Page 45 of Until Next Summer

“Hey,” I say, popping my head in the kitchen door. “Need any help?”

He surprises me by saying, “Actually, yeah.”

I step into the kitchen and let go of the door, which bounces back and hits me in the butt, propelling me toward Cooper. He glances over his shoulder at the sound of my “oof” and laughs before turning back to finish whatever he’s doing on the stove.

He’s wearing a lobster-patterned apron today, which I recognize from the photo I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.

I was in Jessie’s office the other morning, googling the ratio for papier-mâché paste, when I did a quick search for the article Cooper mentioned. Sure enough, there was awhole spread, including a full-page picture of him wearing that apron, tied at the waist. And nothing else.

My cheeks flush with the memory of his broad shoulders, the contours of his chest. The way he stood with his hands on his hips, drawing attention to the apron and the question of what was underneath.

What stood out to me most, though, was his expression. The way he looked at the camera—or the person behind it—with a flirty, seductive stare. I wonder if he was sleeping with the photographer.

“Taste this for me?”

I blink. Cooper’s standing in front of me with a spoonful of mashed potatoes. Obediently, I open my mouth, and he holds my gaze as he slides the spoon against my tongue. I close my lips, waiting for him to let go of the spoon, but he doesn’t—his gray eyes drift to my mouth as I swallow. Only then does he withdraw the spoon, and I realize I haven’t even noticed the potatoes.

As soon as I do, I cringe; too salty. Still, I force a smile and say, “Yum!”

Cooper frowns. “I told you how I feel about the truth.”

My smile fades, too; someone really must have hurt him in the past. “Sorry,” I say, swallowing again. “In that case, they’re a little salty.”

His smile returns. “More cream and butter will balance that out.” He hesitates before adding casually, “So, do you want to hang out tonight?”

My heart leaps. “Yes. Definitely yes.”

“Then it’s a date,” Cooper says, grinning as he turns back to the stove.

—

Ten minutes later, we’re all sitting around the table, sharing our roses and thorns. My real rose is obviously what just happened in the kitchen, but I say it’s how excited the campers were to make friendship bracelets. My thorn is all the pranks the campers pulled—one bit of nostalgia I wouldn’t mind leaving in the past.

“Looking ahead at this week,” Jessie says, “we’ve got a lot of thespians coming.”

Zac giggles and Zoey elbows him in the side. “Thespians, not lesbians.”

“Don’t you worry, we’ve got a fair share of those coming, too,” Dot says, giving Zac a wink.

“The script is coming along well, thanks to Luke.” Jessie pauses to give him a smile—he joined us for dinner tonight, this time as an invited guest. “And we should be good for the costumes since we’re making this a modern retelling.”

“But we might need some props,” Luke says. “A wicker basket and a stuffed animal to play Toto. Possibly a few tutus.”

“Coop and I can pick those up when we go to town tomorrow morning,” I offer. “I’m already getting supplies to make the set. We’re going to add some extra sessions in the Arts and Crafts cabin Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday afternoon for anyone who wants to help.”

“I’ll put it on the schedule,” Dot says, jotting down a reminder.

“We’d better get to work if we want the script to be finished before the campers get here,” Jessie says, gathering her things.

Luke nods and takes one last bite before standing up to follow her.

“I think we’re going to get going, too,” Zoey says. “Testing out a new idea we had for a midnight sail.”

“By midnight, she means ten p.m.,” Zac says.

“Who cares what time it is as long as it’s dark?” Zoey says, her eyes glimmering. The waves won’t be the only thing making their boat rock tonight.

Mr. Billy left about fifteen minutes after we all sat down, so it’s just me and Cooper now. And Dot. Who is looking at us both, a wide grin on her face.

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