Page 6 of My Star-Crossed Summer

She laughs. “Babe, you can manage anyone. These kids will be a breeze. And the activities are just meant to get them some outside time. Low contact sports, hiking, canoeing, scavenger hunts—that sort of thing. You could do this in your sleep.”

I bite my lip. When was the last time I went hiking? Working in real estate meant working some crazy hours—the only way I got my steps in was by doing back-to-back showings all day. “That sounds doable,” I say at last, because I really need it to be.

“Plus, your counterpart is like the prince of the wilderness,” Roxy says. “He’s been working with us for a few years, and he’s a total pro—and a super nice guy. You can tag team, and I’m sure he’ll take on anything you’re not comfortable doing. And the site is gorgeous—staff get a day off each week and have mornings off, so you’d have a little time to yourself. It’d be like a mountain retreat for you, too.”

Lately, I’ve been feeling like I have more than enough time alone, but I keep that thought to myself. Some fresh air in a place that is not Jasmine Falls might give me the clarity that I need to figure out my next move. I can’t even remember the last time I took an actual vacation, but this is more than that. This is a chance for discovery. A big leap. I need to embrace it and be brave.

Becausebraveis the only way forward.

“Okay,” I tell her. “Let’s do this.”

“Super,” she says. “I’ll email you all the details. The camp starts June third.”

“That’s two weeks away.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Nope,” I tell her. “Not at all.” Probably, the sooner I get out of here, the better.

When she ends the call, I flop back onto the couch and tell myself,You got this, Griffin. You can do anything for three weeks.

You can do hard things.

You can take big leaps.

I’ll keep saying it until I believe it’s true.

Chapter Three

NOAH

Iknead the dough tenderly, just like they do on the bake-off. That show’s one of my guilty pleasures, and watching it always makes me hungry. I’m no gifted baker, but somehow I’ve learned to make edible bread—and the rosemary garlic is my favorite.

Now that I finally have a day off and zero obligations, I’m prepared to bake this loaf, open a new bottle of my favorite bourbon, and watch the sunset over the inlet behind my house. I’ve spent the last two weeks doing last-minute planning for this year’s summer camps, and the first one starts on Monday.

Today might be the last day off I have until September, so I plan to make it count.

I turn up the stereo because it’s the Stones and “Sweet Virginia” is best sung at top volume, loud enough to rattle the glasses in the cabinet. Just as Mick and I hit the chorus, there’s a pounding on the back door by the patio. I brush my hands off on my apron, leaving my loaf to proof one last time, and open the door.

My sister Hannah freezes, her hand poised to pound on the door once more. Her brown curly hair is wild from the humidity,her blue eyes wide. Her cheeks are flushed, like she’s been running. It’s already hit ninety degrees in Charleston, which is a record for us.

“Hi,” I say, but it comes out like a question.

“Why aren’t you answering your phone?” she says.

“Kind of have my hands full.”

She narrows her eyes, taking in my tee shirt and beat-up jeans, the fine dusting of flour that covers most of my skin.

“I need a favor,” she says, just as her dog bursts through the door, nearly knocking me over as she tears through the kitchen, dragging her bright pink leash behind her. “Opal, sit!” Hannah hollers, and the big black and white sheepadoodle skids to a halt, teetering backward on her haunches as she stares at me, tongue lolling.

“Hannah, if you?—”

“Jason and I had a fight,” she says, “and I can’t stay in that apartment one more minute. Can I please crash with you? Just for a day or two until these murderous thoughts pass and he gets his act together.”

“Sure,” I say, because I can never say no to my little sister. Even when she’s still wasting her time with this Jason person, who always finds new ways to disappoint her.

Hannah’s a genius coder, and she can obviously do so much better than this idiot just by randomly picking someone out of line down at the Music Farm one Friday night. But this is not my decision to make.

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