Once inside, I lean my back against the closed door and squeeze my eyes shut with enough force that red spots ignite behind my lids.
Hot shame rolls down my back like beads of sweat during a grueling soccer practice. Kissing Gage was reckless, but leading him on would be unforgivable.
When we talk about this tomorrow—and knowing Gage, I’m certain we will—I need to set expectations. Throw up boundaries and restrictions. Make it clear I know where I should stand with him.
I know I’m not a good long-term match for him, but after those explosive kisses, I need more.
Maybe there’s a way to kiss him for now without tying him down. Maybe we can lean into our physical chemistry without getting his heart involved.
I groan and run my hand down my face. Maybe when I kissed Gage, I made this summer a whole lot more complicated.
“What have I done?” I whisper into the dim cabin.
Chapter sixteen
Gage
IkissedOliviaDelaney.The realization runs through my head like a refrain as I walk back to my empty cabin.
It’s hard to believe. If someone had told me a month ago that not only would I see and talk to Olivia again, but I’dkissher again, I’d have laughed in their face. I’d closed that chapter of my heart, even if I hadn’t left it behind completely.
At the same time, the fact that Olivia and I kissed tonight is somehow the most natural thing in the world. It was inevitable, really. From the moment we locked eyes in the office on her first day at camp, we’ve been careening toward this very thing.
That whole first week of orientation when Olivia was essentially forced to hang out with me, because I was the only person who would talk to her, we fell easily back into friendship. That first weekend when we went into town together, we started crossing the line, flirting, and hinting at an attraction that must still be there for both of us.
Then this past week, being dropped back into a routine that didn’t include spending time with Olivia every day, I felt ready to crawl out of my own skin. Those brief moments when I brought my campers to swim or boat were the focal point of my days only because I got to see her.
Sometimes after dropping them off, I had to leave to check in with Linda or prepare for another activity, but when I could, I stayed. I would watch her organizing the groups and instructing the kids and interacting—talking and laughing with a smile on her face. The joy she brings to her job. The competence. I could watch her all day.
Which all meant that I was desperate to spend time with her this weekend. I sought her out on Friday night, hoping against all hope that she would be staying at camp. That she would grant me a little bit of her time today. Instead, she gave me nearly all of it, and greedily, I gobbled it up. I still want more.
But I don’t know where her head is. I don’t know how she feels about me or our kiss or what it means for her and me as an “us.”
I’d do anything to keep her from walking away from me again. Anything to keep her in my life this time around.
And that’s terrifying because I still don’t know why she walked away the first time. I don’t know why she turned me down on graduation day, and I don’t know why she ghosted me after.
Clearly I need answers. I go to bed resolved to have the conversation with her in the morning, even if it’s hard.
Sunday morning, I sit in one of the rocking chairs in front of the mess hall and wait for Olivia. I thought about waiting outside her cabin, but I don’t want to look overly eager. Even though my instincts are telling me to grab her and hold on, my self-preservation cautions that I should tread carefully.
Finally, after what feels like hours but is likely less than ten minutes, I see her coming up the path toward me. I stand, and when she sees me, she gives me a tentative smile.
I let her come to me most of the way before I cover those last few steps that bring us toe to toe. I hand her the mug of coffee I poured for her in the mess hall before I started my vigil on the porch.
“Thank you,” she says, taking the mug.
“You’re welcome.”
The air between us is fraught with awkward tension. I shuffle my feet. I want to tell her everything about how much that kiss meant to me and the way it reawakened all the feelings I had for her back in high school and more.
But instead, I wait, wanting her to speak first, needing to know what she’s thinking before I make a fool out of myself again.
“About last night—” she starts, and I can tell by the regret in her eyes that I won’t like what she has to say.
I quickly interrupt her. “I know. I shouldn't have kissed you. I'm sorry. I think I got swept up in the moment.”
Relief crosses her face, and my heart sinks.
