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“Is your mom okay?”
“I can’t talk about my mom right now.” When her frown deepens, I amend, “I want to talk about it—with you—but there’s something else I need to get off my chest.”
Wariness fills her eyes. “What?”
Here goes nothing.
“I’ve scrapped the plans for the resort. I’m reopening Camp Wild Lake.”
Her eyes widen. I rush on.
“I met with Miranda this morning about partnering with the school to reach parents and setting up a scholarship fund for underprivileged kids. It seems impossible right now, but I’d like to have the first camps up and running in August. Billy is coming up tomorrow to strategize and get a plan in place for repairs and retrofitting. I’m hoping for inspections by the third week of July.”
Emotions flow over her face. Shock is predominant. “But—but—” She shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m selling my company.” Now that one of my two big confessions has begun, I can’t stop. “I’m moving back to Sun River. Someone has to watch over Mom. Spending time at Wild Lake did something to me. Rewired my brain, or woke it up. I can’t let it go. I won’t.”
I can’t let you go.
I won’t leave you again.
Celeste jolts to her feet, her gaze pinging wildly around the backyard. I scoot forward on the bench, ready to catch her if she runs.
“Peapod? Say something.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks, her voice raw, shadowed gaze swinging to me.
“I was going to tell you Friday night, but then you spiked my beer with hellfire.”
To my relief, she sits back down. She’s trembling and I don’t know whether it’s from excitement or disgust or disbelief. Whether she’s about to scream or cry or laugh.
I want to hold her so badly.
“There’s one more thing,” I say slowly.
Her laugh is short and dry. “What?”
Please, God, don’t let her run.
“I want to hire you.”
Her head whips toward me. “For what?”
“Arts and Events Director. Hiring manager. Head Counselor. Whatever. All of it, possibly. At least initially. I can’t do this without you, and I think—I hope—this project might mean as much to you as it does to me.”
She blinks a few times, then her expression sharpens. “Full-time?”
One of the knots inside me loosens the tiniest bit, but I don’t allow myself to smile. Not yet.
“Yes. Name your price.”
Her shoulders square. “At least sixty thousand.”
Internally, I holler in victory. Externally, I scoff. “You’re worth more than that. Try again.”
“Seventy?” Her voice is smaller now, uncertain.
I finally allow myself a small smile. “How about ninety-five to start? Salaried with unlimited vacation days. Full benefits. Yearly raises. You’ll be working your ass off. Make no mistake—I have plans. I want Wild Lake on the map. I want parents raving, wait lists every summer. Failure is not an option.”
