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ChapterSeventeen
TESS
Spoiler alert: I don’t sleep like a log.
I blame the setup of the cabins. Besides the four offshoot rooms connected by a bathroom, there’s a small private space with its own door meant for an assistant director or director. The problem is the faux-cabin walls are much thinner than they look. So all night long, I hear the giggling. The whispers. The shushing.
And I totally get it. This is everyone’s first night. They’re all giddy. Frankly, so am I. I’m just trying to ignore the main reason. And the fit of his joggers, if you catch my drift.
Because thinking about Spencer is dangerous territory. He’s not only off-limits because of camp, he’s off-limits because he likes Kayla. I just know she’s the one. His perfect match. And letting myself get giddy overhis joggerswill only hurt me in the end.
So I did my best to act like myself around him. I pretended not to notice him all night. But as I lie in bed now, with my sleeping bag zipped tight, I can’t actually sleep. My brain is teeming with what I may have already risked.
Mrs. Lockhart has caught me red-handed—not to mention pink-cheeked—alone with Spencer multiple times. At least at this point, I’m relatively sure she won’t pull the plug on Sunny Camp. She’s already in love with the idea of impressing the town with “her” program. And everyone in Apple Valley will be flocking to our movie nights and barbecues now. But in the end, it doesn’t matter how many people actually show up.
Mrs. Lockhartwillbe there.
I can promise her all day long I’m not pursuing Spencer. But what if she senses I’m not quite asdisinterestedin Spencer as she’d like me to be? She won’t leave her precious camp vulnerable to what she perceives to be certain implosion. She might insist on replacing Spencer. Or me. Or both of us.
If weget fired, he’ll lose the extra money for his down payment, and I’ll have to go to my family—tail between my legs—with yet another failure on the job front.
No law school. No restaurant. No McCoy Construction. No Spencer. No sleep.
I give up.
Shortly before sunrise, I drag myself out of bed so I can avoid Spencer until he leaves for the library. Yes, my Absolutely Foolproof Plan is to stay away from him as much as possible at all times. For both our sakes. But only for the entire summer.
No big deal.
I throw on a pair of jeans and a camp shirt, wrangle my hair into a ponytail. Deodorant. Sunblock. Chapstick. Brush my teeth. No floss. Grab a sweatshirt.Good enough.
As I tiptoe through the main cabin, a couple of campers lift their fuzzy heads. But I put a finger up for ashhhhh, and they flop back on their pillows. So far so good.
When I peek out the cabin door, I see the coast is completely clear. And just like that, the first step of operation AFP (absolutely foolproof plan) is complete.
Excellent.
Now all I have to do is swing by the kitchen to grab an apple and a muffin for breakfast. I don’t want Mrs. Lockhart to show up and find me with Spencer in the dining hall getting giddy over waffles. On that note, I don’t want Spencer making me giddy over waffles in the first place.
Annnnd now my stomach’s growling. Luckily I’m the only one up at this hour.
I’ve never been at the ranch this early, and the beauty of daybreak takes my breath away. Dewdrops sit—fat and wet—on top of the wildflowers and grasses. Songbirds chirp in the trees. The sky is soft and cloudless. As I tramp down the road toward the dining hall, I suck in the crisp air and give thanks for the morning. But that thankfulness halts like a record scratch when I enter the kitchen.
Spencer.
He’s at the sink with his back to me, in a pair of black joggers—really? Joggers again?—and a gray athletic hoodie. The cart from last night is pulled up beside him, and he’s scrubbing a stack of s’mores sticks.
Just like he said he would.
I freeze and back up slowly, but the guy must have eyes on the back of his head, because he shuts off the faucet and turns, the detachable hose still in his grip.
“Mess. Hey. Isn’t this a little early for you to be up?”
Mess. Right. That’s me. And that’s why Kayla’s the right woman for him.
I shrug. “It’s more like I was up late.” I cross the kitchen. “I didn’t get much sleep after all.”
“Me either.” He leans back against the edge of the sink. Against my better judgment, I come closer. The smell of dish soap hovers in the air. At least it’s nothimand his good-smelling cologne.
