I frown. “Afraid of what? That I wouldn’t understand why you went to him?”
“That you’d finally realize that your father’s right about me.”
“Except that I know he’s not right about you. He never has been. It’s you who can’t seem to believe it.”
Kyle frowns at his shoes a moment before turning to study me, his gaze flittering over my features. “I’m an idiot, and I should have told you. But, if it’s any consolation, you now know everything there is to know.”
“Until the next time you can’t find the nerve to tell me the whole truth.”
He sighs, and then, nodding once, sets off toward Ashley and Eric, his head bowed.
Kyle gives the canteen door a tug, but it’s locked.
Ashley smiles wistfully at the kitschy signs that still plaster the wall. “Remember how kids used to write secrets on the backs of these?” She reaches for the one that reads, “What Happens at Camp, Stays at Camp” and lifts it off the nail, to flip it over and show me several lines of handwriting on the underside. “Here’s a good one: ‘I kissed a girl and I liked it. Izzy D. 2012.’ ”
My mouth drops. “Izzy? I think she was my camper!” Though six years older in 2012.
Eric makes a sound, beckoning Ashley to him, to read the iPad over his shoulder as he slowly types.
“Check the ‘Go Jump in the Lake’ sign, he says.”
Kyle trots over to the far end, to locate the square blue metal plaque. He unfastens the screw with his fingers and pulls the sign off. And grins, holding it up for us to read.
“Oh my God, ‘Ashley Young has a nice rack’! Who wrote that!” Ashley squeals.
“Who do you think?” Kyle laughs.
“Eric!” Her cheeks flame.
One side of Eric’s mouth lifts in a smile as he types out something else.
She leans over to see what he’s writing. “Check the ‘Happy Campers Live Here’ sign.”
Kyle secures the blue sign again and begins moving away. “We should keep going, if we want to get to the beach before the agent gets here, right?”
Kyle clearly doesn’t want us to see what’s written there, which means I need to see it. I march over to the sign in question and lift it off its hook, flipping it over.
My heart stops. Of all the silly little messages and confessions scrawled on the backside, I recognize Kyle’s handwriting instantly.
I’m going to be madly in love with Piper Calloway for the rest of my life and I only just met her.
I can’t help but meet his steady gaze. He remembers what he wrote on there, all right.
“What does it say?” Ashley asks.
I clear my throat and read another message. “ ‘Eric Vetter touched my boob, Darlene, 2005.’ ”
Ashley rolls her eyes. “You always did have an obsession with that part of the female anatomy.”
Eric laughs, but I feel his gaze shifting between Kyle and me as I hang the sign back on the wall. Clearly, he also remembers what Kyle wrote on there.
“Where to next, the beach?” Ashley asks.
“Yes,” Eric struggles to say.
“Actually . . . I’ll catch up with you guys. I have somewhere I need to go.” Kyle begins backing away.
I know instantly where he’s going. “You are not going there alone.”
“Fine.” He settles those beautiful golden eyes on me. “Come with me, then.”
My heart begins to race. What will it be like to be back there, a place that holds both my best and worst memories?
It’s probably a terrible idea, but all of my worst ideas seem to always be tied to this boy.
I manage a nod.
The walk past the girls’ cabins—the bushes and grass around them overgrown, the exteriors needing paint—and up the dark, wooded path is silent, but not altogether uncomfortable as I quietly reminisce about the many weeks of girls huddling in groups and darting to their next activity, the colorful array of wet towels and bathing suits hanging on the lines. The friendships. I wonder how many of them outlived this place.
We reach the end of Wawa’s property line. “Guess they learned their lesson,” Kyle murmurs, eyeing the multiple “Trespassing Forbidden” signs that are at least three times the size of the old one, and the stretch of fence that’s been erected across the path to cut off access to the cliff.
“How do we do this?”
“This way.” He wanders into the woods on the left, to the edge of the fence. “Careful—there’s poison ivy in here.”
“I think I’ll be okay.” I peer down at my boots and jeans.
Kyle holds out his hand.
Despite my better judgment, I take it, silently reveling in the warmth and strength of his fingers. And when we round the fence through the woods and make it to the overgrown path on the other side, neither of us lets go.
Blood rushes through my ears the moment we push through the branches and step out onto the rocky cliff. Three more large yellow warning signs are posted strategically: “No Jumping,” “Danger: Rocks Below,” and another “Trespassing Forbidden” for good measure.
Kyle cringes as he reads them. “They’ve ruined the view.”
“My memories have ruined the view,” I mutter, eyeing the rocky path down to the alcove below warily, a hint of nausea stirring.
Kyle releases my hand and wanders over to the edge. The lake is quiet, no one on it save for a sailboat in the distance, nothing more than a white speck against the dark blue water. “Not all of your memories, though, right?” he asks quietly.
It’s surreal, seeing him stand there with his back to me again. I’ve seen him in that exact position so many times—first in real life and then in my thoughts. First as the tall, slender seventeen-year-old boy who stole my heart, then as the one who broke it.
And now as the man who still holds my heart, despite everything.
I move to linger beside him and peer down over the water. It’s daunting, even more so now. If I close my eyes, I can still imagine the tomato-red camp counselor T-shirt, still feel the hot sun beating down on me and the mixture of fear and thrill churning in my stomach, still hear my terrified shriek as I plummet through the air.
I can still see the boy I was crazy about from the moment I first saw him, waiting at the bottom for me, taunting me.
“My best memories of my life will always be here, with you,” I admit. But is that where Kyle—where we—belong? In our memories?
“Would you still jump if I asked you to?” His voice is soft. “If I was down there, waiting.”
“Yes. Probably,” I whisper. “Except the climb back up feels like so much more work now, Kyle. And so much more dangerous. It’s the climb back up that I don’t know if I can do again.”
When I open my eyes, I find him staring at me, his gaze filled with a mixture of grief and resignation. “It feels off, being back here, doesn’t it?”
I wrap my arms around my body, suddenly chilled. “It feels . . . sad.” It doesn’t help that the place is shut down, but even if it were buzzing with children’s laughter, it wouldn’t be our Wawa. It’ll never be that again. “We’ll never get those days back.”
“No, we won’t.” He smiles sadly as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out two Fun Dip packs. “For old times’ sake?”
I can’t help but laugh, and an unexpected wave of relief washes over me. “Yeah. Sure.”
I let him take my hand again and he leads me over to the large, flat boulder where we used to sit and talk and kiss for hours. He settles down next to me and hands me the cherry flavor. “Here. You like this one better than I do.”
We tear open the packages and set to work.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you actually eat one of these properly,” I muse, admiring the way he sucks the powder off the stick.
“This hot sixteen-year-old girl taught me how.” He smiles, his eyes drifting down to my mouth, watching with intense interest.
“Remember the first time we kissed? It
was up here and I was eating one of these. You lied and told me you were allergic to cherry.”
“Yeah, for someone who hates lying to you, I sure seem to do it a lot, don’t I?” His gaze wanders out to the lake. “Two truths and a lie?”
“Why not.”
“Okay.” He shifts closer. “I knew I loved you since that day, sitting up here on the rocks, when you made me own up to our bet.” Locking his fingers with mine, he goes on. “I have loved you every day since then.” His golden eyes settle on me, and there’s a slight sheen to them that makes my heart ache. “I still love you, even if you don’t feel the same. Even if you never want to see me again.” He swallows hard. “What’s my lie, Piper?”
I release a shaky breath and manage to whisper, “That’s a trick question,” before pressing my lips against his with the slow, tantalizing ease that I remember of our very first kiss out here on this rock, so many years ago.
A kiss that could never be mistaken for goodbye.
Coming here now—with everything now out in the open—feels like the end of something tragically beautiful.
But it also feels like the beginning of something new. Something strong.
Maybe I’m a fool, maybe this is the point where Kyle and I are supposed to part ways and move on with our lives.
But I’m not ready to give up just yet.
“Promise me no more secrets, Kyle.”
His body heaves with the sigh of a man who has just had a thousand-pound weight lifted from his chest. “I have nothing left to hide.”
My phone chirps with an incoming text. I frown as I dig it out of my pocket. “They actually work out here now?”
Kyle points at the cell tower across the lake. Another mar on the peaceful vista.
“It’s the real estate agent. He’s in the parking lot, wondering where we are.” I sigh. I could sit out here with Kyle all afternoon, reliving our stolen moments. But this place isn’t for us anymore. It’s time we move forward. Together. I slide my hand through his. “I guess we should get back.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” he murmurs, sounding equally reluctant. “But first . . .” He slips his fingers free of mine, kicks off his shoes, and begins peeling off his clothes, an impish grin on his face.
Epilogue
December
“Where did you find this caterer?” Christa asks, inspecting a piece of lettuce from her canapé with a frown. Whatever’s about to come out of her mouth next will not be complimentary.
Ashley doesn’t answer, cracking a bottle of champagne and scampering away to top off flutes, even though there are wait staff in tuxedos to do that. She knows that what Christa is actually annoyed at is the fact that Zelda, Ashley’s psychic, not only showed up to our housewarming party, but she’s perched on the couch—Eric next to her, in his chair—and offering free tarot card readings.
The party that Ashley’s been trying so desperately to plan was delayed by a few months thanks to my chaotic work schedule. At some point, it morphed into a housewarming party slash holiday party slash retirement party for my father slash engagement party for my parents slash baby shower for Lawan, who is seven months pregnant. We now have seventy people milling around in evening wear, unsure of what to toast to first, and a violinist in the corner playing modern ballads.
“Seriously, my restaurant would have done a better job with the food,” Christa mutters, holding a sizeable vegan meatball on a toothpick up as if inspecting it for hair.
“But then you’d have control over what food was being served.” I gave Ashley carte blanche over the planning, though I’m footing the bill.
“Exactly.”
I pluck the stick from her fingers and force the meatball into her mouth before she realizes what’s happening. “Just be happy she finally kicked Chad to the curb for the last time.” As expected, Chad tried to worm his way back into Ashley’s heart. It was all the conversations with Eric, through his slow typing and struggle with words, that reminded Ashley that she deserves so much more than that chump.
Christa moans her agreement.
“Good food, right?”
She glowers at me, her mouth too full to respond immediately.
I take that as my opportunity to escape, leaving her to grumble to someone else.
I pause to take in the view across the room—of my parents standing arm-in-arm, laughing and smiling—and I shake my head in wonder. I don’t remember them being like that at parties when we were growing up, but life looked so different from that angle.
What’s more shocking is that my father is having an actual conversation with Rhett, one where their jaws aren’t tense and their postures aren’t stiff.
Lawan, a petite woman with jet-black hair and large, dark eyes, stands next to my brother in an aqua-blue evening gown that accentuates her swollen belly, quietly watching the peaceful exchange with the same amount of amazement on her face as I feel.
According to my mom, my dad has been unwinding these past months, as he slowly learns to let go of Calloway Group and entrust it to me. That’s not going to happen overnight, of course. “Retirement” to Kieran Calloway really means “semi-retirement,” with a seat at big meetings as well as Monday morning calls to update him on the goings-on—mainly so he can lecture me on what I’m doing wrong.
A burst of deep laughter pulls my gaze to the left, where David and Renée are in deep conversation with Jim and his wife, Renée’s hands gesticulating wildly while telling a story.
David, beaming down at her.
He pulled me aside last week to finally admit they’ve started dating. He was sheepish about it, afraid of my reaction, I’d hazard. David, being David, assumed I hadn’t already picked up on it. But I saw it coming two months before, when his eyes would linger on her, when their closed-door meetings would last longer, when they started strolling into work together. It was one of the worst-kept secrets in CG history.
I’m happy for him, though it means facing the arduous task of shifting assistants around. Jill, Tripp’s old assistant, has swapped desks with Renée, and David is none too happy about that. He’ll adjust.
The person I’ve been most worried about in all of this is Mark, who has managed to keep his head in his job despite dragging his feet around since news broke around the office.
Though I’ve noticed him stealing frequent glances at Ashley tonight. I think I’ll be making that introduction sooner rather than later.
But not right now . . .
I weave through the small crowd, making my way out to the patio, to the lone figure in a suit, leaning over the railing, taking in the city, his broad shoulders hunched slightly. The outdoor furniture has all been tucked away for the winter, but the canopy of lights remains and, with the dusting of snow that falls from the sky, it gives the space a magical feel.
The two glasses of champagne I just guzzled warm my body enough that I don’t immediately feel the bite from the cold air against my bare skin. I chose a sleek black satin dress for tonight. By the glow in Kyle’s eyes every time they touch me, I’d say I chose right.
“What are you doing out here all alone?”
“Enjoying the view.” I hear the smile in his voice, his back still to me.
I sidle up behind him, sliding my arms around his waist. “Who are you hiding from?”
“Lawan.”
I burst out laughing. My sister-in-law is a soft-spoken and kind woman who has likely never uttered a single harsh word about anyone. “What did he say now?” I ask with forced patience. My father wasn’t happy when I told him that Kyle and I had reconciled, but he wasn’t surprised. He’s been relatively tolerant of the relationship, with only a few jibes here and there. It’s almost as if he’s trying to accept the idea of us. That or he’s biting his tongue and waiting for us to fail all on our own.
In any case, I haven’t forgiven him for the past yet.
Kyle slides his hand over mine. “Besides telling me I needed a new suit?”
“Don’t listen to him. You
look good.” I offered to buy him a Tom Ford but he refused, as Kyle refuses all gifts I try to give him. Which is why I’ll be buying him a custom suit for Christmas.
He smirks. “He also told me I should be applying for a supervisory position at Rikell. I took that as his way of saying I’m not a complete idiot, so I bolted before he could say anything else.”
I nestle my chin on his shoulder. “Yeah, I’d say that’s a good start. Though, you know he’s going to keep pushing you until you’re running the whole damn thing, right?”
“That’s not likely to happen.” Kyle shifts in my arms, allowing him to wrap his arms around my back and pull me into his body, into his warmth. “A supervisor isn’t a bad idea, though. I have more than enough years of experience. Maybe I’ll look into it.” Kyle is working front-desk security at a building six blocks away from mine. As much as I loved seeing him throughout the day, it was a good move. It forces me to get home at a reasonable hour every night, so I can spend time with him. If there’s one thing that my parents’ mess has taught me, it’s that I don’t want to repeat my father’s mistake of putting the business before my heart.
“Good idea.” I press my lips against the corner of his, where the tiny lip ring scar remains. “Maybe you can climb the ladder far enough to change the rules about face piercings and get this redone.”
His body shakes with his laughter. And then he’s kissing me, and the cold, the people milling in the background, the music . . . everything simply melts away.
“I see a lake,” a voice calls out.
We break free and turn to find Zelda watching us curiously from ten feet away, her garb—colorful beaded cloth, draped over her body in flowing layers, capped with a brilliant fuchsia overcoat—all the more striking against a snowy backdrop. She’s every stereotype I imagined Ashley’s psychic to be, right down to the wild mane of graying hair, the deep smoker’s voice, the piercing eyes.
“I see a lake,” she repeats, “and sunshine and warmth, and enduring love.”
“You’re telling us about our past.” Kyle’s arms tighten around me. “I’m more interested in knowing about our future.”
Say You Still Love Me Page 39
