Page 17 of Until Next Summer
“Well, except that she—”
“Want to help me set up the campfire for tonight?” I cut in.
Dot hesitates. “Sure, boss. Whatever you say.” She glances behind her. “Hey, were you expecting anyone else today?”
“Just Hillary,” I say, following her gaze. There’s a man walking across the lawn toward us. Maybe a delivery guy? “Can I help you?” I ask when he’s a few feet away.
“Checking in,” the man says. Grumbles, really.
Confused, I take a step closer. There’s something familiar about him. He’s a couple inches taller than me, dressed in agray T-shirt and jeans, with a baseball cap pulled low like he’s hiding from the world.
It’s not until he lifts his chin that I catch a flash of brilliant blue eyes and realize who he is.
William Lucas Duncan.The Man.
—
“What’s he doing here?” Dot says in a furious whisper as we hurry along the path toward Luke’s assigned cabin. It isn’t ready for him yet, since he was supposed to arrive next week with the other campers.
“I have no idea.” I glance behind me; Luke is heading toward the parking lot to grab his stuff. “He didn’t ask you if he could come early?”
“No. And he sure as shit didn’t mention anything about a dog.”
That’s the other unwelcome surprise. I consider myself a lover of all living things—but Camp Chickawah has never been a dog-friendly summer camp. And I am not about to spend my summer picking up poop.
So I nicely informed Luke that he’d need to make other arrangements.
“At least the dog will be gone soon,” I say.
Dot snorts. “That dog isn’t going anywhere.”
“What do you mean? I told him to find somewhere else for the dog before the other campers arrived, and he said okay.”
We reach the cabin and climb the stairs to the porch. Before going in, Dot turns to face me. “He said ‘sure.’ That was sarcasm, honey.”
I think back to the blank expression on his face. “Really?”
“Yes. He’s one of those deadpan assholes who act like everyone else’s concerns are beneath them,” she says, then opens the door.
Dot despises rule breakers, so Luke is officially on her shit list. I guess I should have expected this, given his email communications.I require a private cabin to write my novel.Pretentious jerk.
Shaking my head in frustration, I join Dot in opening the windows. This smaller cabin, historically used by extra staff members, has four twin-size beds, a table, and a bathroom with a toilet and sink. Luke will have to use the communal shower building, and knowing he’ll be forced to interact with the plebians gives me some satisfaction.
Dot checks the mousetraps while I make sure the bathroom is stocked with toilet paper and hand soap. I hope he isn’t expecting fluffy white towels and little bottles of toiletries.
When I return to the main room, Luke is walking in the door, a duffel in each hand. He shoves his way past me and dumps everything on the closest bed.
Despite my irritation, I find myself smiling, because that is what my mouth automatically does when I’m playing my camp director role. “So, this is where you’ll be—”
He turns and walks back out. I look at Dot, my jaw dropping.
“Dickhead,” she mutters. “Don’t waste your time worrying about him, boss.”
I sigh, but nod. Come Monday afternoon, I’ll be busy with the other campers. He can isolate himself as much as he wants.
But I’m going to stand my ground about the dog. I can’t have it running around the property, barking at squirrels and bothering everyone. Plus, what if some campers are allergic? No, Luke will have to find somewhere else for it to stay this summer.
I head out of the cabin, ready to confront him, then stop short.
