Page 57 of Kiss and Tell
It’searlywhenIwake up, and I decide to head for the lodge even though Natalie has also made it clear Lisa has the kitchen fully under control and bringing me in had always been a cover story.
“We wanted you here. It wouldn’t have felt right without you,” she’d explained during our long breakfast yesterday. When I insisted again on waiving my fee, she’d swept aside my objections. “Nope. Sawyer is cutting that check whether you like it or not.”
“Great. Tell him to make it out to the Oak Crest Foundation.” That’s the charity making it possible for underprivileged kids to have a sleepaway camp experience.
“I told him you’d say that. Work it out amongst yourselves.”
I slip into my kitchen kit anyway. I like being in the kitchen, and I like Lisa, so I’ll spend my morning helping out until it’s time to get changed for whatever “arts and crafts” Sawyer has planned this afternoon. That’s all I know to expect.
At three o’clock sharp, he knocks, and I answer to find him in black plaid shorts and a gray T-shirt that looks so soft, my fingers itch to touch it. I’d suffered from that impulse a few times in the canoe too. He has to stop with these soft T-shirts, or…well, he needs to stop.
I fold my hands beneath my armpits and lean against the doorframe, trying to appear super casual in my white cotton shorts and flowy orange tank top. “Crafts are a trap,” I say. I’m notoriously bad at them.
“Does it make you feel better if I picked something neither of us can mess up?”
I straighten. “Yeah, actually.”
“Let’s go.” He turns then stops and turns back around. “If I say we’re doing this at my house again because it’s the only quiet place to work around here, do you promise not to think I’m seducing you?”
I roll my eyes. “You’ve made it clear that’s not the plan.”
“It’s just with the VIP guests checking in today, the rest of these cabins are going to be booked, and there’s not a corner or a closet where you won’t trip over a counselor around camp.”
“It’s okay. I believe you.” I badger him for details on the walk over. “Are we making lanyards?”
“Classic, but no.”
“How about a dream catcher?”
“Nope.”
By the time we step into his clearing I’ve guessed leather stamping, finger crochet, tie-dye underpants, and voodoo dolls. Turns out to be none of those either.
We climb the stairs to his deck, and I burst out laughing. He’s set up a folding table like the ones in the lodge for crafts, but this one is more beat up. A few bins full of string in every color imaginable sit on it.
“Friendship bracelets?”
“Felt like the right move.” He grins at me, and I love that his smile lines are carved deeper now around his mouth.
“Points for theme, but bad news: I can definitely mess these up.”
“We can figure this out.” He leads me to the table and slides onto the bench beside me.
While he opens the bins, I study the tabletop. It’s scuffed and worn with years of old paint and glitter cemented to its surface, bumps of dried glue, stray crayon everywhere. “This is beat enough to be one of our original camp tables.”
“It is, actually.” He sounds like he’s working so hard to be casual. He doesn’t meet my eyes as he pries loose the last bin lid.
“Why hold onto it?”
“Seems like a smart thing to keep in the garage. Never know when you’re going to need an extra table.”
I eye the string colors he selected. “How dare you, sir?”
He holds red, white, and navy blue, his face way too innocent. “What? I thought these were classics that never go out of style?”
Red Sox colors. I snatch them from his hands and throw them off the deck.
“Fine. Those aren’t the colors I wanted anyway.” He picks through the bin again and comes up with teal, yellow, and white. I squint, trying to figure out how he’s trolling me this time. “The colors from your ‘Dinner Reborn’logo.”
