Page 34 of Until Next Summer

Hillary

Sunday afternoon, Dot, Jessie, Zoey, and I are outside the dining hall, waving as the last bus of campers pulls away. I had no idea it was possible to be this exhilarated and exhausted at the same time. And we get to do it all over again tomorrow with a brand-new group.

But first, family dinner.

It was Cooper’s idea to turn our weekly staff meeting into a weekly staff dinner. It’s an opportunity to talk about what went well over the last week and what needs improving for the weeks ahead. Selfishly, I’m excited to have one meal where I know I’ll have a place to sit and people to eat with.

Dot and Jessie are already at a table when I walk into the dining hall, their heads bent together. Looking at them, I feel a pang of jealousy. I should be grateful that my relationship with Jessie has moved from professional to friendly. I know trust isn’t elastic; when it’s broken, it doesn’t just snap back into place. Especially for someone like Jessie, whose childhood was a constant reminder that letting people in gives them the power to let you down.

But I’m nothing if not relentless. And now that she’s opened the door to a conversation, I’m optimistic about savingour friendship. Jessie told me about Mary Valentine’s offer for her to use any profits as bonuses for her staff. There’s no better way to get back in Jessie’s good graces than helping her help them—I have a feeling she’s more worried about the pending unemployment of Dot and Mr. Billy than her own.

“Something smells good,” I say as I approach the table.

Cooper walks out of the kitchen just in time to hear the compliment. His apron is emblazoned with the wordshot stuff, surrounded by little bottles of Tabasco sauce, and he has several platters balanced on each of his arms. He describes each dish as he sets them down: kale Caesar salad, bruschetta with roasted Brussels sprouts and ricotta with a balsamic glaze, and the main dish, freshly made pappardelle with homemade pesto and garlic-roasted prawns. His plating looks more gourmet than family style, and I wish I had my phone to take a picture.

Once everyone has helped themselves—Mr. Billy, Zoey, and Zac having joined us—Jessie pulls a tiny notebook and pen out of her fanny pack.

“To borrow one of Lola’s traditions, I thought we could each share a rose and a thorn from this past week,” she says. “Dot, want to start?”

“Tons of roses,” Dot says. “The biggest was having so much love and light back at the camp. And the thorn…those campers got pretty cranky once their booze ran out.”

Everyone laughs.

“I’ve already called to double the weekly wine order,” Jessie says, looking at me. “Hillary had an idea to have additional bottles on hand to sell.”

“We could also stock the canteen with beer and liquor,” I say, sitting up a little straighter.

“And condoms,” Dot adds, and Jessie scribbles that in her notebook. “Apparently sneaking out of the cabins at night is still en vogue…and since we can’t stop ’em, we might as well make sure they’re protected! I found quite a few wrappers by the lake.”

“Litter!” Mr. Billy grunts, and we all know his thorn.

“I have a lot of other ideas, too,” I say, before we get sidetracked. “If Zac and Zoey are willing, people could pay extra for private sailing lessons.”

“I’m game,” Zac says.

“And maybe Cooper could offer a cooking demonstration.” I see him nodding out of the corner of my eye, which gives me the confidence to continue. “We could have special event mixers, like speed dating for singles. And you could charge a premium for couples to upgrade to a private room if there are any empty cabins that session. I’d be happy to look at your PNL, because it might be worth it to invest in a queen bed, or at least a better mattress for—”

“Let’s get back to the roses and thorns,” Jessie says, sucking the wind out of my sails. “Zoey?”

Zoey gives me a sympathetic smile before turning toward Jessie. “Being back here is such a big rose, and so is sharing it with my love.” She makes eyes at Zac, and I can practically see the electricity zinging between them. “The thorn was all the grown men being such babies about treading water. Zacky?”

“The food is my biggest rose—it’s incredible, mate,” Zac says, looking at Cooper, who seems genuinely touched. Zoey playfully elbows her husband, and he quickly adds, “And of course, spending all day on the water with my wife—that’s worth a dozen roses.”

“Much better,” Zoey says, cuddling into his side.

“And the thorn?” Jessie asks.

Zac scratches his chin. “Three of the canoes are leaking. Nothing I can’t fix with a little sealant, but it’ll take some time.”

“Noted,” Jessie says. “How about you, Coop?”

My stomach tightens. I’m up next. There’s a special place in hell for whoever invented icebreakers. Give me a good pro and con list and I’ll go to town. But as soon as you call them roses and thorns and expect me to be charming or clever, my mind goes blank.

“My rose is having the freedom to create a new menu every night,” Cooper says. “And my thorn…so many dietary restrictions.”

Jessie scribbles in her notebook. “Dot started outreach for the next few weeks, so we can plan ahead.”

“That’ll help,” Cooper says. “But it breaks my heart to serve people bland food.”

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