranced.

“The next flight has been delayed an hour,” Noah says, checking his phone. “You want to go ahead and take this group back?”

“I don’t mind waiting for one more,” I tell him. The plan was for me to take five kids and leave him four, mostly in case someone else packs like Derrick.

“I’m not worried,” he says. “I think your vehicle’s going to be loaded to the gills anyway.” He eyes the pile of luggage like he’s solving a math problem, but it feels like the real calculation is how to get me out of here quickly.

“Good thing you sprang for the roof racks on the rentals,” I say.

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