“She’s tired,” Ben says with regard to his granddaughter. “It’s well past her bedtime.”

  “Mom and Dad don’t let me stay up until midnight,” Olivia crows.

  “Let’s keep this between us, shall we?” Ben steers her toward their cabin.

  “Still want to race to the water?” Charlie asks. His bright eyes hold mine for a beat longer than necessary, and I feel that pesky tug in my lower abdomen. I do not support the reaction my body seems to be having to him. In fact, I strenuously object.

  “Let’s do it. On the count of three. One…” I sprint toward the lake. Unfortunately, I start laughing at Charlie’s shocked response, which causes me to lose my lead.

  We splash into the water at the same time, fully clothed.

  “You laugh like you’ve been smoking menthols since you were ten years old,” Charlie says.

  “Rude.”

  “It’s a compliment, Cricket. Take it.”

  “In what world is that a compliment?”

  “I’m telling you your laugh is sexy as hell. Take the win.”

  “So you’re telling me you think a ten-year-old who smokes menthols is sexy? Gross.” Despite my response, my insides begin to heat up like the core of a volcano.

  He knocks on my head. “Are you being deliberately obtuse? That’s not remotely what I’m telling you.”

  I cling to the word ‘sexy’ like it’s wreckage from the Titanic and I’m a woman without a lifeboat. I’ve only ever been referred to as sexy one other time, and as I’ve stricken that other time from the record that is my brain, I shall consider this the first time.

  “I’ve never smoked,” I say, apparently determined to miss the point. I know I have a hard time accepting a compliment—it’s one of my flaws—yet my resistance seems even worse when that compliment is coming from Charlie Thorpe.

  “That makes two of us,” he says.

  “Really? Is that an athlete thing?”

  “Maybe? No idea.”

  “What about pot?”

  “Nope.”

  “Gummies?”

  “Only tonight.” He squints at me. “Is this a character assessment?”

  “No, we don’t judge here, remember?”

  “In that case, I like nothing more than to snort cocaine off the well-worn fur of my childhood teddy bear.”

  I fold my arms and glower at him. “There’s no way that’s true.”

  “No?”

  “No. You’re not sentimental enough to keep a treasured childhood toy.”

  “Shows how little you know. Mr. McRibbons is currently occupying the middle shelf in my spare room closet.”

  “Mr. McRibbons? Was this name inspired by the famous McDonald’s sandwich?”

  “Not at all. He wears a red ribbon around his neck.”

  “Then why is he Irish?”

  “No idea. I was two. I didn’t exactly have the vocabulary to name him Othello.”

  I snort-laugh. “Othello? That would be the adult choice for your bear’s name?”

  “No, it would probably be Bryce Harper Bear.”

  “Should I get the reference?”

  He shakes his head. “Probably not. He’s a baseball player.” His attention shifts to Ben’s cabin. “Olivia was more upset than I would expect. Most kids don’t fully grasp consequences and responsibility.”

  “It wasn’t about the napkin or the raccoon,” I admit. “Her parents are getting a divorce. That’s why she’s here. Ben usually comes alone, but he was unexpectedly saddled with a plus-one.” Not that he minded in the least. The sun rises and sets on Olivia as far as Ben is concerned.

  Concern creases Charlie’s brow. “I didn’t realize.”

  “It’s not contentious, but Olivia is taking it hard.”

  “As one would expect.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “It came as a shock to Ben too. He didn’t know how unhappy they were. He feels guilty for not being as attuned to his son as he thinks he should’ve been.”

  Charlie falls silent. Finally he says, “Ben shouldn’t feel bad. He’s a good dad. I can tell.”

  “And a good grandfather too.”

  “My father wouldn’t have a clue if I was having problems.”

  “Because he isn’t attuned to you or because you hide them from him?”

  He shoots me a curious look that I don’t quite understand. “Both. My father isn’t interested in feelings, only achievements. Our conversations consist of whether I finalized any big deals and when I can expect to make partner.”

  “That’s a fairly limited conversation.”

  “I prefer it that way.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  His head swings to me. “Why are you sorry? You’re not my father.”

  “I’m sorry that your relationship with him isn’t what it should be. You deserve loving parents.”

  He ponders me. “I get the sense you had loving parents.”

  Now it’s my turn to grow quiet. “My mom was amazing.”

  “How old were you when she died?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “You must have good memories of her.”

  “Yes and no. Sometimes they’re hazier than I’d prefer. When you don’t have anyone to reminisce with, it feels harder to keep those memories alive.”

  He looks like I killed his favorite plant. “You don’t have any family?”

  I imagine my smile is as rueful as I feel. “No blood relations. I’m an only child, and so were my parents.”

  He takes a minute to process this and then says, “Well, family isn’t everything. Sometimes they’re downright shitty.”

  “Oh, I know, believe me. Ask around. Plenty of campers have horror stories. I wouldn’t wish Gloria’s mother on my worst enemy.”

  “She’s the one with dementia?”

  “Alzheimer’s. But I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the kind of mother she was before she developed the condition.”

  “Are we talking Medea or Matilda’s mom?”

  I laugh at his literary references. “She’s a momster. Repeatedly told Gloria she wished she’d not had a child. That if it weren’t for Gloria, she would’ve been a Broadway star. That getting pregnant ruined her life.”

  Charlie lets loose a low whistle. “Yet Gloria has dedicated her adult life to wiping the drool from the chin of the woman who treated her like that?”

  “Because she’s a saint in sheep’s clothing. In a twisted way, Gloria prefers this version of her mother. She’s kinder and seems to appreciate Gloria more than the younger version ever did.”

  He drags a hand through his hair. “That’s gotta be rough for her.”

  “Why do you think she lives for these two weeks at camp? Once she goes home, it’s another year before she does anything for herself. The memories of the fun she had at this year’s camp will help sustain her for the next twelve months.”

  He releases a breath. “What about the other campers? Do they all have stories like that?”

  “Everybody has a story, Charlie. That’s why it’s so important to cut people some slack. You never know what they’ve been through. Ben’s wife died a few years ago while he was battling cancer.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “She went for a walk on a windy day. Got hit by a tree branch and died.”

  Charlie falls silent. I don’t blame him. It’s a tough story to hear. The brutal randomness of it. I marvel that Ben found the strength to keep fighting, but he did.

  “These aren’t secrets, by the way. They’re very open about their struggles.”

  “This isn’t a nerd camp. This is a wellness retreat.”

  I feel my body relax. “You’re finally getting it.”

  “Thank you for telling me. I feel like I know them a bit better now.”

  “And they’d like to know you better, too. Everybody likes you, Charlie. Swag swap was an excellent start, but we both know there’s a lot more to you than a cherished baseball card.”

  I feel the shift in energy the moment I mention the baseball card. His eyes shutter and I wish I could snatch back the comment. I was finally chipping away at that wall of his and now this one offhand remark would set me back a few bricks. Lesson learned.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “It takes far more than that to upset me, Courtney.”

  His use of my real name isn’t lost on me. Despite his protestation, he’s resetting a boundary. One more brick firmly back in place.

  “It’s late. I should get some rest,” he says abruptly. “Stefan challenged me to a wizard duel for tomorrow. I have to prep.”

  “How do you prep for a wizard duel?”

  “For starters, find out what it is. If I need my own wand, I’m SOL.”

  “Wands are provided, so don’t worry about that.” As much as I long to recover our lost ground, I recognize that I need to let him go. Charlie isn’t someone you can push. The more I press him, the more resistant he’ll become. I know this because I do the same thing, and the last time I let my guard down for someone I found attractive, I paid the price.

  He exits the lake, his clothing stuck to his skin. I wait a couple minutes before following suit, to give him space.

  “You two have gotten chummy. I guess he isn’t working for the Empire anymore,” Fiona says as she strides past me with her clothes tucked under her arm. Her Batman glow-in-the-dark camisole and underwear are dripping wet.

  “I guess not,” I say, but I honestly have no idea.

  No surprise that tonight I dream about Charlie. This isn’t the first time he’s been featured by my imagination, but it’s the first time his appearance involves sexy times. I think it’s because of his recent vulnerability. Of course, afterward, he reverted to his robot form and acted like we’d been formally introduced over a tray of caviar, or whatever they served at fancy lawyer parties.

  He finds it hard to share his feelings, that much is obvious. Based on what he’s revealed about his family, I get the impression that he didn’t hear the words “I’m proud of you” very often, if ever. And I was proud of him for sharing at swag swap and for participating in karaoke. He was clearly reluctant, but he joined in, and even better, he was authentic, and that’s all I wanted for him. Maybe he’d feel better about our lake conversation in the light of day.

  On the other hand, maybe I should consider his behavior a warning not to get emotionally involved. If he’s determined to be an island, let him be one instead of trying to establish a peninsula or an archipelago. I already serve as a bridge to my campers. If Charlie wants to join civilization, he’ll have to build his own.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Last night was … a lot. I’d never wanted to kiss a woman more in my life while simultaneously wanting to run from her. Cricket confuses the hell out of me, or more accurately, my own feelings confuse the hell out of me.

  I manage to avoid her by spending the morning with the fan fiction club. To my surprise and relief, I find myself enjoying the collaborative nature of the work as well as the creative process. I may not have watched Supernatural, but I know enough about Sherlock to contribute. Of course, Fiona insists on showing me social media clips from Supernatural, allegedly to give me a better understanding of the show, although I suspect she simply likes ogling the actors. When the Internet connection acts up and we’re forced to abandon what must be the fortieth reel of two admittedly good-looking guys exchanging quips, I act disappointed.

  When the activity block ends, I walk outside to heavy cloud cover and my phone bleeps with a weather alert for heavy rain, which Cricket must’ve also received because she cancels the evening’s fireside chat. Everyone decides to cram into the Danger Zone cabin. I’m not a fan of crowds in tight spaces, so I opt to go back to my cabin. Avoiding Cricket may also be a factor in my decision.

  I catch sight of her entering the cabin with Stefan as fat raindrops begin to fall. No one’s outside at this point, which makes it the ideal opportunity to snoop in Cricket’s office. I make a beeline for the vacant cabin.

  The moment my hand makes contact with the doorknob, I freeze. This camp is all she has in the world. The last connection to the family she lost and the only connection with the one she created for herself. My client doesn’t understand any of that, not that he’d care. If it doesn’t involve dollar signs, he isn’t interested.

  But I am.

  Very interested, if I’m being honest, and it’s a problem. Cricket’s need for this camp conflicts with my need to secure this deal. To become the youngest partner in the history of the firm. To be on equal footing with my siblings and make my parents proud.

  Still, I can’t do it.

  I release my grip on the doorknob and abandon my plan. I want to make Cricket laugh again, not cry. Maybe another Chucky prank will mend the fence I built between us last night.

  I return to my cabin and retrieve Chucky. She won’t expect to see him in her filing cabinet a second time. I only hope someone is there to witness the moment when it happens.

  I sneak back into the office and open the drawer of the filing cabinet. I pose him with a glimpse of his arms and head sticking out and hear a crunch of paper as I adjust his position.

  Shit. I hope I didn’t rip anything important. I yank Chucky from the drawer and feel around the bottom. The files are so tight, it’s like trying to fix a paper jam in the printer.

  With delicate precision, I manage to extract the paper from the drawer. Relief ripples through me when I see it’s all in one piece, quickly followed by another emotion when I realize what the document is.

  A smoking gun.

  I scan the details and immediately shift into lawyer mode. I know exactly what this is and what it means for both Cricket and my client.

  I wish I hadn’t stepped foot inside this office today.

  My throat tightens as I consider the options. I’ve only known Cricket for a blip in time, yet I feel like I’ve known her forever. If only I could figure out a way to satisfy us both. If I turn this over to LandStar, it would destroy her. Standing here right now and confronted with this reality, I realize that I don’t want Cricket to be even a little sad or disappointed, and I certainly don’t want to be the reason for it. That woman deserves full-blown happiness handed to her on a silver platter.

  Based on the state of her files, I doubt she knows this document exists, let alone its implication. I fold the paper and stuff it in my pocket before repositioning Chucky. As soon as I finish, I rush from the office, feeling more like a criminal than a prankster.

  I hurry back to my cabin and pull out my laptop to try to focus on work. The Wi-Fi is even worse than usual, if that’s possible. I assume it’s the approaching band of bad weather. I give up and focus on the files on the hard drive. I click open the LandStar folder and start reviewing the files related to the camp, not because I intend to exploit a loophole. Instead, I’m looking for that magic answer that solves both our problems. It’s probably wishful thinking, but I’m a determined guy. The upside of being raised by pushy parents. Maybe I would’ve become driven and determined without their constant pressure—who knows?

  I hear a downpour outside as I revisit the client’s brief, the reasons for wanting this land in particular, and what LandStar intends to do with it. The location makes sense. The camp sits on a gorgeous piece of property. You can’t beat the lakeside setting and acres of pristine forest. It would be a shame to cut down Endor Forest to make space for tennis courts.

  I’m so immersed in my mental gymnastics that I almost miss the stream of water sliding under my door. I set my laptop on the bed and peer out the window. The area outside my cabin looks like a swamp. I throw my belongings into my duffel bag, including the expensive shoes on my feet, and exit the cabin barefoot.

  Water splashes around my ankles as I wade farther inland toward drier land. The flooding seems concentrated around my cabin, probably because I’m farthest from the other cabins and closest to the lake. I’m soaked to the bone by the time I knock on Cricket’s door.

  “Holy crap, Charlie! Get inside!” She practically yanks me forward and slams the door behind me. “What are you doing?”

  I set my duffel bag on the floor. “My cabin is starting to flood.”

  Her eyes widen. “You’re kidding me. That’s not good.” She turns toward the window. “The cabin closest to you is on an incline. It’s probably okay, but I’ll check with Ben.”

  “If you can get through.”

  She gets through. Ben’s cabin is fine. She types a message in the group chat and asks everyone to remain in their cabins for their own safety and to leave at the first sign of flooding.

  “I guess it’s you and me tonight, roomie,” Cricket chirps.

  My gaze drifts to the one and only bed in the cabin. “Why don’t I bunk with Adam?”

  “Chewy will bark at you all night like you’re an intruder.”

  “Stefan?”

  “Vikings don’t share cabins.” She picks up my bag and moves it to the other side of the room. “Relax, Charlie. It’s one night and we’re both adults. No need to make it weird. We’ll dry out your cabin tomorrow and you can return to your self-imposed isolation.”

  “I wasn’t isolating.”

  “Sure you weren’t.” Cricket’s phone buzzes, breaking the tension. Probably for the best. She taps the screen. “Hey, Gloria. Everything okay?”

  I can’t hear the words, but I can tell from Gloria’s tone that everything is not okay.

  “I’m sure she’s fine, but if it would make you feel better, I’ll see if I can find her.” Cricket’s eyes meet mine and she mouths the word ‘Buffy.’

  I understand the problem before Cricket hangs up. The sugar glider is outside in the deluge. With that small body, her wings are likely vulnerable during a downpour.

  “I’ll let you know when I find her.” Cricket tosses me a look. “Buffy flew outside and hasn’t come back. Gloria is worried sick.”

  “I heard your end. Let’s go. I’ll help you.”

  She blinks. “You want to help me?”

  “Why not?”

  “You came here to get out of the rain.”