Page 68 of The Summer Intern

The clink of cutlery punctuated the exchange as Walter served the main course—roast vegetables and a pasta dish that smelled divine.The conversation shifted, flowing more naturally now, and I found myself relaxing into it.Walter shared stories of Matt's childhood camp adventures, most of which involved either climbing to dangerous heights or finding inventive ways to get muddy.Linda spoke about her recent case, her passion for environmental law evident in every word.

Throughout it all, Matt's presence beside me remained constant—his knee pressed against mine, his occasional side glances checking in, the way his hand would briefly find mine under the table.Small touches that felt like anchors in unfamiliar waters.

I watched Ben and Sutton across the table, the way they existed in each other's space without needing to speak.A casual touch on the arm.A knowing look.The seamless way Sutton refilled Ben's water glass without being asked.It was the kind of comfortable intimacy that made something twist in my chest—longing, maybe, or recognition of what Matt and I were still figuring out.

"Casey designed the entire camp talent arts program," Matt said suddenly, pulling me back to the conversation.His face was flushed with either wine or pride—possibly both."He's incredibly talented."

"You're exaggerating," I murmured, but my protest lacked conviction.

"I'm not," Matt insisted."Casey's created a talent show for the end of each session, and he's got the kids doing everything from traditional Korean folk dancing to rock band covers.And for the art students, there's an art show, and opportunities to do set design.It's the highlight of each session."

"We're looking forward to seeing it," Linda said warmly."Walter has already cleared his schedule for the final show."

I glanced at Walter, surprised.The older man nodded, his expression softening slightly."Wouldn't miss it.The arts program has been a valuable addition."

The words hung in the air between us—simple praise, but somehow weighty.I felt a warmth in my chest, an uncomfortable heat that spread outward.Not guilt exactly, but something adjacent to it—the realization that I'd misjudged these people, at least partially.I'd expected judgment, resistance to the changes I'd brought to their traditional camp.Instead, I was being welcomed, my contributions valued.

Matt's thumb traced small circles on my knee under the table, and I fought the urge to lean into him completely.

"Tell them about your plans for next summer," Matt urged, his eyes bright with something that looked dangerously like hope.

Next summer.The words caught me off guard.I hadn't thought that far ahead, hadn't allowed myself to consider that this—whatever this was between Matt and me—might extend beyond August.The summer had always had an expiration date in my mind.

"I, uh—" I stammered, caught between honesty and the expectant faces around the table."I haven't really planned that far ahead yet."

A flicker of something crossed Matt's face—disappointment, maybe—but it was gone so quickly I might have imagined it.

"Well, there's plenty of time," Linda said smoothly, filling the awkward silence."Walter, why don't you tell Casey about the original camp buildings?He has such an appreciation for history."

Dessert arrived like a peace offering—Walter's homemade blackberry cobbler topped with vanilla ice cream that was already melting into creamy rivers across the warm fruit.I'd just taken my first heavenly bite when Walter cleared his throat, his expression shifting from relaxed dinner host to something more businesslike."Matt, you promised me some boring budget talk tonight," he said, leaning back in his chair with an expectant look.My spoon froze halfway to my mouth as I watched Matt's easy smile tighten at the corners.

"Right," Matt nodded, setting down his own dessert spoon with obvious reluctance."Sutton, you brought the folder?"

Across the table, Sutton straightened, all business.The transition was jarring—one moment we'd been laughing about Walter's story of Matt falling into the lake during his first attempt at kayak instruction, and now the air had thickened with something that felt uncomfortably like a performance review.

Sutton pulled a neat folder from beside his chair and slid it across the table to Matt.The movement was practiced, professional—a reminder that beneath the family dinner setting, Camp Eagle Ridge was still a business, with Matt and Sutton at its helm.I shifted in my seat, feeling like an intruder in a private meeting.

Matt flipped open the folder and unfurled a stack of papers, spreading them across the cleared dinner plates.Numbers, charts, and graphs stared up at us.My eyes caught on dollar figures that made my breath catch—far larger sums than I'd ever considered when proposing my arts curriculum.

"So here's where we stand mid-season," Matt began, his finger tapping steadily on one particular column of figures.His voice had taken on a different cadence—more measured, more director and less storyteller."We've increased overall enrollment by twelve percent compared to last year, which is significant."

Walter leaned forward, studying the numbers with a frown that deepened the lines around his eyes."And expenses?"

Matt's shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly."Up by eighteen percent."

I swallowed hard, my cobbler suddenly tasteless in my mouth.Eighteen percent.The number hung in the air like an accusation.

"That's a considerable overrun, Matt," Walter said, his tone neutral but his expression concerned."What's driving it?"

Matt turned a page, revealing more detailed breakdowns."Several factors.We had some unexpected maintenance on the kayak shed after the spring storms.Had to replace more of the dock than we anticipated."His finger moved down the page."And as you know, we expanded the arts program significantly this year, and added Wade and Casey's salaries."

My stomach clenched.The arts program.My program.

"The new cabin was a one-time expense, and Wade did most of the labor, and sourced a lot of donated materials," Matt continued, a note of pride creeping back into his voice as he glanced at me."Many of the instruments were donated as well, but we did have to purchase some equipment.It's been a substantial investment, but the payoff has been incredible.Camper satisfaction scores are the highest they've ever been."

I forced a smile, but my hand tightened around my fork.The muted clatter as I accidentally knocked it against my plate seemed unnaturally loud.

Walter studied the figures, his expression unreadable."Satisfaction doesn't pay the bills, Matt."

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