Page 60 of The Ripple Effect

I hang around the badminton court, waiting for a chance to talk to Lyle, but the guests surround him, pelting him with even more compliments as they meander toward the firepit.

I gather up the rackets and tuck the birdie back into the can with its eleven companions, ready for a summer’s worth of fun. It was a good game. I liked watching him get praised far more than I liked any compliment people paid me—and they said some nice things. They’re good people.

He looks back once, the slanting afternoon light sharpening his features into an arrangement so beautiful my chest aches. Clutching half a dozen rackets to my chest, I give him a half smile and an awkward little wave, like I’m hoping the captain of the football team will notice me in the stands.

It feels real when he smiles back, real when my belly flutters like I’m the kind of teenager I never was the first time around—hopeful. Openhanded. Kind.

Well. Damned if I’m not half in love with Lyle McHugh.

Chapter Seventeen

It’s a dim morning in the forest, aspen leaves rattling and twisting in the wind. The horizon’s turned a smooth, uniform battleship gray, the color of weather that’s here to do damage. Every now and then, the warm breeze has a cool bite to it, a lazy little threat that saysPay attention.

We should have been here an hour ago.

Lyle and I unlash the boats at the put-in spot for Slip & Slide. It’s a hundred-meter portage to the water’s edge, down a rocky, uneven trail. I wouldn’t have picked it if I’d known about Sloane’s hip, but Lyle promised the guests this trip after postponing for rescue training yesterday, and we don’t have a reason to back out.

Someone’s already been here—a big group with a tall trailer, given the depth of the tire tracks and the freshly broken branches overhead.

Lyle slings the last canoe down to Brent and Willow. He takes a deep inhale, smelling the wind. Our eyes meet, his full lips pressed together. We both know it’s going to rain hard, and soon. River conditions could change fast. We may have to getoff the water early, which would suck after yesterday’s limited paddling.

Meanwhile, because I’m canoeing with Sloane, Lyle will take over today’s lesson.Mylesson.

For a person who swore not to get emotionally involved with this job, I’m not very chill about someone else getting the glory for my work, even if it’s my future co-owner and the world’s kindest person. It smacks of the hospital, and while I hate that Grey Tusk General seems to still be happening to me, I can’t make it stop.

But this isn’t Lyle’s fault, or Sloane’s, or mine. I can roll with it in the short term.

I climb up on the trailer to secure the ropes so they don’t whip around on the drive back to camp.

“Need a hand?” From the ground, Lyle casually reaches up to check a knot beside my head.

“I’ve got it, you show-off.” I’ve never asked him how tall he is. When guests demand a measurement, he only says, “This tall,” or sometimes, “What would a number change?” At this moment, I wonder if he’s one of those shape-shifting giants of Norse legend, stretching into whatever size the situation demands.

“I like how thorough you are, Stellar. You’re a good partner.” I expected him to give my banter back. Rookie mistake—Lyle only gives sincerity. His serious expression fills me with a warm rush of pleasure to counteract the falling temperature.

It’s a mistake to watch him tug my knots, his movements sure and strong. I’m too exposed after yesterday’s kiss. Too hot with him all up in my personal space. Anyone could see me and know what I’m thinking.

Including Lyle.

“Oh. Um, thank you. You as well.”

“You don’t have to say it back. You can take the complimentstraight up. You deserve it,” he murmurs as I secure the last rope. His breath on my ear sends a shiver tumbling from the nape of my neck to the base of my spine.

I could turn to him and watch the dappled light playing in his hair, smell the tea he sneaked into his water bottle. My arms could drape across the sweet spots between his neck and shoulders. He could lift me off the trailer and slide me down his body until my feet meet the ground, like this is one of the rom-coms Liz makes us watch when it’s her turn to pick the movie.

We could do all those things, and I wouldn’t know what any of it meant, like I didn’t know what it meant when he hugged me at campfire last night, or whispered “Good night” from his sleeping bag without making one damn move on me.

The guests are right there. Any one of them could step around the trailer and get an eyeful of our “engagement” playing out, just like our rules specified. So who is this for?

I want what he gave me a year ago: his attention, his care, touches that felt like gifts with my name on them. I also want rules of my own that say what we do in private is for us,andwhat we do in public is for us, too. No gray area.

“I don’t think we should…” I gesture helplessly, “whisperat each other. It’s distracting, and we should be paying attention to the guests.” I jump down without his help and rub my arms to erase the goose bumps.

His crooked brow angles down. “You good?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” I step away from him. “We’ll talk later.”

A wolf whistle sounds from the trailhead.

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