The kids go dead silent.
“I didn’t come here for this,” I say, low and sharp. “I came to make a difference. To help. And you’re treating this like some joke!”
Jason blinks, then crosses his arms. “You think I don’t care about these kids?”
“You’re not acting like it!” My voice breaks just slightly at the end, and I hate that. Hate how raw I sound.
For a beat, he just stares at me.
“Wow.”
He turns and walks out of the cabin.
The screen door swings shut behind him with a thud.
I stand there, breathing hard, fists tight at my sides.
A bead rolls past my foot.
I don’t see him again until after dinner. I’m sitting on the dock, staring at the water, trying not to cry. The sun’s dipping low, painting the lake in streaks of gold and orange. A few kids are skipping rocks nearby. One of them laughs, and it cuts through the lump in my throat like a knife.
“Hey.”
His voice is quiet this time.
I stiffen but don’t turn.
“Didn’t mean to steamroll your whole schedule,” Jason says.
I still don’t look at him. “Didn’t mean to yell in front of the kids.”
He sits down beside me, legs stretched out, arms on his knees. For once, he’s not smirking. Not pushing. Just there.
“You’re not wrong,” he says after a moment. “They do need structure. You’re good at that.”
I glance over, surprised.
He’s looking at the water, not me. “I’m not used to planning stuff. I mostly... improvise.”
“You don’t say,” I murmur.
That gets the ghost of a smile from him.
“I’m trying,” I say softly. “I know I’m not... exciting like you. But I’m trying.”
He tilts his head, finally meeting my eyes. “Who told you you’re not exciting?”
I snort. “No one has to. I’ve always been the planner. The one who keeps it together. My friends used to call me ‘mom friend.’”
“Sexy.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling a little.
He nudges my knee with his. “You’re more than that.”
I blink. “You don’t even know me.”
“I’ve seen the way you talk to the shy kids. The way you make lists with little hearts next to the supplies. You’re the reason they’ll remember this summer.”