Me too, I think. “I appreciate that.”

  “The path to the house picks up after the cafeteria. It’ll take you right to the front door.”

  “Thanks.”

  I continue past the cabins and the cafeteria until I locate the stone path. The house is exactly as I imagined it, right down to the white picket fence. It’s warm and welcoming, and I immediately want to kick off my shoes and enjoy a tall glass of lemonade on the porch. Given our current status, I’d be lucky if she doesn’t toss the lemonade in my face.

  I leap over the single porch step, releasing some of my nervous energy, and arrive at the front door. The mat beneath my feet features Darth Vader’s head with ‘Welcome to the Dark Side’ written beside it. I can’t help but smile. This house may have been in her family for generations, but Cricket’s fingerprints are all over it.

  I ring the bell and wait, using the opportunity to wipe the sweat from my palms onto my jeans. As much as I want to share bodily fluids with her, this isn’t how I want to start.

  The door flies open and Cricket stares back at me. Her hair is in a messy bun, accentuating her elf ears, and she’s wearing her Nerdy By Nature T-shirt. Affection floods my system at the sight of it; I’m moved by how much I love the existence of that ridiculous top.

  “Mr. Thorpe. I didn’t expect to see you again.” Her gaze lowers to my attire. “You’re wearing jeans. I thought you suffered from a denim allergy.”

  “Only Monday through Friday.”

  The corner of her mouth quirks when her gaze reaches my shoes. “Couldn’t bring yourself to swap those Gucci loafers for Converse though, huh?”

  I wiggle my toes inside the shoes. “I’m comfortable in these.”

  “And we know how important your comfort is to you.”

  I let the jab pass uncontested. “May I come in? There’s a matter I’d like to discuss with you.”

  She peers past me. “I don’t see any law enforcement. Does that mean you aren’t here to seize my land?”

  “I am most definitely not here to do that.”

  She studies me, uncertain. “How do I know that’s not a lie so I’ll invite you in?”

  “I’m not a vampire.”

  “You may not suck blood, but you do suck.”

  I fight a sigh of disappointment. I deserve whatever insults she chooses to hurl at me. “I do suck, and I’m here to make it up to you.”

  Her fingers drum the edge of the door. “Someone’s optimistic.”

  “Hear me out, please. If you don’t like what I have to say, feel free to boot me from your house.”

  “Wearing an actual boot?”

  “If you feel so inclined. My ass can take it.” Not so sure about my heart though.

  To my great relief, she takes a reluctant step back and ushers me inside. “You have five minutes to plead your case, counselor.”

  “Not a litigator,” I remind her, and then immediately shut the hell up before she changes her mind and slams the door in my face. This is my one shot to make things right and I refuse to blow it.

  “Step into my office, please.”

  I follow her through a living room that manages to be both spacious and cozy, to a smaller room with no door. The walls are plastered in framed movie posters, including Return of the Jedi and Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers. A row of bobbleheads line the edge of a desk. I feel a strange sense of pride when I realize that I recognize most of them. I’ve come a long way since I first met Cricket.

  I point to the Jedi poster. “Did you know the movie was originally called Revenge of the Jedi? Lucas changed it late in the game.”

  “And later used ‘Revenge’ in Revenge of the Sith. I’m aware.” Unimpressed, she sits behind a desk in a tall wooden chair that resembles a rustic throne. The design is vaguely familiar, and it takes me a second to realize it was inspired by The Hobbit. She motions for me to sit, but the only arguable piece of furniture I see is a Baby Yoda beanbag chair.

  It’s impossible to appear calm and cool as my butt lands in the soft material and sinks. Cricket bites back a smile.

  “What brings you to darken my doorstep now that the twenty-one days left on the lien have come and gone?”

  “I’d like to offer you an official update.”

  Her shoulders tense, but she forces an interested smile. “I’m all ears.” She flicks the pointy end of one.

  The beanbag chair starts to lean to the right, and I shift left to counteract the move. “It took a bit of brainstorming, but I came up with an idea that would satisfy LandStar without hurting you or the camp.”

  Her jaw sets. “You’re a lawyer, not a magician, Mr. Thorpe.”

  “Please don’t call me Mr. Thorpe or I’ll think my father is in the room with us.”

  “Your father is always in the room with you, whether he’s physically present or not.”

  I can see I have my work cut out for me, but I anticipated this. I don’t blame her for any hostility. I showed up at her camp under false pretenses and took time to come clean. I hid an important document that I found in her office and my decision nearly lost her the camp. I’d have to earn back her trust, which I am more than willing to do. Whatever it takes. I hope my next statement helps to bridge that gap.

  “LandStar has been set on your land because it seemed like the right spot to implement his vision.”

  “And?”

  I feel my excitement rise, as high as when I first developed the plan. “So I found another plot of land that’s more in alignment with that vision.”

  “Then you got your big promotion. Congrats.” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “I know how important that was to you.”

  “Not nearly as important as you.”

  “Be real, Charlie.”

  “I didn’t finish.” I topple to the side and abandon Baby Yoda. Popping to my feet, I tell her the news. “I didn’t get the promotion. Matt did.”

  “Why would they make that slimeball partner instead of you?”

  “Because I gave that slimeball the information I found on the new plot of land and let him take all the credit.”

  “Why on earth would you do that?”

  “So he could look like a solution-focused hero. It was part of the deal I made with him. He agreed to let me sit on the lien and let the statute of limitations pass in exchange for an uncontested partnership. His deal fell through, so I gave him mine.” I clear my throat, wary of uttering my next sentence. “And then I quit the firm.”

  Her head snaps up. “Excuse me?”

  “I left the firm.”

  Her eyes search mine. “But partnership was your dream.”

  “No. As you rightly pointed out, it was my parents’ dream. I had no idea what I wanted. I was only following the path they laid out for me, trying to earn their approval.” I force down the lump in my throat. “Until I met you.”

  She leans back. “You can’t give up your career because of me.”

  “I haven’t given up my career. I’m still a lawyer. As a matter of fact, I took a couple of clients with me, much to Joel’s dismay, and I’d love to take you on as well.”

  Cricket releases that gangster’s moll laugh that I’ve craved to hear again. “Charlie, this camp is teetering on the edge of bankruptcy as it is. You’d be hitching your wagon to a falling star.”

  “What if I help you turn it around?” And then I see it, that flare of hope. I plunge ahead. “What if I was the camp’s business manager? We could work as a team. It wouldn’t be a stretch. We already know we work well together.”

  “Your office is hours away in Philly.”

  “My office can be wherever I want it to be.”

  “As nice as that sounds, I can’t afford to pay you, and you need health insurance. Benefits. A 401(k). All the grown-up stuff that I can’t provide.”

  “Pfft. Adulthood is overrated.”

  “You don’t mean that. You know I wish I had more of those things. If I can’t give them to myself, I certainly can’t give them to you.”

  “Did I mention I have more than one client? There’s a real estate investment firm owned by a woman named Mandy Lowenstein. She’s good people. You’d like her.”

  “Would I?”

  “You don’t have to take my word for it. You can meet her yourself.”

  Her smile is faint, but it’s there. “I’m not talking about Mandy. I don’t know if I’m ready to let you back in the circle of trust.”

  “I understand that, which is why I came prepared.” I open my briefcase and retrieve my laptop. “Would you mind if I set this on your desk?”

  “Did you prepare a presentation for me?”

  “Will your eyes glaze over?”

  “That depends on how many numbers it features. If there’s even a whiff of widgets, I’m out.”

  “No widgets.” I tap the keyboard, and a slide deck appears on the screen. I gauge her reaction to the first slide.

  A smile ghosts her lips. “This is not at all what I expected.”

  The slides follow the story of Princess Leia and Han Solo, except I’ve pasted our faces over theirs. In a series of images, I show her how Han Solo dreamed of piloting the Death Star until he meets Leia and realizes that his true desire lies elsewhere.

  “You know that’s not remotely accurate, right?” she asks, once the final slide appears.

  “I took a few creative liberties.” I pause. “And I may have had a little help from the fan fiction group.”

  This gets her attention. “They spoke to you?”

  “We had a video call. I explained the message I was trying to convey, and they offered a few pointers.”

  “Traitors,” she mutters under her breath.

  “To be fair, they were resistant to helping me, but I was very persuasive.” I don’t want her to be mad at her friends. They definitely had her back, especially Gloria, who threatened to send a colony of sugar gliders to rain shit on my car if I let Cricket down again.

  Which I absolutely won’t. I’d sooner fight a Balrog.

  “What about the lienholder?”

  I shrug. “I have no obligation to them; they’re not my client. They didn’t handle their paperwork properly, nor did they follow up in the five years they were legally given. As far as I’m concerned, that’s on them.”

  Cricket slots her fingers together and contemplates the presentation. “I appreciate you coming all this way to update me.” When she rises to her feet, my heart feels ready to split in two. Somehow, I keep it together. As much as I want her forgiveness, it has to be on her timeline, not mine. I also recognize the possibility that it might not happen at all.

  “So, you’ll be in touch?” I ask.

  “Maybe.” Her tone is every bit as cryptic as the word.

  I place the laptop in the briefcase, snap it closed, and show myself out. She doesn’t follow.

  * * *

  The rain worsens on the drive home. Gray clouds grow darker and more ominous, and I catch a lightning strike in the rearview mirror.

  I worry about Cricket. I worry about Adam and the kid in the Pikachu top, and the children I haven’t even met.

  The rain is torrential to the point where visibility is almost nonexistent. I check my sideview mirror and cross to the left lane, then I swing across the median in a U-turn that would’ve made Former Charlie turn himself into the nearest police station for dangerous traffic violations.

  But Present Charlie doesn’t give a shit about rules. There are no other cars in sight. Nobody else to injure.

  I press my foot on the gas. “I feel the need for speed,” I tell Hugo. The car wastes no time in complying.

  My mind races faster than the Audi as I drive back. What if the camp is completely flooded and they can’t get out?

  What if I delayed Cricket leaving her house and she’s cut off from the campers?

  Why did I give up so easily?

  I should’ve stayed. Fought harder.

  The windshield wipers can’t keep up with the intensity of the rain. The wind is howling, and I keep both hands tightly on the wheel to keep the nose of the car from jerking to the side. Apart from a couple semitrailers, I’m the only imbecile on the road.

  The car skids through a puddle and nearly hydroplanes. My heartbeat revs up as I near the exit. I try to drum up a clever line, one that will win her over, but all I can think of is the part in Star Wars where Princess Leia tells Han Solo she loves him and he replies, “I know.” Leia is stronger than I am. If that happens to me…

  No. If that happens to me, it would still be worth saying. I should’ve said it during the slide deck, but I lost my nerve. Cricket deserves to know how I really feel, even if she doesn’t feel the same. Low risk with a potentially high reward. The cliff jump I’d intended to make before Matt showed up and ruined everything.

  I laugh at the idea that this is low risk as I swerve around a fallen tree. Six weeks ago, I would’ve flagged this as high risk, low reward. That was B.C. Now I see myself clearly, like I’m gazing at my reflection in the lake, which I would never do because I’m not Narcissus, a god I didn’t even know existed until Bradley told me.

  I chuckle to myself as I squint past the deluge. I feel like a lunatic, but it feels euphoric rather than scary. Like my sister, I’m high, except my condition is due to naturally occurring adrenaline and dopamine. The closer I get to the campground, the more elated I am. Cricket is only ten miles away.

  Five miles.

  I hope she’s safe.

  My heart thrums as I make the final turn that will lead me to the parking lot where we first met. I hope I’m being overly dramatic and that the camp is muddy but otherwise fine.

  Water rushes over the road. I slow to a stop; there’s a solid chance it’s too deep to drive through. I reverse the car and drive until I spot a possible entry point. If I recall correctly, there’s a dirt path that will take me to the campsite closer to the lake.

  I park between two mighty oaks and pat the dashboard. “Sit tight, Hugo. I’ll be back for you. I promise.”

  I don’t have an umbrella in the car, not that it would’ve done any good in this storm. More than likely it would’ve blown right out of my hands or taken me with it, Mary Poppins-style.

  Raindrops pummel my face as I fight to see ahead of me. Vines and sticker bushes drag against my jeans and I’m grateful to be wearing long pants.

  The ground is soggy, and I suspect the local creek has become a raging river. As the cabins come into view to my right, a flash of yellow draws my eye to the left.

  It’s the Pikachu kid. He’s drenched and clinging to a post on the bridge. Even in the gloaming, Adam is easy to recognize in his costume. He’s standing at the opposite foot of the bridge trying to coax the kid across to safety as the wind whips past them.

  “Nooooo!” the kid wails, clinging more tightly to the post.

  Adam’s voice is muffled by the mask as he says something I can’t hear.

  “You’re not my father,” the kid shouts.

  Lightning crackles in the air, splitting a nearby tree branch in half. The heavy segment falls between them, forcing them both backward and splintering the wood planks in the middle of the bridge.

  Water rushes in to fill the gap.

  “Stay there!” I shout. I rush toward them before the whole thing collapses. Water spills over the bridge and swirls around the boy’s calves.

  “Kid, let go of the post and jump!”

  The boy shakes his head adamantly and hugs the post.

  “He has sensory issues,” Adam explains. “He wouldn’t let me pick him up.”

  “I get respecting the kid’s boundaries, but these are exigent circumstances.”

  Adam groans. “Yes, I should’ve told him that in those words. I’m sure he would’ve understood and not freaked out and drowned us both.”

  I see his point. A freaked-out kid could result in one or both of them falling in and getting swept away by the rapidly rising current.

  The water splashes against the boy’s legs, and I hear him whimper. An idea begins to take shape. “Hold on.”

  As I start forward, Adam grips my arm. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to jump in that gap.”

  “Are you nuts? You’ll get swept away.”

  “I can manage it. Trust me.”

  “Let me guess. You were captain of the men’s swim team in law school.”

  “Something like that.” I jump into the empty space and steel myself against the cold as water engulfs my lower half. “What’s your name?”

  “Nathan.”

  “Nathan, I’m Charlie. I’m going to help you across, okay?”

  Nathan shakes his head like a wet dog. “Don’t pick me up.”

  “I won’t, I promise.”

  Gripping the plank near Nathan, I lower my chest to the water and kick out my legs, resting my shins on the separated half to form a human bridge. Water rushes over me and fills my nostrils.

  Adam claps his hands. “Come on, Nathan. You can do it, buddy.”

  I feel his small feet pound along my spine and then a relieved whoop from Adam. I roll to the side and tuck in my knees, switching to a seated position on their side of the broken bridge. Careful to maintain my balance, I pull myself to my feet.

  “Charlie!”

  I whip toward the frantic sound of Cricket’s voice. Her hair is matted to her head, and her clothes are soaked to the point of sticking to her skin.

  She has never looked more beautiful.

  I’m neither a rock nor an island. I’m flesh and bone with a heart that beats for her. God, that sounds so romantic. I wish I’d said it out loud, so she could’ve heard it. Maybe if I’d put that in the slide deck, she would’ve said yes to me right then and there.

  When she rushes into my arms, I forget all about how I want to present myself and instead I’m just present.

  “You came back,” she half whispers.

  I tuck wet strands of hair behind her elf ears. “I never really left.”

  I couldn’t believe my eyes when I spotted Charles Owen Frederick Thorpe IV, Esquire, soaked to the skin, rescuing Nathan. He didn’t even hesitate. He dropped those Gucci loafers straight into the water like he was barefoot. The Charles Thorpe who I first met wouldn’t have dared to risk damage to his designer shoes.