Page 39 of Until Next Summer

Cooper drums his fingers on the steering wheel, as if he’s debating how much to share. After a moment, he says, “A local magazine did a feature on the hottest up-and-coming chefs in Boston, and I was one of them.”

“Ooh,” I say, intrigued. If I had girlfriends, the kind I’d call to dish about our love lives, I could tell them my summer fling was one of the hottest chefs in Boston.

Except I don’t have girlfriends, and Cooper’s not a chef in Boston anymore. Plus, I haven’t made a decision about this potential fling.

“Don’t be too impressed,” he says. “It was more about the restaurant than me. But it came with a lot of attention. Too much attention. Things were great for a while, but then they got messy, and…”

His voice trails off. A somber expression settles on his face—the first time I’ve seen him with something other than a smile or a smirk. I get the sense there’s more to this story, and I’m about to ask what else happened when he clears his throat and shrugs.

“Anyway—I’m here now. And I’m happy to have a break while I figure out what’s next.”

A comfortable silence settles between us then, and he continues to drum his hands on the wheel. The tendons pulsing under his skin remind me of piano strings moving during a classical concerto. My mind drifts to all theincredible things his hands can do in the kitchen, and I wonder if I can loosen up enough to see what they can do in the bedroom, too. If I can be brave enough.

Fun enough.

“There’s more where that came from, right?” Cooper asks, and I startle.

“Sorry,” I tell him. “I was somewhere else.”

Cooper turns, his smile stretching so wide I almost wonder if he knows what I was thinking.

“What’d you say?” I ask.

“I was saying how much I liked those ideas of yours. For the camp. And the way you were talking, I assume there’s more?”

“A lot more,” I admit. “I want to help Jessie, and I think I could, but I don’t think she’s ready for me to be that honest.”

“You should always be honest,” Cooper says, his voice sharp. “The truth may hurt, but the not-truth can end up hurting even more.”

I nod, sensing the pain beneath Cooper’s words.Whose lies hurt him?I wonder.

“I especially liked your idea about the new mattresses,” he says in a gentler tone. He gives me a flirty wink, and just like that, I’m thinking about the fling again. I appreciate that he’s not pushing me to make a decision. But it would be fun. To be the kind of person who had flings.

Just for the summer.

twelve

Jessie

It’s week two, and the main event is the Great Chickawah Scavenger Hunt. Each cabin will work together to follow the clues, and the winner gets a prize—usually an ice cream party. This year, it’ll be a cocktail party with appetizers and drinks created by Cooper. The campers seem excited, but it’s a lot of work for me to set up, since the clues require the use of a compass and a map. We’ll see how many of them remember the orienteering skills Nathaniel taught them all those years ago.

As I walk through camp, I say hi to a group playing kickball on the lawn, then head toward the lake, where another group is lounging on the swim dock.

“Hey, Jessie!” one man shouts, waving.

I smile and wave back. “Hi, Mike! How’s it going?”

“Awesome!”

I try my best to learn every camper’s name on the first day. It’s more difficult with a new group each week, but it’s important that they feel recognized as individuals.

At the north edge of camp, I place the second clue—the first one will be given to each cabin leader tomorrow morning—and use my compass and map to figure out whatdirection to head next. I count off my paces, place the third clue in a hollow stump, and continue. My earbuds are playing theLes Misérablestenth anniversary concert: Colm Wilkinson and Judy Kuhn from the original cast, plus the legendary Lea Salonga and my personal favorite Javert, Philip Quast (don’t even get me started on the travesty of Russell Crowe in the film version).

Then I spot Hillary sitting on the small hill overlooking the camp, scribbling in her notebook. Maybe brainstorming more ideas to make the camp profitable? At first, I was overwhelmed by all the potential changes she suggested. But while she was in town with Cooper, I reminded myself why I’m doing this: for Dot and Mr. Billy. When Hillary returned, I sat her down and said I was ready to listen.

Already this week, we’ve started offering private sailing lessons, custom picnic packages, and a singles mixer. I can’t stop imagining what it’ll be like to surprise Dot and Mr. Billy with an unexpected bonus on the last day.

“Hey, Hillary!” I call, taking out my earbuds and walking toward her.

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