“Um…hello?”
Nat startled as a shiver spider-crawled the length of her spine, and panic flooded her system.
She stretched out her arms, waving them this way and that. “Is that you, Otis?”
It was real! It was real! It was real!
Holy cow! Her cousins were right!
She turned left, then right, then caught her booted toe on a hard tree root and pitched forward, falling into the arms of—not a ghost.
“No, I’m…the guy,” the voice in the darkness said as two hands gripped her shoulders.
Even though she was wearing a blindfold, Nat squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to invoke the Kiss Keeper Curse.
“I’m…the girl,” she answered with her hands pressed to his chest.
Whoever her kiss keeper was, he was tall, and while he wasn’t super muscular, he wasn’t scrawny either.
Who could it be? Unfortunately, it wasn’t like she could even guess. Yes, she’d thought about what it would be like to have a boyfriend. But once she’d arrived at camp—the one place in the world that made her feel whole—she’d focused on her art and sketching and had barely glanced at any of the boys. She wasn’t even sure she could name all the girls in her own cabin.
“Are you still wearing your blindfold?” he asked, his thumb brushing past her collarbone and setting off the butterflies in her belly.
She sucked in a sharp breath. “Yeah. Aren’t you?”
“I am. I am,” he shot back quickly with an apprehensive tinge to his words.
Good. At least, he was nervous, too.
“This is weird, right?” she offered.
His thumb stilled, and his grip on her shoulders relaxed a fraction. “It’s really weird.”
If this were her normal life, she’d jump back, out of this stranger’s near embrace. But this wasn’t a stranger. It was her kiss keeper, and oddly, she didn’t want him to let go.
“Have you ever kissed anyone?” she asked.
He swallowed hard. “Have you?”
She smiled into the darkness. “I asked first.”
Her kiss keeper chuckled, and the nervous edge in his voice disappeared.
“No, I’ve never kissed anyone before.”
Relief calmed her frayed nerves. If she were a terrible kisser, at least, he wouldn’t know.
“Should we do it?” she asked, now the one swallowing back her trepidation.
“I think we have to. You know, the legend and all that.”
She nodded. “We don’t want to upset Otis.”
“And my balls,” he blurted.
“Your what?” she threw back, not sure she heard him correctly.
Her kiss keeper shifted his weight. “The guys said that if I didn’t kiss you, my balls would shrivel up into raisins, and for the rest of my life, my voice would sound like I’d sucked in a lungful of helium.”
She pressed her lips together, trying to hold back a laugh, but even her dry mouth couldn’t restrain her reaction.
“That’s not part of the legend,” she said with a giggle, then rested her forehead against his chest. He felt nice. Solid. It was as if the world could shift off its axis, and they’d remain untouched, cocooned in darkness and the Kiss Keeper’s protection.
“It’s not?” he asked, and she could feel his heartbeat slow.
“No.”
“Thank God,” he answered in a relieved breath, then stilled. “But the whole never finding your soul mate stuff, is that true?”
She nodded. “Yeah, that’s the way I’ve always heard it.”
“And I can’t look at you? That’s part of it, too,” he questioned.
“If you see me, the story goes that I’ll be trapped at the bottom of the well—which may be a better alternative to high school—but it would probably suck when it rained.”
“Or snowed,” he added.
“It’s probably best if I remained on the surface of the planet.”
Her kiss keeper chuckled again, and his kind voice smoothed out the last of her frayed nerves.
“You’re funny,” he said as his thumb moved back and forth across her collarbone. An unconscious movement, but she liked it, nonetheless.
Nat steadied herself. “You’re nicer than I’d expected.”
While her gaze was met with a blanket of darkness, thanks to the blindfold, she could sense that he was smiling.
“You are saving me from a life of tiny testicles and talking like a choir soprano. So, I kind of owe you,” he answered with a gentle lilt to his words, confirming his grin as the air grew heavy with anticipation.
A fizzy buzz, ripe with sweet anticipation, replaced the trepidation in her chest. “We couldn’t have that,” she answered, her breaths growing shallow.
This was it. She was about to have her first kiss.
With her hands pressed to his chest, she felt his heartbeat, strong and steady, as the sound of their breathing slowed, and their breaths mingled in the night air.
“Should we do it?” he whispered.
She swallowed. “You mean kiss?”
She could feel him nod.
“Is it okay if I kissed you?”
“I don’t think we have a choice,” she replied.
He brushed his thumb across her collarbone. “Can I tell you something?”
“Sure. Anything,” she answered, the anticipation near palpable.
“I’d want to kiss you even if we didn’t have to,” he said with the smile back in his voice.
She matched his grin with one of her own. “You would?”
“Do I sound like an idiot?”
She gently twisted the fabric of his T-shirt. “No, you don’t sound like an idiot because I think I’d like to kiss you, too—and not because we want to save your balls or avoid a kiss curse.”
He slid his hands from her shoulders up to her face and cupped her cheeks. “This kissing business may be tricky since we can’t see each other.”
She pushed up onto her tiptoes. “Is this better?”
His chest heaved with a tight exhale.
“Yeah,” he answered, leaning in and lowering his head.
His nose brushed against hers as their shallow breaths met in the tiny slice of space that separated their lips. She pushed up farther onto her tippy toes, ready to kiss the kindest boy she’d ever met when the sharp crack of a snapped branch tore through their pre-kiss bubble.
“Is somebody there? You know nobody’s supposed to be out here past lights out!” came a deep, irritated voice.
“Shit,” her kiss keeper whispered, then grabbed her hand, pulling her away from the well and off the trail.
Shit was right! Camp night patrol—counselors who roamed the property in search of kids sneaking out—had gotten wind of them.
He gripped her hand. “We need to go. We need to get back to our cabins.”
She swallowed back her nerves. “But I can’t take off this blindfold. I can’t look at you.”
He drummed his fingers against the back of her hand. “You won’t have to. I’ve got a plan. You’ll keep your blindfold on, but I’ll need to take mine off to get you back to your cabin. We need to be smart. If they find us together, we’re totally screwed.”
He was totally right. What would her grandparents think?
“Okay, I’m good with that,” she answered.
They had no other option.
He gave her hand a little squeeze. “I’m taking my blindfold off.”
A shiver passed through her—or maybe it was the spirit of Otis Wiscasset.
“Okay, let’s go,” he said, lacing his fingers with hers and leading her into the forest before she could worry any more about ghosts and legends.
They wove their way through the thick foliage, past blackberry bushes and spiny jack pines that covered the property. Sightless, she relied on her kiss keeper until another snapped twig caught her attention.
She tugged his hand. “Stop,” she whispered as the sounds of the counselors’ voices drew cl
oser.
“Get down,” he shot back, guiding her to the ground.
She crouched next to him, and their shoulders pressed together.
“They’re close. I can hear them,” she whispered.
“We’ll let them pass, and then we’ll go,” he whispered back as the footsteps drew closer and closer.
“Do you see anyone?” another male voice asked.
“Nah. It could have been a fox or a raccoon. I thought I caught something moving out of the corner of my eye.”
The men stopped on the other side of the blackberry bush, and Natalie held her breath.
“Let’s walk the main loop first, then head past the teen cabins. I’m as tired as fuck and want to get this patrol over.”
Nat relaxed as the men continued on. The teen cabins were on the periphery of the property, while the main loop would take the men back toward the heart of the camp.
They had time to get to their cabins—not much—but enough if they hurried.
Her kiss keeper came to the same realization. After the sound of the patrollers’ steps disappeared, he was back, whispering in her ear.
“I can get you to your cabin. We’ve got a couple of minutes. Are you ready?” he asked, helping her to her feet.
“Okay, just let me know if there are any rocks or tree roots to step over. I don’t want to fall.”
He squeezed her hand. “I won’t let you fall.”
She wished she could see his face—see if what she saw in his eyes matched what she felt in her heart.
He gave her hand another squeeze, then led her through the forest. He was smart to stay off the path, and within what felt like both seconds and days, he came to a stop.
“We’re here. Put out your hand.”
She reached forward with the hand not holding his and felt the scratch of the screened-in windows.
“Thank—” she began, but before she could finish, lips pressed down on hers, silencing her, capturing her.
Her kiss keeper’s lips.
Her first kiss.
She grabbed a handful of his T-shirt, and his hand returned to rest on her shoulder. His thumb brushed over her collarbone in sweet, gentle strokes as she parted her lips and dared to allow her tongue to peek out.
“Wow!” he breathed, sounding caught off guard as his tongue met hers.
French kissing.
She was French kissing the sweetest guy on the planet.
Tidal waves and fireworks collided with a great surge of energy, sending her pulse into overdrive and igniting a strange, delicious stirring deep within her belly. She wanted to be closer to this boy. She wanted to kiss him until the sun came up—maybe longer. Everything seemed possible with his lips pressed to hers until the unmistakable snort of her counselor rang out. Her kiss keeper pulled back, but he stood there as still as the night.
Was he looking at her? Was he grossed out? Did she do it wrong? It didn’t feel wrong!
“That kiss was better than sailing across the lake,” he said as wonder wove its way through his words.
But before she could reply, he released her hand and ran off into the night.
Amped up on hormones, fear, and excitement, she forced herself to count to thirty before pulling off the blindfold and staring out into the inky darkness.
Her kiss keeper had disappeared.
She pressed her fingers to her still-tingling lips and leaned against the side of the cabin.
It happened. It really happened. She’d kissed her…
Nat gasped, and panic shot through her body.
They’d kissed—but not at the well.
Were they cursed?
Did that kiss even count? Had they blown their chance at finding true love? Was her kiss keeper destined to a life singing soprano?
She sighed, then stared up at the starry night sky.
Only time would tell.
1
Natalie—Present Day—Denver
“Maybe you’re cursed, Nat.”
Natalie shot up from where she was organizing a stack of sketchbooks on the floor and knocked over a coffee can, jam-packed with her students’ paintbrushes.
“Why would you say that?” she asked, looking up at her friend, Tera, one of the first-grade teachers at the school where she’d gotten hired on as the temporary art teacher last fall.
Tera ran her fingertips along the rows of pastels—all counted and ready to be stored away until the children returned to school in the fall.
“I thought it was a pain to pack up my classroom at the end of the school year. But Sweet Jesus! Look at all this! This is like the definition of insanity!” she remarked, attempting to pick up a plastic tub teeming with markers.
Nat gathered the loose brushes from the floor. “You do remember that I have to teach every child in the school. From kindergarten to fifth grade, they all get to see my smiling face?”
Tera flipped through a towering mass of drawings. “And God love ya for it, Miss Callahan! I can barely handle my twenty-four.”
“Lucky for you, I love my job,” Nat answered with a chuckle, staring out at the little tables and stools dotting the sun-dappled space.
Tera sauntered over to the other side of the classroom and held up a lump of clay that was either a mug or a sculpture of a bowel movement. With third-grade boys, it honestly could have been either.
“This is art?” she asked with a playful expression.
“Mistakes and imperfections are part of the process,” Natalie answered, tapping the little sign on her desk with her grandma Woolwich’s motto painted in curly lettering.
“Well, we’re not making the mistake of missing out on the staff party. Come on, art teacher! The custodian is making her world-famous lime sherbet and Sprite punch. It’s about to get crazy up in this elementary school.”
Nat held up a finger. “Hold on! Let me put these paintbrushes away first.”
She grabbed the can and surveyed the empty classroom. All the supplies were neatly lined up along the counter that ran the length of the art room. She placed the paintbrushes—the last item to be packed up—into a plastic tub with the rest of the painting materials and lovingly touched the tips of the brushes as thoughts of her grandma Woolwich came to mind.
An accomplished painter and sculptor, her grandmother had fostered her love of art from an early age. She’d spent summer after summer at her grandmother’s side, watching the woman transform a snow-white canvas into a rocky Maine coastline with a few strokes of a brush or take a lump of clay and work it into an intricate vase.
Over those lazy summer days, she’d learned that, in the pursuit of art, beauty could be found everywhere. And no matter how many times she’d observed her grandma Bev at work, witnessing the transformation of a blank slate becoming a vivid masterpiece left her spellbound. And when it was her time to choose an area of study in college, the artists’ path was her only choice.
Natalie placed the lid on the supply bin and sighed. Maybe her luck had changed. After a string of working a slew of temporary positions in Kansas, Utah, Texas, and now Colorado as a long-term elementary art substitute teacher, filling in for instructors on leaves of absence, maybe this school would be the one where she’d get to stay and put down roots. She’d heard whispers that the former art teacher wasn’t going to return after her maternity leave. Unfortunately, nothing had been announced officially.
But it wasn’t just the hope of steady employment in the field she loved that had her smiling a little more brightly than usual.
Her lackluster love life was looking up, too.
“Speaking of other mistakes and imperfections, how’s your Jake? You’re on Jake number two, right?” Tera asked, cutting into her little daydream.
Nat’s cheeks heated. It was the second guy named Jake she’d dated since she’d started working at the school and the sixth Jake she’d gone out with since she’d graduated from college six years ago. But she wasn’t about to cop to that. Jake or Jacob was a common enough name. It couldn’
t be that weird that she’d dated a half dozen of them.
“Jake’s great!” she answered, smiling as she secured the plastic lid.
He did seem pretty great. Jake number six, not that she ever called him or any other Jake by a number, traveled a lot for his work as a pharmaceutical sales rep. But he’d agreed to clear his schedule for an entire week to come with her to Maine for her grandparents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary, being held at Camp Woolwich.
And oh, how she was ready to return to the trails and fresh sea air where she’d spent her summers growing up.
Thanks to her chaotic schedule and a paycheck that barely covered the rent, it had been nearly ten years since she’d last returned to enjoy Maine in the summertime. To earn a little extra cash over the years, she’d taken on some freelance graphic design projects which took up much of her time during the summer and over holidays.
Still, fifty years of marriage was something to be celebrated, and she was thrilled when an airline voucher arrived with her grandparents’ invitation, along with a handwritten note from her grandmother encouraging her to bring a date to the celebration. Everything seemed to be falling into place. At twenty-eight years old, she craved finding a love like the bond shared between her grandparents. The kind of love that maybe, just maybe, she could find with Jake number six—not that she ever called him that.
Tera lifted her large portfolio bag propped against her suitcase.
“You’re bringing art supplies on vacation? The last thing I want to see over my summer break is school supplies,” her friend said, eyeing her closely.
“Teaching art and creating art are two very different things. I haven’t painted or sketched for myself in ages. I was hoping to get back to it when I’m in Maine. I’ve missed it so much.”
Tera unzipped the canvas bag and gasped. “Oh, my! What art project requires these?”
Her friend swung a lacy black G-string around her finger.
“Put that back, Tera!” Nat shrieked. “That’s for Jake!”
“Jake wears lingerie? Wowza! I’d never pegged you as one for the kinky stuff,” Tera answered, pulling out the matching lacy bra.
The Kiss Keeper Page 2
