Page 45 of The Summer Intern

"She said that every great guitarist has played a million wrong notes.That's how they found the right ones."He gently repositioned her fingers."Try again—just this chord for now."

When she successfully played it, his smile was warm."See?Just one step in your million.You're on your way."

I tried to tell myself to go check on the waterfront activities, or see how the nature hike had gone, or literally anything other than standing here watching Casey like some lovesick teenager.

As the impromptu lesson approached its natural conclusion, the circle of campers had relaxed into something resembling a casual jam session.The initial stiffness of concentration had melted away, replaced by easy laughter and spontaneous attempts at recognizable songs.Casey sat cross-legged now, the guitar balanced on his knee, his fingers occasionally reaching up to push a strand of hair.The late afternoon sun slanted through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the wooden deck and turning the scene into something from a summer camp brochure—exactly the kind of moment I'd always tried to create at Eagle Ridge, but could never quite manufacture.

A lanky boy with shaggy hair leaned forward eagerly."Will you play us a song?"There was a ripple of excited agreement from the other campers.

Casey hesitated, glancing around the circle."I don't know.It's almost dinner bell, and—"

"Please?"The request was echoed by several others, their faces eager, and I found myself echoing the request silently.

Casey's expression softened."Alright, one song.This one’s one of mine.."

He repositioned the guitar once more, took a deep breath, and began to play.The introduction was simple—just a few chords strummed with a syncopated rhythm that somehow captured the essence of summer itself.Then, to my surprise, he began to sing.

His voice was nothing like I'd expected—rich and slightly raspy, with a controlled power that seemed at odds with his slim frame.The song was about summer adventures and fleeting connections, the lyrics clever and evocative without being pretentious.I found myself completely mesmerized, not just by his technical skill, but by the emotion he conveyed.

"Summer vibes and borrowed time.Sunset chasing, feeling fine.No need to worry 'bout tomorrow.Just breathe in deep and let it go..."

The chorus was undeniably catchy, and on the second verse, a few campers joined in quietly.Casey's face transformed as he sang—his usual guarded expression replaced by something open and vulnerable.His eyes half-closed at times, losing himself in the performance.When he reached the bridge section, his fingers flew across the fretboard with practiced precision, drawing appreciative murmurs from the campers.

The kids were transfixed, many swaying to the rhythm.One boy with behavioral issues, was intensely focused, watching Casey's hands with laser focus, his own fingers mimicking the movements of an invisible guitar.Others had closed their eyes, simply enjoying the impromptu concert.

I leaned against the tree, feeling strangely privileged to witness this moment.Casey was good—really good.Not just camp-talent-show good, but genuinely talented in a way that made his decision to spend a summer as a camp counselor all the more intriguing.He could clearly be pursuing his music career more actively, yet here he was, sitting on a wooden deck in the middle of the woods, playing for a handful of kids during their free time.

As the song built to its final chorus, Casey's eyes lifted and met mine."Didn't come here looking for you.Didn't think that we'd break through.But summer vibes and open skies, got me seeing you with new eyes..."

He brought the song to a close with a final flourish on the guitar, letting the last chord ring out across the clearing, holding eye contact for a long moment.He blinked, and the moment shattered.His expression shifted subtly—not quite closing off, but retreating behind the polite, professional mask he'd worn during our few interactions since that morning in my house.The corner of his mouth quirked up in what might have been acknowledgment or dismissal, and he turned his attention back to the campers, as they erupted in enthusiastic applause and cheers.

"That was awesome!"

"You're like, a real artist!You should be famous."

"Can you teach us that song?"

The kids' excitement washed over him in waves, and Casey accepted their praise with a mix of gratitude and self-deprecation."It was nothing," he said, shaking his head."But thanks.And yes, by the end of session, I bet some of you could learn a simplified version."

This promise was met with more excitement, and I found myself smiling at their enthusiasm.Casey had managed to do something remarkable—he'd made these kids believe they could create something beautiful themselves, that music wasn't just for listening but for making.

I remained frozen, unsure whether to approach or retreat.Had that moment of connection been real, or just wishful thinking on my part?The rational side of my brain told me I was reading too much into a random glance.Casey was performing, scanning his audience.Making eye contact was just part of that.

I hesitated as the kids dispersed, watching as Casey carefully, lovingly put away his guitar.Then he glanced my way once again.

“You just gonna stand there and stare, or…” He trailed off, raising an eyebrow.

A surge of reckless confidence replaced my good sense.“Drag you into the music cabin and have my way with you?”

“Help, I was going to say help.”

I moved in closer, dropping my lips near his ear and lowering my voice.“I’ve missed you.And if you want me to back off, that’s fine.But if you’ve just been busy and distracted and waiting for me, you should know that you’re never far from my mind.”I tilted my head and smirked.“Even if you’re not falling for me.”

“Shut up,” he laughed, playfully slapping my chest, then freezing like that, palm over my heart, as he stared up into my eyes.

“Tuesday is all-camp water day.”

He opened his mouth to protest, and I put a finger over his lips.

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