Page 35 of Until Next Summer

“Their loss,” Zac says, going for seconds on the pasta.

“And you, Hill?” Jessie asks.

“Well,” I say, stalling. My rose had been coming up with so many ideas to help Jessie increase the camp’s profitability, but I’m not going there now. “Everyone’s said my roses—the people, the food, the nostalgia…but if I had to add something, it’s that I—I didn’t expect people to be so excited about arts and crafts. Almost every session has been full. And the thorn…”

I’m not brave enough to admit the truth—how lonely it is being here without the comfort of Jessie’s friendship, the anxiety I feel walking into the bustling dining hall every night and not knowing where to sit.

“I guess the thorn is that I’ll have to restock supplies sooner than expected.”

Jessie jots that down, then says, “There’s a Walmart in town. Cooper, aren’t you going tomorrow? Hill, you should go with him and get what you need.”

Forty-five minutes to town and back in the car with Cooper? I’m so boring, I’ll probably put him to sleep. I’m about to politely decline when he says, “Yeah, you should come. I’m leaving around seven thirty.”

“Okay, sure,” I say, and that’s settled.

“This next group of campers are in their early forties,” Jessie says, closing her notebook, “and our special activity for the week is the scavenger hunt.”

“Wait, boss,” Dot says. “You didn’t share yours.”

Jessie looks wistful, her mouth turning down at the corners. She fiddles with one of her braids, then clears her throat and says, “My rose is you all being here, helping keep the magic of camp alive for one more year. And my thorn…”

Before she can answer, the door to the dining hall opens, and a man walks in. I recognize him as the reclusive writer who booked a cabin for the whole summer—I only saw him briefly one night during training week. He stops abruptly and glares at us, as if we’re the ones intruding.

“We’re having our staff meeting,” Jessie replies, her voice flat.

“We’ve got plenty of food if you’re hungry,” Cooper says, extending the invitation that Jessie didn’t.

The man looks at Jessie, as if waiting for her permission. She sighs, giving the slightest nod, and he takes a seat across from her.

“Has everyone met Luke?” Cooper asks. “Our resident novelist.”

My eyes go wide. I didn’t realize the novelist wasLuke, the hot counselor everyone had a crush on when we were CITs.

Everyone including Jessie.

He’s older now, but he’s got the same smoldering blue eyes and movie-star looks that made him the topic of many late-night conversations in our cabin.

Cooper gets up to grab another plate, but I’m watching the wordless interaction between Jessie and Luke. She’s angled her body away from him, aimlessly flipping through her notebook. Luke’s also avoiding eye contact, looking down at his food, but every so often he sneaks a glance at Jessie.

I wonder if something happened between them this week—or if this is a remnant of the way Luke treated Jessie that summer he was a jerk to her for no reason.

Whatever it is, I’m sure she’ll tell Dot all about it.

—

The next morning, I get to the dining hall five minutes early. Cooper’s already there, leaning against his red SUV, waiting for me.

“Morning,” he says, reaching for the handle of the passenger door at the same time I do. Our fingers brush, and I pull mine back as if the contact stung me.

Way to already make things weird, Hillary.

“Thanks,” I say, buckling my seat belt as he closes the door and walks around to the other side.

“Made you a breakfast sandwich for the road,” he says, handing me a foil-wrapped package that’s warm to the touch.

I salivate in anticipation, unwrapping the egg-and-cheese bagel. I stop just before taking a bite. “Aren’t you eating, too?”

Cooper shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the narrow road winding through the trees just beyond the camp. “I had a kale smoothie earlier,” he says.

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