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ChapterEighteen
Oliver
“Are you sure you’ve never done this before?”
I shrug. “Not to my recollection.”
I’ve caught four fish, Archer’s caught one, and Jacob has caught three bushes and an empty Coke can.
“How is this possible?” Jake retrieves his line from where it’s caught under a rock near the shore.
“When the bobber dips, you yank up. It’s not rocket science. Children can do it,” I say. The act itself is repetitive and dull. I’d rather be cross-stitching—at least I’d be creating something.
Jacob squints at Archer. “Why did you invite him again?”
The air is fresh and clean, the birds are chirping, and a slight breeze rustles the leaves overhead. Miserable. But also, not really.
After fishing and eating a lunch of sandwiches packed in the cooler Archer brought, we move on to axe throwing. It’s less boring than fishing but is similarly pointless. Although it gets a lot more interesting when Piper and Finley join us.
“Did you have fun fishing?” Finley asks when they meet us in the grove of trees next to the pond. They’ve set up thick wooden planks with bright-pink targets spray-painted in the center.
“Oliver did,” Jacob grumbles.
Piper stops close enough to me that our arms brush. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I take in her smiling face, the flush on her cheeks, and the shine in her eyes.
“Oliver, you’re up.” Archer hands me an axe.
I walk over to where they’ve marked a spot in the dirt. Eyeing the target, I heft the weight of the axe in my hand for a few seconds. Then I toss it. It hits the x in the center of the wooden board.
“You’ve never done this before, either?” Jake’s voice is higher than normal.
I glance at him. “No.”
He kicks at the ground with the toe of his boot, shaking his head. “Un-freaking-believable. There has to be something you suck at.”
I shrug. “Not that I’m aware of.”
Archer chuckles.
We spend the next hour throwing axes at the makeshift targets and chatting. Well, everyone else chats. I mostly listen and observe. Piper is more relaxed than she has been for the past couple of weeks. She keeps glancing at me and makes a point to stand near me and include me in conversations. I’m not quite sure what to make of it.
For some reason, every time Archer throws an axe, he shares a heated glance with Finley, and the longer we spend, the worse it gets. Eventually, they cut the activity short because they insist we have to go back to the house to freshen up before dinner.
I spend an hour in my cabin alone and a half hour talking to Carson—who still sounds like a robot. Then I futz with the terrible Wi-Fi before I finally give up.
Around five, everyone meets up again at the firepit and outdoor kitchen area set in the center of the camp. We sit on benches around the firepit and eat grilled burgers and hot dogs. Somehow, Piper ends up next to me again, her arm brushing mine occasionally as we all eat. I clean my plate, keeping my focus on the flickering flames in the firepit, letting the easy conversation flow around me.
“Who wants to play cornhole?” Archer asks after dinner.
Jacob stands up from his seat across the fire, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Have you ever played, Oliver?”
My brows rise. “Haven’t had the pleasure.”
He twirls a finger in a circle. “Great. Someone else play him first.”
“We should make s’mores too.” Finley looks at Archer.
