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Sydney didn’t mention it. Then again, we haven’t talked much recently.
“Once.” She glances at the campsite, then back to me. “I didn’t tell her anything about us. I didn’t want to talk about it, and I figured…” Cassia clears her throat and extends one arm. “I can carry my own stuff.”
My grip on her bags doesn’t loosen. “I know.”
Her nod is slow and unsure.
“My tent’s this way.”
I head in that direction without waiting for her, needing a little space to decide how to act around her.
Does not fighting mean not discussing we spent the summer not speaking? Because I’m not sure I can do that. I need some answers from her. At this point, it sounds better than this ongoing state of uncertainty.
Plus, there’s everyone else here. I haven’t said anything about where things stand with Cassia to anyone, but my friends have drawn plenty of conclusions that this trip will contribute to.
I don’t really care what they think. But I’m worried it’ll play into the uncomfortable dynamic between me and Cassia right now.
“Snagged the coveted spot closest to nature,” I tell Cassia when she stops beside me.
“It looks…nice.”
There’s an uncertain lilt to her voice that tells me there are other adjectives that came to mind first. Maybe small.
“It’s assembled right,” I assure her, setting her duffel, backpack, and sleeping bag down in the grass.
Then shove my hands into my pockets so I have something to do with them while watching Cassia pull back the flap and peek inside. It’s a two-person tent, the same one my dad bought years ago for our camping trips. But it’s not roomy. We’ll have a foot of space between us, maybe two at most.
“Need help with anything?” I ask.
Cassia shakes her head as she leans down to sort through her stuff.
“Okay. I’ll be over by the fire pit.” I hike a thumb over one shoulder, pointing to the spot that’s impossible to miss. It’s the very center of the clearing, a stone circle surrounded by logs and a few Adirondack chairs.
“Okay,” she says.
I turn to go, then spin back. Cassia hasn’t moved. She’s staring at the contents of her duffel bag, wearing a blank expression.
“I’m glad you came.”
I hold my breath in anticipation of the moment when our eyes connect. And it doesn’t disappoint, the intensity of her hazel gaze making my lungs constrict in a way that’s almost painful.
She nods.
I nod back.
Then I keep walking.
CHAPTER FIVE
CASSIA
“Hey.”
My crossed arms drop as I turn to watch Brooks run a hand through his shaggy hair. He’s smiling, a grin that’s half-surprised, half-pleased.
“Hey,” I echo, tugging on the hem of my shirt.
The sun is steadily sinking, the air chilling with its disappearance. I discovered my hasty packing didn’t include tossing a sweatshirt into my bag. Continuing to rub my arms will draw unwanted attention to that mistake.
