Page 104 of Within These County Lines

“My tree house. It’s a short walk through the woods. I can finally show it to you.” He glances at the drink table. “We can sneak out before Sheryl and Kim force you into cleanup duty.”

The slow song ends. The campers clap and catcall at the other dancing couples. “Kiss!” someone yells.

“Quick, then,” I say to Xander, pushing him toward the woods. “This could be the end.”

Xander giggles and pulls me off the pavilion’s concrete slab and into the trees. We scamper across a dirt path. Mud quickly cakes my white shoes.

Without the light from camp, the woods are pitch-black. But Xander knows exactly where he’s going. I struggle to keep up with his confident pace as I fight the urge to stop and get my bearings. The trees are like street signs to him. The stars are reference points. And the moon is a compass.

Right. Left. Right. Right.

Soon, we round a thick tree and come upon a ladder.

“Here,” Xander says, stopping abruptly.

My neck cranes toward the structure hidden in the branches. It’s barely visible in the darkness.

“You don’t leave a light on for when you get home?” I joke.

“Hell no,” he says. “I don’t want someone else finding this place.” He pats the camouflaged wood. “I wasn’t sure if the curse would break randomly and someone would spot me. You learn a few things after ten years.” I think he winks, but in the darkness, I can’t see his face.

He takes ahold of the pegs and ascends the tree. I follow.

At the top, he pushes on the trapdoor with both hands. It swings open and lands with a thud, sending a drizzle of dust particles down from the wooden planks above. Xander digs around inside, his upper body disappearing while his legs dangle over the ladder.

Then there’s a click. Light bursts through the opening, beaming down on me like we’ve opened the gates of heaven. I shield my eyes with my forearm as the brightness nearly knocks me off-balance.

“Welcome,” he says, hoisting himself inside. He spins around and extends his hand. I clasp it and am pulled through the threshold.

Inside, I brush off my knees before looking up.

“Whoa,” I say. I bump my head on a hanging plant.

Xander scratches his neck. “You’re my first ever guest. Is it weird in here? I’ve never really thought about entertaining.”

“No.” I shake my head with a smile. “It’s so cozy.”

Vintage Edison bulbs hang across the maroon-painted ceiling. Bookshelves line an entire wall with the spines organized in a gradient of colors. A twin mattress, draped with a plaid comforter, is pushed into a corner. A round wooden table sits near a mock sink, set with two place settings.

My breath catches.

“You built this?” I ask, rubbing a hand down my cheek.

“Yeah, but again, over the course of ten years,” he says with a light laugh. “It started off as a plywood platform.”

I walk to the table and grip the backrest of a chair. “Who is this other seat for?”

He shrugs. “Someone. Eventually. It’s kind of like my blank space on the Ardor Tree.” His gaze flickers to me. “Maybe . . . you.”

A shiver runs down my spine. Every one of his phrases is kinder than the last. All summer, it’s been about getting over Murray and getting to Tennessee. Xander was never part of the equation. How do I factor in this new variable? I can’t be at this table because I’m not supposed to be in Penango. Hurting a boy by telling him I was leaving town is how I ended spring. It’s not how I want to end summer.

“What should we do?” I ask.

He lets out a long yawn. “I’m kind of tired. Do you just want to relax?”

I nod enthusiastically. My legs ache from our dance marathon.

“Those chairs aren’t very comfortable,” he continues. “I have the bed. We could probably both fit. Or you could have the bed, and I’ll take the window seat.”