Schnitzel eyes me from the end of my bed. His little schnauzer mustache quivers with joy when he sees my sister, but—being the good dog he is—he doesn’t desert me for her.
Ginger pulls my notebook from me and scans the page. “This is an intervention. Get up.”
I glare at Liv, who peeks at me from the door. “You called her.”
Liv bites her lip then looks from our older sister to me. She gives me a small smile. “At least I didn’t tell Mom.”
Mom wouldn’t have dragged me from bed. She would have made me hot chocolate and brought me more tissues.
“I’m not going anywhere.” I pull the comforter over my head. “Go away.”
Ginger yanks at the blankets, but I hold firm.
“Fine,” Ginger says. “Liv, go turn on the shower. You’ll grab her feet, and I’ll take her arms.”
I whip the blankets back. I know from experience the two will actually throw me in the shower—bedding and all. For lovely, lithe creatures, they’re abnormally strong.
At least if Ginger wants me to shower, she’s not going to make me jog this morning. I sit up.
There’s a smug look in Ginger’s eyes as she revels in her win. “You need chocolate and shopping.”
“And maybe we could buy some darts to throw at this?” Liv holds up a picture from my senior prom.
Hudson was handsome in his tux, and I was all aflutter to be at the dance with my college-age boyfriend.
“I’m fine,” I mumble. “Really. I’m just tired.”
Ginger begins reading from my notebook, “My heart is ripped like fabric cut badly. Why did we end, and why so sadly?”
Liv groans. “Oh, Kinsley. That’s just awful.”
Ginger nods, her eyes still scanning the words. “Worse than most of your poetry, and that’s saying something.”
I rip the notebook out of her hands and glare at her. I glance at the hastily scratched words. Of course, they’re right. I’ve never been able to get the hang of poetry.
Studying the words, wondering how to fix them, I say, “I can’t get past the rhyming—”
“Sweetheart, we don’t care.” Ginger doesn’t say it in an “aw, we love you way”, but rather in a “Kinsley, shut up” way. She leans close. “Get in the shower.”
As always, Ginger wins. Two hours later, after they’ve bribed me with a billion-calorie mocha and a blueberry scone, we walk into the largest outdoor supply store in Denver.
“Oh…fancy.” Liv eyes the mounted heads. “Maybe we should redecorate the house.”
I drag my sunglasses off and look around. This place is massive. Dread builds in my stomach. We’re greeted by racks of plaid and discount wool socks. Ginger grabs my arm when I turn back toward the entrance.
“Don’t you think the cabin will already have everything I need?” I argue.
Ginger examines a camo print beach towel lying on a seasonal rack. “No one has stayed in that cabin for over ten years.” She holds the towel out to me, her eyebrow raised. “Think you’ll do some swimming?”
I take it from her and set it back. “Funny.”
Liv browses through life jackets near the display. “What about one of these?” She points to the photograph of a man and woman on what looks like a large pool inflatable being pulled by a boat. “That actually looks fun. I want to try it.”
“Columbine Meadow isn’t large enough,” Ginger says. “And the water will be far too cold that high in the mountains.”
Being three years older than I am, she remembers Grandpa’s cabin better than the rest of us.
“But you could take a weekend trip to Ridgway,” she continues. “It’s lower and warmer. Of course you’d have to find someone to go with.”
My sugar-laden breakfast churns in my stomach. What am I thinking? I can’t spend the summer eight hours away from home.
Ginger scowls at the look on my face. “No, you don’t.”
Liv blocks my path to the exit and says, “This will be good for you.” Getting a dreamy look on her face she adds, “Maybe you’ll meet a handsome lumberjack.”
Ginger turns to Liv. “Really?”
“Are there still lumberjacks?” I ask, not able to help myself. “I mean, does the profession still exist?”
We stare at each other, and then Ginger shrugs. “Well, we get wood somewhere.”
That’s enough of an answer for us all, and we continue through the store.
“Emergency solar phone charger.” Ginger holds it up. “You should get one of these.”
I nod and Ginger tosses it in the cart.
“Citronella candles?” Liv picks one up that claims to be scented with citronella and spruce. “This one smells pretty good. Kinda piney.”
“Why do you need pine scented candles in the middle of the woods?” I ask.
But then I sniff it, and it’s not bad, so I toss it in with the phone charger.
“Is one enough?” Liv looks at Ginger for guidance. “How many should we get?”
“Twenty should be plenty,” Ginger answers.
In the cart they go.
We wander around the store, picking up essentials. After we’ve been here for over an hour, I start to enjoy myself.
“A waterproof notebook!” I gasp. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
Ginger frowns. “That seems a little frivolous.”
Liv nods. “Do you plan on writing while you go for a swim?”
That’s a lovely idea, though probably not very realistic.
“What if it rains?” I argue. “You know the mountains.”
I pick one up but then change my mind and grab two more.
“That’s a good point,” Ginger says. “We should probably find you an umbrella.”
Liv points behind us. “There were rain suits back there.”
I saw them, too. They’re made of a plastic-like material and have horrible elastic around the wrists and ankles.
“An umbrella will be fine,” I say.
We track them down. Next to the display stands a rack of fire starting supplies.
I pick up a package. “What are ‘instant fire starters’?”
Ginger scoffs. “How hard is it to light a fire? Strike a match and stick the flame next to a piece of wood.”
Judging by the amount of supplies they offer, it may be more difficult than that. Since I don’t plan on hosting a bonfire, I hang the package back on the hook.
“Matches are a good idea.” Liv tosses a box in the cart.
The box claims they are “strike anywhere.” That sounds pretty simple; maybe Ginger’s right.
We finally take our treasures to the checkout. A pretty girl in an ugly brown, button-up shirt greets us.
She frowns as we load up the conveyor belt. “Doing some camping?”
“Something like that,” I say.
She scans the last of the citronella candles. “Did you remember bug spray, too?”
Ginger gives her a look. “That’s what the candles are for.”
The girl begins to say something. Then, intimidated by my sister’s lovely confidence—I mean, honestly, who isn’t?—she stops and nods. “Sure.”
I study our items, wondering if I’ve forgotten something. A hammock passes through, followed by a wind chime for the porch. There’s a bird guide, a campfire espresso maker—just in case I put those matches to use, several pairs of hiking capris, and a few button up plaid shirts (so I can “blend in with the natives”, according to Liv). A few other odds and ends round it all out. I think I’m all set.
We’re just walking out of the store when my phone chimes with a text.
“Who is it?” Liv asks.
My heart soars, and then it breaks all over again. “Hudson.”
The two exchange a look and Ginger asks, “What did he say?”
I rub my eye, pretending the sting is just an itch. “His mom got a promotion at work, and the family wants me and Ginger to go out to dinner with them.” I meet my older sister’s eyes. “
He hasn’t told them about us yet, and he doesn’t want to wreck the celebration. He asked if I’ll come and pretend everything is good.”
“Why the audacity of that—”
“It’s all right,” I say, cutting her off and slipping my phone back in my purse. “I just told him I would.”
Ginger tosses her hands in the air and looks heavenward, as if she needs help dealing with a sister as difficult as I am.
“That’s really nice of you, Kinsley.” Liv frowns. “But are you sure you’re up to that?”
Of course I’m not, but deep inside I’m hoping Hudson’s realized he made a mistake. Maybe that’s the real reason he wants me to come tonight? So he can fall on his knees and beg for my forgiveness?
“Yes,” I say in a firm voice. “I will be fine.” I turn to Ginger. “Besides, I don’t want to ruin your evening.”
She shakes her head, looking vexed, barely listening to me.
The three of us stuff my bags in Ginger’s trunk and head home. When we pull into our drive, I’m still dreaming of how I will respond when Hudson grovels at my feet.
Liv and Ginger help me haul my camping finds into the house, and we dump them on the couch to pack up later.
Dad’s home early, and he looks from his laptop to the bags. “What all do you have there?”
“Cabin stuff,” I answer.
Curious, he rifles through the bags. His nose wrinkles when he pulls out a small box. “What’s this?”
“Oh—that’s actually really nifty,” I say. “It’s a campfire espresso maker. See—you put the espresso in that little basket there.”
“You couldn’t buy one of the cheap percolators?” He gives me an odd look. “And why don’t you just make coffee in the kitchen?”
I pause for a moment. I don’t know why—but look at how cute it is.
I’m sure I’ll use it at some point.
I snatch the box out of Dad’s hands and tuck it back in the bag. “I have to get ready to go to dinner with Hudson’s family.”
Dad mumbles an acknowledgment as he continues to sort through things. He looks up. “You didn’t buy anything fun. You’re going away for the summer. I wouldn’t have minded if you had bought some fishing stuff.” He laughs when I grimace. “You used to love fishing.”
I don’t want to hurt his feelings.
“I didn’t want to use your card for anything that wasn’t necessary,” I say. When he holds up a waterproof notebook, I warn, “Don’t start—those are my favorite.”
“Writing instead of fishing—where did I fail you girls?” He shakes his head, smiling. “I should have taken you out more.”
I laugh and turn toward the stairs.
“Kinsley?”
Pausing, I look over my shoulder.
“We tease you, but we know how hard you’re working. You’re gonna sell something soon, baby girl.”
For no reason at all, my vision mists over a little bit. “Thanks, Daddy.
***
“You look gorgeous,” Hudson whispers in my ear.
Since it took over an hour to get ready, I should. I’m wearing a light blue jersey dress, which Ginger swears makes both my boring eyes and hair shine like melted chocolate—her words, not mine. I think she was exaggerating, but she wasn’t wrong about the effect. Hudson’s been very attentive this evening.
I straighten his collar. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”
His close-cut hair is perfectly styled, as always, and he smells lightly of expensive aftershave.
“I think we need to talk after dinner,” he says. “I don’t like the way we left things last night.”
I nod and try to give him what I hope is a vague look. I want him to grovel—and he won’t if he knows I plan on forgiving him.
A hostess leads our party to a large, round table in the corner and conversation shifts to his mother’s promotion. It’s easy to smile and laugh knowing that Hudson and I are getting back together. Every once in a while, Ginger shoots me a concerned look, but I shrug it off.
“So, Kinsley,” Dan says after we’ve finished eating. “Have you heard back from any of your queries?”
My real smile shifts to a fake one as I answer Hudson’s father, “I have several I’m waiting on right now.”
Hudson’s mother dabs her mouth with her napkin. “But you’ve had quite a few rejections, haven’t you, dear?”
Smile.
“That’s just how it goes.”
“Still…” Barb’s one word carries the same meaning as a whole sentence. “Perhaps it’s time to try something else? You know, my firm is hiring a secretary. With your associate’s degree, we could sneak you right on in.”
Big, big smile.
“Gosh, that’s awfully nice of you. I just don’t see myself going in that direction.”
Dan laughs. “That’s a creative spirit for you.” He gives me a knowing nod. “Hard to pin them down.”
I wheeze out a laugh and down a big gulp of ice water.
“What genre is it you write again?”
Hudson has that irritated look he often wears at family functions. “She writes urban fantasy, Dad.”
The look on Dan’s face says, That’s right! Oh, how could I forget?, and he says, “Maybe you can whip me up a crime drama someday.”
“I’ll get right on that, sir.”
It’s sad how sincere I sound. I’ll probably end up doing it.
Dan turns to Ginger. “And you—only two more years of school and you’ll have yourself a master’s degree. Are you excited to start your internship?”
Ginger flashes me a brief, regretful look. “I am. Thank you so much for the opportunity, Mr. Peterson.”
He smiles at her, benevolent. “How many times have I told you to call me Dan?”
Marcus presses a kiss to Ginger’s temple and wraps his arm around her shoulder. It’s sickening how striking they look together—the perfect power couple in the making. I glance at Hudson. He meets my gaze but doesn’t look as proud of me as Marcus is of Ginger.
It’s just another fun family dinner with the Petersons.
After coffee, dinner ends. Dan and Barb say their goodbyes, and then Marcus and Ginger announce they’re catching a late movie. My sister looks like she hates to leave me with Hudson, but I eye her, silently begging her to go.
When they drive off, we’re finally alone.
Hudson shrugs out of his jacket and sets it around my shoulders, shielding me from the cool evening air. “I’m sorry about that.”
I don’t know why he bothers apologizing anymore. It’s always the same.
“It’s not your fault.”
Motioning to the darkened streets, he says, “You want to go somewhere?”
“This is fine.”
In fact, it’s better than fine. Let him beg for forgiveness in the street. I rather like that.
He sets his hands on my arms and runs them up and down. “I did something kind of spontaneous.”
I’m not sure I want to know.
“What?”
He leans close, his cheek next to my ear. “I booked a room at that lodge for the entire summer.”
I step back so I can look him in the eyes. “Did you really?”
“I just want to be with you, Kinsley. As much of you as I can get.”
It’s not exactly an apology, but the words are certainly sweet. I wrap my arms around his neck. “Thank you, Hudson.”
“And I think you should take Mom’s job offer.”
I pull back. “What?”
He slides his arms around my waist and pulls me close. “It’s such a good opportunity, Kins. And you know Mom—she’d set up your hours so you could go back to school, finish up with a bachelor’s or master’s degree.”
“I don’t need a master’s degree to write. I just need to keep doing it.”
“Oh, babe.” Hudson chuckles and nuzzles my neck. “This writing thing—don’t you think it’s more of a hobby? You’re going to turn twenty-one next mont
h. You need a career. And then after a few years—after we’re married and have kids—you can scale back at the office and then write a little more. I know that’ll make you happy.”
I push him away, holding him at arm’s length. “Was that a proposal?”
He flashes a grin. “I just thought I’d lay down my five-year plan for you.”
Narrowing my eyes, I ask, “What about my five-year plan?”
Hudson laughs, thinking I’m being cute. “Oh, Kinsley—honey. You don’t have a five-year plan. You’re just a go-with-the-flow kind of girl.”
Somehow we’ve ended up next to the side of the restaurant. My back’s against the bricks, and he moves in to kiss me. Just like always, I recoil.
But now I know why.
“You’re just like them,” I hiss. “You think I’m flighty. And worse—you don’t actually like me for anything past what feels good.”
His brows knit together. “What are you talking about? I think you’re brilliant. I always have—that’s why it makes me so crazy that you just want to waste it. You’re content to sit at home, locked in your room with your computer, while the world passes you by.”
“The career I pursue is my choice.”
“Writing make-believe worlds, sending queries, and crying over rejection letters is not a career choice. Kinsley, you’re going to live with your parents forever at this rate.” He steps forward. “I doubt you even go to that cabin. That would be something. And you don’t do anything. You’re scared to move forward.”
“You’re right.” I set my palm on his chest and push him back. “I was scared to break up with you. But you know what? I’m not scared anymore.”
I hand his jacket back and leave him under the streetlight.
CHAPTER THREE
It’s one thing to say you’re brave. It’s another to be brave. Right now, as I try to find a parking spot on the uneven street, I think I might have been all talk.
I finally find a place to pull in and take a deep breath before I step out on the very slanted road. I’ve driven all day, and I’m almost to Silverton. The problem is, I’m not sure how to get there from here.
Just the Essentials Page 2
