by Lissa Linden
He pulls at an earlobe. Shakes his head.
“Right.” I take a slow breath. Cross the kitchen. Pull him to me and kiss him deep. He holds back. Tries to fight it. But my lips curve into a smile when he can’t. When he groans into my mouth and weaves his fingers through my hair. I push away and back toward the door. “You can tell yourself whatever you want about then, and you can have my body now. Just know that it’s not Amy calling out for more when you’re balls-deep inside me, or I’m coming on your tongue. It’s Leah.”
Chapter Ten
I put Amy’s water glass in the cupboard and slam the door closed. It bangs shut and bounces back open, catching me on the forehead. I press my palm to my head and the high-pitched ring of the phone stabs into the thick cloud of swirling confusion that has turned me into a flailing mess.
“What?” I grunt into the phone.
“Uh, what yourself.”
I sink to the floor. “What’s up, T? Can you not get the van? Please tell me you can still come up.”
“Dude. Of course I’m coming to get you. After lunch like, you know, we literally just confirmed.”
“Right.” I lean my elbow on my knee. “Shit.”
“Seriously, Paul?” There’s a rustling in my ear, then her voice is clearer. “I had you on speakerphone. You can’t say that sort of sh—, uh, stuff in front of Sam. He’s starting to repeat things.”
“I didn’t know.” I drag a hand down my face and hold my eyelids closed.
“Yeah, well, you also didn’t know that Laurie put in a good word for you with his principal. I was supposed to tell you that the boss man wants to meet with you.”
My throat goes dry. This is what I wanted. Leaving camp, going back to city life, teaching at an actual school instead of the school of nature. “Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Sure.”
Some appliance beeps on Tanya’s end. “So…do you want his number?”
“What?” I drop my hand.
“The principal’s phone number. Do you want it?”
“Oh. Yeah. For sure. Hang on.” I haul myself off the floor and to the living room. “Just have to find a pen. And some…”
“Paper?” she prompts.
“Yeah. That.”
“Seriously. Are you okay? We’ve been a little worried since, well, everything with your parents. Then the whole quitting-without-a-plan bombshell was a little, you know, concerning. But you’re straight freaking me out right now.”
I flop onto the couch and roll my eyes toward the ceiling. “Do I talk in my sleep?”
Tanya laughs. “Is that it? Your complete personality flip-flop is because you scared off whatever company you could scrounge up in that hideaway of yours?”
My voice strains. “Just tell me.”
The clatter of metal hitting metal seeps over the line, washed away by a rush of water. “Fine. Yeah. You do. It’s why I always wore earplugs to bed.”
“I thought you wore those because the street noise downtown kept you up.”
“That’s what I told you, sure. It was…” Her voice lowers. “It was a hell of a lot easier to tell you that and drop it than it was to hear you call for another girl in your sleep.”
My stomach clenches. “Jesus Christ. I’m sorry, T.”
“Yeah, well. It should have bothered me a whole lot more than it did. Should have been a giant red flag that I was more concerned about getting sleep than discussing the fact that you were dreaming about someone else, huh?”
“Still.”
“It’s not like it was all the time. I only heard you a couple nights before I started with the earplugs, anyway.” She slurps her drink. “But hey, I actually saw your dream girl last year at Laurie’s cousin’s wedding. She was running the whole show so I didn’t get a chance to say hi, but maybe you should look her up when you’re back in town. She works at that hotel that looks like a castle, right downtown.”
“No she doesn’t,” I say. “Not anymore.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize you two were still in touch.”
“We’re not.” I rub the back of my neck. “We weren’t. It’s, uh, she’s—”
“Holy fucking crap,” Tanya says. “She’s the new fucking camp director, isn’t she? The one who’s amazing. The reason you’ve gone from giddy to a mopey zoo lion in ten fucking minutes.”
“Ucking!” cries a little voice in the background.
“Shit,” she says. “Now you’ve done it.”
“It!” shrieks Sam.
My face breaks into a grin. “Well, ‘it’ isn’t so bad, at least.”
“I can hear you laughing at me, Paul Harding,” she says. “But seriously. Is it Amy?”
“It’s Amy.”
She whistles. “And none of my claim-staking to get between you two. Methinks our earlier confirmation call may have come a few days too early. That maybe you can have that Paul-Bunyan-meets-Prince-Charming life you’ve always wanted, after all.”
“You mean stay here? With her? That’s not an option.”
“Because you’ve already pissed her off that badly?”
“Because there’s never been a couple running this place. Director isn’t really a two-person gig. Plus, I’ve already quit, and it’s not like I could find some other job while living up here. This isn’t exactly a commute-friendly place.”
“I’m sure you could find something to do with yourself. Clean up the house while she works? Learn to darn socks?”
“Lay off it, T.”
“Fine,” she says. “But I don’t know why you’re so concerned about getting a job. It’s not like you need the money.” The line hangs silent. Chuck drops his head onto my lap and I ruffle his ears, picturing the face Tanya always makes when she’s stuck her foot in it. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she says in a soft voice. “But really, I think it would make them happy. You know, you being happy.”
I swallow hard. “Maybe.”
“Just think about it, Paul. Because you’re welcome to crash on our couch until you find a place, but it’s as comfortable as shit.”
“It!”
She sighs. “Mommy has to go wash her mouth out with soap now. Should I just email you the principal’s info?”
“Yeah. Thanks, T.”
“Anytime.” She inhales. “Hey, Paul?”
“Yeah?”
“You deserve it. Being happy, I mean.”
The line goes dead like it’s a done deal. Some kind of foregone conclusion that I don’t suck as a person and am therefore entitled to happiness. Which, for Tanya, I guess it is. Happy is her default state—has been since she met Laurie and we both realized how wrong we were for each other. We got along fine. The sex was fine. We would have been fine staying together. But neither of us was too torn up when she suggested breaking up and my response was “Sounds good.”
If anything, that was the first time we were happy. And I was happy, then. When we stopped pretending that summers spent together and a chance run-in at college meant we were fated to be together. Six months later, I bought Tanya and Laurie a toaster from their registry and made this place my home.
Not that Tanya ever would have lived here, anyway. And I guess I would have asked her to come if we’d still been together, knowing she wasn’t about to teach herself how to fix old socks. She was one of the kids who was shipped here for multiple sessions every summer, like me. She tolerated camp, but she was always more into her tan and free time than she was mapping trees or building shelters. She didn’t love this place enough to call it home.
Not like me.
Or Amy.
Camp would have broken Tanya and me up anyway, so it’s easy for her to tell me to be happy when she stayed in the city and found all the rainbows and sunshine she can handle. But it’s me that’s here now, harboring a gut that’s been replaced with a bowling ball holding twelve years of guilt over the result of some dream that I don’t remember and a single sentence I hadn’t meant.
Not in the way she thinks I did, anyway.
But it’s her name I’ve been speaking since—that has haunted my unconscious thoughts the entirety of my adult life. And now she’s here, and I know the feel of her skin and the taste of her lips. But I’m not happy, and the tremble in her voice that she tried to hide tells me she sure as hell isn’t either—that’s she’s just like that dog on her hip. That there’s someone sweet and loving under the fierce exterior. Someone she hides. Protects. Keeps from getting the care and attention I wanted to give her so many years ago.
That I want to give her now.
I find her on the front porch of the rec hall, her back to me. I cough and kick a pebble.
“Thanks for not sneaking,” she whispers without turning her head. “But shut up. Look. Beside Cabin 7.”
I creep onto the porch, avoiding the squeaky boards, and sit next to her on the bench. We share a smile and relax against the railing, watching the deer nibble at greenery. It’s the kind of scene I talk about when I tell people that living up here year-round isn’t so bad—that I get perks by being here alone that nobody else gets. But today, it’s not the deer that draws my attention. It’s Amy’s small smile. Her wide eyes and her book, discarded without even putting the marker in place. And the doe has nothing on her magic.
The deer has one final nibble before gracefully walking back into the bush.
“I’ve never seen that up here,” she sighs. “She was beautiful.”
“It’s normally too noisy for them when camp’s in session,” I say. “But the calm is one of my favorite things about this place.”
She scoots so her back is leaning on the rec hall wall, her knees bent in front of her. “It’s nice.”
“Yeah. It is.” I peel a strip of paint from the bench and roll it between my fingers. Dammit. I’ll repaint that for her before I go. Hell, I’ll repaint the whole porch for her. The whole hall. I’ll—
“Why did you come up here, Paul?”
I flick the paint from my fingers. “I came because I want to make you a deal.”
She raises her eyebrows. “I thought I was the one making the deals.”
“Well—” I shift so I can face her. “To be fair, you’ve tried to make deals. I rejected one after careful consideration, and you voided the terms of the other.”
She narrows her eyes, but a hint of a smile plays at her lips.
I keep my tone light. “But it’s obvious that you’re a fan of clear lines and hard bargains, so I don’t want to leave you floundering.”
“Mmhmm,” she says.
“So, the deal is this.” I wait until she looks into my eyes. “I don’t want to see Leah again.”
Amy raises her eyebrows. “No deal. I was promised enough sex to get me through a dry summer.”
“And I will give you whatever kind of sex you want, whenever and wherever you want it—but I’ll only give it to you.”
She pulls her knees to her chest. “Leah is me.”
I shake my head. “No, that’s a part of you. A sexy, confident, fucking amazing part of you that uses your body in ways that make me want you like I’ve never wanted anyone. But you’re also the hopeful, adventurous woman who took a gamble with her only life and left the city with no notice. You’re the woman who drops everything to watch a deer have a snack. You’re the blunt force of nature that calls me on my bullshit and puts herself out there and doesn’t get pissed when my dog puts his nose where he has no business being.”
She nibbles her lip, but doesn’t look away.
“So don’t get me wrong. I’d love a repeat of you screaming in absolute fucking ecstasy, but only if you bring your whole self to my bed. Only if it’s Amy wanting Paul, not just your pussy wanting cock. Because I made a mistake when we were kids. I made you think I only wanted your body. And there’s no way in hell I’m making that mistake again.”
Chapter Eleven
I throw my book onto the camp bed. It hits the wall and careens onto the floor, spilling the bookmark onto the linoleum. Not like it matters. It’s not like I’d been processing any of the words I’d been reading as I rehashed the total physical pleasure and stupid emotional pain I’d managed to squeeze into a single afternoon.
Then he has the balls to tell me that he doesn’t want to do it again. That what I can give him isn’t enough? I pick up my book and slip the marker between random pages. My throat clenches when I replay his words. He wants Amy. He wants a chance with the girl he knew. With the woman he thinks I am. But he can’t have her.
Between the first kisses he stole and my sham of an engagement, I lost her. I lost the perky girl who trusted her instincts and believed that happily-ever-after could be hers. With a sigh, I pull my phone from my abandoned purse. The battery is nearly dead, and I wish it was. Thirty new voice mails. In two days. I dial into my voice-mail box and my shoulders climb higher with my former assistant’s singsongy voice. “Hi, Leah. I want to touch base regarding the Miller wedding. Your notes say that—”
I hit delete, but the reprieve is short-lived.
“Leah, how do I—”
Delete.
“I know you’re going out of town, Leah, but if you could just—”
I tap the delete key without conscious thought, and her voice is replaced by my former boss’s. “Hello, Leah. The Miller party is asking that you contact them personally. I have assured them this won’t be a problem—”
A single twitch of my finger sends his voice to oblivion. But he refuses to stay vanquished.
“The Miller bride has informed me that you have yet to reach out to her. I realize you’ve tendered your resignation, Leah, but you have responsibilities—”
His voice cuts off as my phone dies. I toss it into the locker and slam the door shut.
Responsibilities. Duties. Obligations. To the hotel. To the clients and their guests. Contorting myself into whatever they wanted to keep them happy. Losing any semblance of myself as I teetered on the brink of burnout in the perfectly tailored outfits that convinced couples I could handle their dreams.
But no more.
No more giving others their perfect day at the expense of all mine. I lower my shoulders in time with my exhale. Somewhere inside of me is the woman I wanted to be. The woman I thought I could be. Hidden so deep within that most people can’t see she ever existed. But Paul does. He knows. And if there’s anywhere in this world that could bring her back, it’s here.
*
My eyes flutter open and my muscles tense, ears straining to hear in the silence. But there are no birds. No mice. No sounds at all until the rumble of my stomach fills the tiny room.
I sit and rub my eyes in the darkness. My stomach growls again and I swing my legs over the side of the bed, leaning down to dig in my pack and pulling out an oversized hoodie. My muscles protest when I stand. A reminder of how unaccustomed they are to killing the hill and to killer orgasms. Not like they’ll have time to get used to it. Even if I could lock Leah away and bring my soft insides to Paul’s bed, it won’t be his for long.
He’ll leave and it will just be me up here. Cradling my exposed, squishy guts. And I’ll expose any part of me he wants to see, anywhere he wants to see it. But not those. Not when I’ve spent so long convincing myself they’ve turned to dust in my iron shell of control. Not even when my body responds to his in a way it’s never responded to any other combination of bone, muscle, and blood.
The beam from my flashlight reflects off a pair of eyes as my stomach leads me to food, and the critter clatters back into the woods. The close encounter doesn’t slow my gait. I’m drawn toward the light on the front stoop and the warm glow shining through the window. It’s welcoming, this little house that’s going to be mine. I push the door open. “Knock knock.”
“Who’s there?” Paul calls.
“Hungry.” I bend to unlace
my boots and end up with Chuck’s nose in my face. He retreats to bed after a quick scratch under his chin.
“Hungry who?” Paul braces himself on either side of the kitchen doorway. His shirt lifts just above the waistband of his flannel pajama pants, flashing a sliver of treasure trail.
I blink and force my sore legs to hold me upright. To put something else at eye level. “Hungry Amy.”
His tongue skims over his lip. “Hungry for what?”
My eyebrows tick up. Stomach be damned. “What do you have up for grabs?”
His eyes stay glued to the crest on the front of my old hoodie. There’s no way he can see even the outline of my boobs under this, but still. He must be worse off for getting laid than I thought. I smooth the material down. Pin it to my hips under my palms. Pull my shoulders back.
He shakes his head and takes my hand. “Do you have any idea what time it is, Amy?”
I follow the gentle tug as he leads me into the kitchen. “Food time. Clearly.”
His calloused thumb rubs over the heel of my palm before he releases me in front of the fridge. “I’d offer you leftovers, but I just heated some soup for my own dinner. Help yourself to whatever you want.”
I flex my fingers and rub my tingling nerves against the rough denim of my shorts. Prep a sexy comeback about what I’d like to help myself to. But he’s back at the table, in front of his computer. So I open the pantry. Crush a box of cereal in my grip. Accidently slam the fridge closed. “Bowl?” I ask.
He nods toward a cupboard and I pour cereal into the seventies-patterned ceramic. Slice a banana on top. Lean over the counter and dig in.
“So,” he says. “Should I add bananas to the food order?”
“Hmm?” I look over my shoulder.
He nods toward his open laptop. “The food order. I was working on it when your urge for a midnight snack hit.”
I snap my head to the ticking clock and swallow fast. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t realize how late it was.”
He smiles. “When it’s food time, it’s food time. And you definitely needed some after, well…”
