Page 1 of If the Summer Lasted Forever
CHAPTER ONE
I live smack-dabin the middle of Nowhere, Colorado. Most people know it as Gray Jay, the cutest little summer destination this side of the Continental Divide. Our town is literally named after the gray and black bird that steals everything from picnic lunches to dog kibble. Our economy: tourism. Human population: four-hundred.
We have eight billion trees, no shopping malls, no Starbucks, and only two bars of cell phone service (and that’s on a good day).
But what’s the worst thing about Gray Jay? The total and complete lack of dating options. I grew up with every guy close to my age, and all the good ones have been claimed since the third grade. The only time there’s new blood in our town is May through September, peak tourist season—the months in which Gray Jay makes a living. But you don’t want to get involved with those boys—no. They’re summer boys, off limits. They’ll steal your heart and leave you pining for the rest of the year. Trust me—I know.
But some of us Gray Jay girls still like to browse the summer buffet. Specifically, a someone by the name of Paige, my best friend.
“He’s a good kisser,” Paige says, leaning against the counter, smacking her gum like a valley girl from the eighties.
Her hair is dark, nearly black thanks to the Cherokee genes on her mom’s side, and it’s pulled back in a sleek ponytail. I’d kill for her hair.
“Not as good as Bryce but better than Noah,” she continues.
“Mmmhmm,” I say absently, browsing through our online reservations. My mom owns Campfire Cabins and RV. As the name implies, it’s a campground that also rents out cabins. I usually work the front desk during the summer because Uncle Mark runs the property, and Mom’s often in her studio, creating small sculptures she sells at one of the local coffee shops.
It’s a bright and sunny Tuesday afternoon in late May, one of our slowest days for check-ins, and we only have two spots filling up today. The first is Greg and Hallie Hendrick and their Greyhound, Bark. They’ll be staying in Cabin Four, the closest to the creek. Greg likes to fish, so I made sure he could cast a line right from the back porch.
The second is the Tillman family—David, Sarah, and their four children, two dogs, two cats, and aguinea pig. Somehow, they’ve packed themselves into a thirty-six-foot travel trailer.
When I talked to Sarah a week ago, she said they are “full-timers”—people who live in their RV and travel the country, going wherever they please, whenever they please—and they decided to spend the summer here, in Gray Jay. I have no ideawhythey would want to do that,but I booked them a secluded spot close to the playground, one with a little elbow room. I figured with that many kids and animals, they’ll need it.
“Lacey? Are you listening?” Paige asks as I look to see which campers are scheduled to check out, hoping there’s not a cabin opening up.
Dang it—Cabin Three. Patty, the woman who handles our housekeeping, has Tuesdays off, which meansIhave to clean the cabin when the couple leaves so it will be ready for more guests.
“Trev is a good kisser,” I say, eyes on the screen. “Better than Noah. Not as good as Bryce.”
I have no idea who these boys are, except Trev is a new summer boy, and Noah and Bryce are from past years.
Paige sighs like I’ve disappointed her somehow. I look up, meeting her dark brown gaze. Feeling guilty, I turn away from the computer, giving her my full attention. “How long is he here?”
“He was a weekend boy.”
Weekend boysare even worse thansummer boys.
She blows a bright pink bubble, and it snaps with a pop. “But he said his family stays at Upper Ridge several times a summer, so he’ll probably be back.”
Upper Ridge, also known as the bane of our existence, is another private campground. The sites are crammed together, sardine-style, but they’re cheaper. Luckily, we have something they don’t—free showers, weekend bonfires with s’mores, and children’s activities that I usually get stuck hosting. Honestly, we’re both booked all summer, so I don’t know why we can’t get along.
Paige narrows her eyes, studying me. I squirm, not liking the look. Finally, she says, “You need a summer boy.”
“Not again, thank you very much.”
“Come on—they’re fun. You’re just looking at it the wrong way. Thebest partis they leave, and you get to pick another. It’s like renting puppies. All the fun, none of the responsibility.”
I laugh, incredulous, shaking my head. “You don’t even realize how horrible you are.”
She levels me with a stare. “Now listen. Almost no one ends up with one of the first guys they date. What if Mr. Forevercomes along, and you haven’t dated your mandatory three duds before you meet him? Then Mr. Forever will end up with someone else.”
“You know what worries me?” I turn back to the computer, remembering I need to print more campground maps. “I think you’re serious.”
“Iamserious.”
I realize I’m out of paper just before I click the “print” button. Instead of digging a new pack from the file cabinet, I turn back to Paige. “Mandatory three? Did you make that number up?”
“Yes,” she says, not even hesitating.
