Page 30 of Who Let The Wolves Out?

God, what was I thinking?

He wasthere.Present. Steady. Letting me fall apart without trying to fix me. And then that kiss under the stars—heat and quiet and safety, all wrapped up in his stupid warm hands."

And I believed him.

That’s what terrifies me most.

I see him at breakfast.

He’s leaning against the coffee machine like he’s in a cologne ad—messy hair, crooked grin, and wearing that ridiculous tank top that saysCamp DILFlike it’s a badge of honor. Someone must’ve given it to him as a joke, but he’s made it his entire personality.

He spots me immediately.

His eyes light up.

And my stomach drops.

I duck my head and beeline toward the juice table like it's a lifeboat.

“Alice!” he calls out.

My hands fumble with the plastic cup. I nearly spill orange juice everywhere.

He strolls over, easy and confident, like we didn’t just cross the line between friends and something terrifyingly real.

“Morning,” he says, voice low and kind like he’s checking the temperature of the air between us.

“Hey,” I mumble.

“You sleep okay?”

“Yeah. Fine.”

He tilts his head. “You sure? You kinda bailed after?—”

“I was tired,” I cut in quickly. “Just needed sleep.”

Jason pauses. His grin falters.

There it is. The first crack.

He’s too perceptive for his own good.

“Right,” he says. “Of course.”

I force a smile. “Thanks for... last night. The show went well.”

He’s quiet for a beat too long. “It wasn’t just about the show.”

I pretend not to hear him. I turn to the nearest camper and ask if they’re ready for their nature hike like it’s the most urgent question in the world.

Jason doesn’t push.

He just backs away, slow, like he’s realized I’ve set up a wall overnight and I’m daring him to climb it.

The hike is long and hot and exactly what I need to keep from unraveling.

I focus on the logistics. Counting kids. Water bottles. Trail markers. The way Lucy insists on picking up every pinecone and whispering secrets to them.

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