Page 18 of Kayak Girl

“That’s cheating!” she protested, but I was already in motion.

“It’s not cheating if my kayak is still afloat,” I countered, reaching her. Despite her efforts to fend me off, I tipped her kayak, sending her tumbling into the water with a delightful squeal. But she was quick to resurface, her eyes sparkling with playful defiance and a dash of feigned anger.

Elle swam toward me and I knew what was coming. Her hands found my shoulders, and with a playful shove, I was submerged. I let myself sink, embracing the cool rush, a silent concession to her moment of triumph.

When I broke the surface again, we were inches apart, so tantalizingly close that our breaths mingled. Instinctively, I reached out to hold her waist, ensuring I wouldn’t accidentally kick her. That was my undoing, though. The moment my hand touched her, my heart took off like a racehorse. A delicate flush painted her cheeks a soft rose. Was she feeling this magnetic pull too? Yet, before words could escape my lips or the moment could evolve into something more, she pushed off, retreating back to the safety of her kayak as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired. Perhaps, in her world, nothing had. Or maybe she was just being wise, while I had momentarily lost all sense of reason.

We righted her kayak together, and I clambered back into mine with a heart still racing from the nearness of her. “Ah, victory is sweet,” I declared, a playful boast that masked the whirlpool of emotions she’d stirred.

Elle climbed back into her kayak and sighed in mock defeat. “Alright, you win. Here’s my number,” she said, and rattled off the digits. “But if you didn’t catch that, it’s your loss.”

“Hey, that’s cheating,” I protested, struggling to recall the numbers.

“Takes one to know one,” she shot back, her laughter echoing across the water as she paddled away.

Frantically, I replayed the sequence of numbers in my head.

We chatted with ease for the rest of the paddle. Elle was a fiery mix of life, beauty, and mystery. I’d be her friend, but Weston had a point—it would be best to limit my exposure to her. I could get burned.

Chapter 13

ELLE

Unknown Number: Hey, I’m trying to contact Elle Knight. My memory’s playing tricks on me, and I can’t recall the last digit of her phone number. So here I am, taking a shot in the dark. If you’re not Elle, just ignore this.

I rolled my eyes, but a rogue smile took over my face, I texted back.

Elle: Gray, how many random strangers have you annoyed this morning with your number guessing game?

Gray: I think you mean to ask… how many strangers have I blessed with a message today?

I couldn’t help but laugh, even as I tossed my phone into my duffle bag. After a quick teeth-brushing session and a thorough application of sunscreen, I joined Jenny to help load all the supplies into the crates that we’d wheel to the beach soon. We’d all walk to the beach together to start the summer camp program in the next ten minutes.

Yet, desperate to know if he’d messaged again, I hustled back to my dorm room and sneaked a peek at my phone.

Gray: You missed a spot.

Elle: Huh?

Gray: On your face. Left side of your forehead is rebelling against your sunscreen regime. Thought you’d appreciate the intel.

Elle: I’m so glad you have my number. Whatever would I do without your commentary on my sunscreen habits.

Gray: I aim to please.

The banter with Gray was an unexpected, yet oddly comforting part of my time in Hilton Head. I couldn’t deny the fuzzy feeling in my stomach every time we engaged with each other. Maybe there was something more to our silly exchanges. But for now, it was just friendly, sarcastic banter—the kind that brought a chuckle to even the most mundane moments.

Lock the door. I should lock the door. The fewer witnesses to my baking blunders, the better. I tiptoed across the campgrounds kitchen, trying to navigate through the mess without causing further chaos. I twisted the key and listened as the old lock clunked into place.

Sighing, I leaned against the door for a moment, allowing a brief wave of relief to wash over me. Brenda, bless her, had entrusted me with baking a mountain of cookies. She’d seemed so tired after the summer camp this morning, that in a burst of what I now realized was overconfidence, I’d offered to help. Baking cookies for all the leaders? How hard could that be? The answer, as I was quickly learning, was incredibly hard.

The afternoon sun streamed through the window, casting a warm glow that only served to highlight the utter chaos I’d created. Flour dusted every surface. I eyed the giant bag of it propped against the cupboard warily. The largest mixing bowl I’d ever seen sat on the counter, half-filled with a questionable mixture. I squinted at it, trying to recall whether I’d added eleven or twelve cups of flour.

As I walked back to my station, I convinced myself I’d measured out twelve cups. Having learned my lesson with the sugar I would pack the flour away before doing anything else.

“Come on, you stubborn thing,” I muttered under my breath, my frustration growing as I grappled with the heavy bag. I was attempting to hoist it back onto its shelf when disaster struck again. My elbow knocked a container of chocolate chips, sending it tumbling to the floor. Like tiny, edible marbles, the chips scattered everywhere, adding to the disaster zone that was once a clean kitchen.

A knock sounded on the door, and I heard Gray’s voice, unmistakable and tinged with amusement. “It sounds like a war zone in there. Need help?”

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