I touch my heated cheek. “Sure does.”

  There is a sway to my hips as I saunter to my cabin and swap my terrycloth shorts and T-shirt for a swimsuit. I slather on sunscreen, still grinning stupidly, which I only notice when I catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My hair is tousled, and my eyes are clear and bright. This is who Charlie sees when he looks at me. I wave to the woman in the mirror. To me. She looks happy.

  I love that for her.

  I hurry to the dock, where Olivia and Ben are waiting.

  “I think I’ll sit this one out,” Ben says. “Mind if I wait at the picnic table, Liv?”

  “You don’t have to stay,” Olivia tells him. “Stefan said they’re painting those figurines for the tabletop game in the craft cabin.”

  I raise a finger. “Actually, you might want to steer clear of the craft cabin today. Text Gloria. She’ll tell you.”

  I help Olivia into the kayak and settle behind her. My face grows hot as I remember last night. In the harsh glare of daylight, it seems surreal that Charlie and I were alone in the lake, naked and kissing in the moonlight. It felt like we’d teleported to a magical bubble where we were the only two people in the world.

  But I wasn’t with Charlie now; I was with Olivia, whose enthusiasm for kayaking seems to fade after the first twenty minutes.

  “It’s hot out here,” she moans.

  “Did you put on sunscreen?”

  “Yes, Mom,” she says in a tone that can only be accompanied by an eye roll. Her awkward paddling slows until she reaches a full stop.

  “Everything okay?”

  She twists to look at me. “I’m bored, and I feel sweaty and gross. Can I swim instead?”

  “If you’d rather. Let’s get closer to shore first.” I paddle us to the dock, and she crawls out of the kayak and onto the wooden planks with movements that would outcreep the girl in The Ring.

  “This is how I’d scare away a boy who’s bothering me,” she shares.

  As I applaud her acting chops, I catch sight of someone loping toward the shoreline. Mid-thirties with a long, lean build. Light brown hair that’s a tad overgrown and swoops over his eye. The clapping comes to an abrupt halt. My heart lodges in my throat as I watch him flip it back in a familiar gesture. I thought I’d never see him again, yet here he is in the flesh.

  Patrick.

  There’s nowhere to hide on top of a kayak. I push the end of the paddle into the water and try to turn the kayak around so that I’m facing away from shore. In my haste, I jerk too fast and end up tipping to the side, hurling myself into the lake. At least the water is warm.

  I stay behind the kayak and use it as a shield. The Prick has stopped to talk to Ben, joined by Olivia, who seems to have abandoned her plan to swim. If I can stay here long enough, maybe he won’t be there when I come ashore.

  A head surfaces beside me, and I release a high-pitched scream.

  “Hey, it’s me.” Charlie peels a wet strand of hair off my face. “Why are you hiding behind an overturned kayak?”

  “Because Patrick is here. The Prick.” I hear the painful crack in my voice. I’d hoped if this day ever came that I would be A-okay, but I’m not. I’m truly not.

  “Here as in the lake? Did you accidentally drown him?” He uses air quotes around ‘accidentally.’

  “There’d be nothing accidental about it.” I peek around the side of the kayak. “He’s talking to Ben.”

  Charlie squints in that direction. “He has a punchable face.”

  “Agreed.”

  I’m surprised to see the punchable face chatting so easily to Ben, the older man he once described as “less interesting than a doorknob.” That should’ve been my first clue that he wasn’t the man I believed he was. I saw him as Edward Ferrars when he was Willoughby all along.

  Charlie’s head continues to bob beside mine. “He’s shorter than I am.”

  That elicits a smile from me. “How can you tell from here?”

  “He looks about two inches taller than Ben, and I’m three inches taller than Ben.” Charlie’s brow ripples with concern. “Why would he show up now? Camp is over in a few days.”

  “I’m sure he has his reasons.” Self-serving ones, of course.

  “Want to find out what they are?”

  “Not really.”

  Charlie observes me. “What’s your plan? Stay here until your skin shrivels?”

  That doesn’t sound particularly appealing. “Maybe.”

  “Do you mind if I talk to him?”

  “Please don’t. He’s like a toddler. If we ignore him, maybe he’ll go away.”

  “I don’t think that’s how toddlers operate.”

  I steel myself. “I’m going to exit the lake in stealth mode.”

  “Does that just mean no splashing?”

  “And I go alone.”

  I swim to the shore as far away from the picnic area as I can get, staying underwater like a human submarine until I hit the shallows, where I flee the water and make a beeline for my cabin. I jump straight into the shower and rinse the seaweed from my hair. I may not want him back, but I still don’t want Patrick to see me drenched in lake sludge.

  As I step out of the shower, I hear a knock on the door. No doubt Charlie followed me. I squeeze the excess water from my hair, then hurriedly wrap a towel around me.

  “One second!” I dart to the door and fling it open.

  “There she is. My favorite insect.” Patrick opens his arms wide, like he’s greeting an old friend. “Been a long time.”

  The Prick looks more attractive than he has any right to. Why can’t people bear external evidence of their assholery? Not a scarlet letter, of course—I wouldn’t be in favor of that—but maybe an ugly wart or other mark that denotes a person of poor character or a lack of integrity.

  Patrick Faraday would be covered in warts.

  My shoulders snap into place. “What are you doing here?”

  He leans a casual arm against the doorjamb. “What do you mean? I registered like everybody else.”

  “You didn’t show up, same as last year, so I’m afraid I gave your spot to someone else.” I’m so focused on not falling apart at the seams that I forget about the seam of my towel.

  Patrick’s gaze dips to my chest beneath the paper-thin material as I yank the towel closed. “You look exactly the same as I remember.”

  If I had a free hand, I’d shove him. Unfortunately, both hands are required to keep my coverage in place. “Why don’t I get dressed and then we can discuss your registration in my office?” There. Professional line drawn.

  “I don’t mind waiting right here.”

  “Maybe not, but I do.”

  How dare he show his face here again. I slam the door shut and realize my body is shaking. I take a few deep breaths, my hands continuing to tremble as I put on clothes and whip my wet hair into a ponytail. I hope he’s gone by the time I emerge from the cabin. The campground is bad enough; I don’t want him in my personal space. I changed cabins after his last summer here so that I wasn’t haunted by memories of him in my private quarters. It doesn’t help that all the cabins look nearly identical.

  I open the door to see Patrick hasn’t left. I cradle my arms in front of me to block any attempt at an embrace. I don’t want to touch him. I don’t even want to breathe the same air as him, but sadly I lack that kind of control over the universe. Otherwise, Patrick would’ve transformed into a praying mantis that ended up having his head chewed off after sex.

  “Camp started over a week ago, Patrick.”

  “Yeah, sorry. Something came up, but I’m here now.”

  I’m a deer in headlights. A hand in the cookie jar. I want to make like a tree and leave, but my feet are rooted to the ground. I release a sigh of relief when I see Charlie striding toward us. My phone is also lighting up with text messages. Word must’ve spread like Patrick’s genital warts.

  “Hi, Charlie.”

  The Prick offers his hand to Charlie. “Patrick Faraday. Nice to meet you.”

  “Charlie Thorpe.”

  “You must be my replacement.”

  I don’t want the two of them engaged in conversation. “Patrick, I’ll be happy to refund your money, minus an administrative fee.”

  “I don’t want a refund. I want to stay for the week. Hook me up with another cabin if mine isn’t available. Who’s here this year?” He cranes his neck to survey the campground. “What about Stefan? I bet he’s not sharing with anybody.”

  “No, he isn’t because he prefers a solo cabin, which he paid for.”

  Charlie steps an inch closer to Patrick. “It sounds like camp is full, buddy.”

  Patrick’s gaze slides to me, clearly assessing the situation. He may be a cowardly twat, but he isn’t stupid. “Why don’t I take your cabin, Cricket? It’ll be like old times, except you can stay at your house if you’d prefer—or not.” His flirtatious smile heats my blood to a boil.

  “I stay at camp with everybody else during the season, you know that.”

  “Then I’ll stay at the house. You’ve got the space, and I don’t mind the walk.”

  “You don’t seem to have heard her.” Charlie’s right; he has a good couple inches on Patrick, in height and other respects that I really don’t want to think about right now. “Consider this the little town of Bethlehem,” Charlie continues, “and there’s no room at the inn.”

  I feel the churn of testosterone in the ether and realize this could quickly spiral into a physical confrontation if I don’t intervene.

  “Patrick, if you’d like to discuss this further, you can meet me in my office.” I shoot a pleading look at Charlie. “Alone. Take it or leave it.”

  I sprint to my office ahead of him and slam the door behind me. I’m so deep in my head, I don’t register the young girl seated behind my desk.

  “What’s wrong?” Olivia asks.

  I snap back to reality. “What are you doing in here?”

  “I got bored.” She splays her hands across the desk. “I like pretending I’m a corporate executive.”

  I laugh. “In this office, you’re definitely pretending.”

  “You have a lot of papers. Can I organize them for you?”

  “That’s the best offer I’ve had all day.” I feel guilty using a child as a shield, but desperate times…

  The door opens, thus concluding my moment to collect myself.

  “New assistant?” Patrick asks.

  “This is Ben’s granddaughter, Olivia.”

  “Yes, we met by the lake. I didn’t know he had a granddaughter.”

  Typical Patrick. Too self-absorbed to remember important details about other people.

  “My parents are getting divorced,” Olivia announces. “That’s the reason I’m here this year.”

  “What a coincidence. Kind of why I’m here too.” Patrick shifts his focus to me. “Can we talk in private?”

  “This is camp, Patrick. There’s not much privacy to be had.”

  The corners of his mouth hitch up. “I wouldn’t say that. You and I managed it.”

  It takes all my willpower not to haul off and punch him square in his square jaw. “Olivia, would you mind giving us a few minutes?” I grind out.

  “Close the door behind you,” Patrick calls after her.

  “Are your hands broken? Close it yourself,” Olivia shoots back as she flees, leaving the door wide open. I don’t make a habit of choosing favorite campers, but right now she’s definitely mine.

  As Patrick shuts the door, I move to stand behind my desk, desperate to put a large, heavy object between us. Then again, this might be the moment I discover my superhuman strength and hurl the furniture at him. It’s an unlikely outcome to this conversation, but stranger things have happened.

  “You look great, Cricket.”

  “Flattery won’t get you a cabin that doesn’t exist.”

  His gaze drops to the desk, as though he’s trying to figure out a way to remove the large, heavy obstacle between us. “I had hoped to come last week, but I had things I couldn’t get out of.”

  Bile rises in my throat. “No doubt.”

  He zeroes in on me. “My relationship is officially over, so one of us had to move. I drew the short straw.”

  His revelation sends shock waves through me. I try to act unaffected, but my legs betray me and force my butt into the chair. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Are you?” He looks at me with that expression I know so well. The one that teased me and tempted me with promises he had no intention of keeping.

  “It’s always sad when a relationship ends.”

  “Not this one. We weren’t right for each other.”

  “Did you actually tell her that, or did you move all your stuff out when she was at work?”

  He huffs, somehow offended that I would suggest such a cowardly move. “I guess I deserve that. We can both agree that communication hasn’t been my strong suit, but I’m here now.”

  “Which begs the question—why?”

  “Because I miss you, and I want you back. I waited until I was officially moved out to come here because I knew you wouldn’t believe me otherwise.”

  “You assumed it would be that easy? That I’d be here waiting for you after two years?”

  “We can be together now. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” He splays his hands on the desk and leans forward with that penetrating gaze of his. When he looks at me like that, I feel naked and exposed—but not in a good way.

  “It was what I wanted two years ago, before I figured out the kind of man you really are.”

  His eye twitches. “I didn’t cheat, Cricket. I know you think I did, but Janessa and I weren’t exclusive when you and I hooked up. She and I started seeing each other a couple weeks before I came to camp. I didn’t expect—us to happen.”

  “You could’ve told me about her instead of pulling a Houdini.”

  “I was confused. I got home and I didn’t know what to do.”

  “You obviously made your choice.”

  “For the wrong reasons, I see that now. Janessa lived locally to me. It was easier to maintain a relationship with her.”

  The easy button pretty much sums up Patrick’s entire personality.

  “Why did you register last year and not show up?”

  “Janessa and I hit a rough patch, but we made up before I was due to leave. I didn’t feel right about spending time with you. I was afraid my feelings would resurface.” He pushes to an upright position again. “The guy who treated you that way—that isn’t who I am anymore. I messed up, Cricket, but I’m in a much better place now.”

  I fold my arms. “Interesting. All these words coming out of your mouth, yet ‘sorry’ hasn’t been one of them.”

  “You want me on my knees? Because I’ll do that.” He moves to my side of the desk and lowers himself to the floor. “I’m sorry, Courtney. I’m sorry for the misery I put you through. It wasn’t my intention to hurt you.”

  It took me a long time to erase his image from my mind, and now his reappearance was dragging that old trauma to the surface. I thought I’d healed it, but maybe I’d simply stored it away in an emotional trunk for later use.

  “If I’d told you about Janessa, you would’ve assumed I was cheating and then you and I wouldn’t have happened. Can you blame me for staying quiet about her?”

  Laughter rips from my throat. “Yes, Patrick. I absolutely can.”

  “I felt horrible about ghosting you. If I could take it back, I would. The way I handled the situation was a mistake and I regret it. My therapist said I use women to fill the emptiness inside me. That you were a placeholder for everything missing within myself.”

  “How long have you been seeing a therapist?”

  “Nine months. It’s going well. He’s helped me understand my behavior. I’ve already seen a huge difference in how I handle situations.”

  “But you couldn’t save your relationship?”

  “It was through therapy that I came to the conclusion I didn’t want to. Neither did Janessa, for that matter. We weren’t a good fit. In two years, we managed to grow apart instead of together. In hindsight, I should’ve chosen you, but I was afraid.”

  “Of me?”

  “Of disappointing you. I worried that a relationship with you would require more than I could give and that you’d eventually figure it out and leave me.” Then Patrick does something totally unexpected.

  He cries.

  The next thing I know, I’m comforting him like he’s the wronged party. “I never meant to hurt you. You know how screwed up my childhood was. Apparently, I have something called a mother wound.”

  I remember Patrick’s stories of an absentee mom and a workaholic dad. It’s difficult not to feel sorry for the boy who had no control over his chaotic upbringing.

  He slides his fingers through my hair. “Every bit as soft as I remember,” he murmurs. “You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed about holding you again.”

  “Technically I’m holding you.” And now I sound like Charlie.

  The intrusive thought of Charlie Thorpe shocks me like a live wire. I jolt out of Patrick's reach.

  “What is it?” Patrick asks in a soothing tone.

  “I think you should leave.” I spent a full year carrying around a box of tissues wherever I went, knowing that at some point during my waking hours, a memory would surface that triggered waterworks. It was incredible how quickly the place I’d been born and raised became associated with a man who sought to claim my heart and then proceeded to shatter it into a million pieces.

  “I thought we were having a moment.”

  “And now the moment’s over.”

  He tilts his head, eyeing me in that intimately familiar way of his. “Am I leaving your office or the campground?”

  I sense his neediness. The camp is meant to be a welcoming space for everyone; we’re the Ellis Island of misfits. As much as it pains me, I hear myself say, “You can stay. I’ll speak to Hunter.”

  “Cool. Glad to hear he’s back this year. And what about us?”

  “There is no ‘us,’ Patrick. There never really was.”

  “That isn’t true, and you know it. Remember how good we were together? Our long walks through the woods. Our moonlight swims.”