Page 17 of Summer Camp with the Mountain Man

Did I say bed? I meant getting in his head, because his thoughts are beautiful. As beautiful as that ripped body of his I couldn’t keep my eyes off all afternoon.

I’ve never been struck by a volleyball so many times. I’m actually pretty good, not that any of them would believe it, I was way too distracted and had to pretend it was because of Mr. Suave himself, the irresistible Giovanni Boo Bear.

“You’re missing a hell of a burp-off. Lazy Rick might have won, his poor shirt would probably disagree, that thing’s gonna need to be pre-treated and washed twice. Not sure I fully grasp the rules though because the competition’s still going.”

“Rules is giving them a little too much credit, but that is one I can explain. Chunks are desirable, but if any liquid accompanies those dry crumbles, instant disqualification. Rick never learns, he always drinks with his meal.”

“You’ve never fit in with them, have you?” I ask, folding myself onto the rock beside him. “Where did you come from, Cade Procter? And Heaven, although accurate, is not an acceptable answer.”

“After the divorce, I wanted to stay with Dad in New York. He referred to Mom’s family as neanderthals, which I didn’t understand at the time but it turns out he was right. I was so upset about having to move out there with them that I made myself sick at night. Didn’t make him change his mind though, he wasn’t about to fight for custody.”

“Your real family was that one, out there?” I say nodding at the island, where for the first time in years, the cabin has lights on.

“I didn’t really fit in there either, a bunch of pretentious snobs, but at least they didn’t spit out gross food on their plate, ya know, like vegetables, and leave it there throughout the meal. They were civilized, educated. They actually used books for their intended purpose, instead of door stops or bug squishers.”

“Are you telling me your cousins don’t keep up with the New York Time’s bestsellers and discuss them in weekly book club while sipping chardonnay? Because I’m not sure I could believe that. Hey, there’s a rowboat over there. You wanna go?”

“You’re too good to be true, Raynedancer Bouchard.” The sigh that follows fills my heart with so much hope I could float away at any second. “Yesterday I would have said yes, but, I don’t need to anymore. For a long time it felt like something was missing, I thought I’d find it out there.”

“You still might.”

“I don’t need to anymore. I found it right here,” he says softly, taking my hands in his. “It turns out I wasn’t looking for family, I was looking for someone who appreciates me.”

“Oooh, oooh, me, I do. I appreciate the shit out of you. Not literally, that sounds like a whole different kind of contest your family might compete in. The crazy thing is, I’d jump right in, bum blazing, like guns blazing only with my butt instead, if it means getting to be around you.”

“So if I accept a few more jobs here on the lake, you wouldn’t mind if I asked you out at some point.”

“Sure, you could ask me to dinner or a movie or for my hand in marriage, all good, but you might want to ask sooner than later, I am engaged after all,” I sing, flaunting my ring like a proud bride to be. “My fiancé won’t like me dating other men. Even sexy successful ones who give me heart palpitations every time they look at me. Kinda like you’re doing right now.”

“Sorry for the palpitations,” he whispers, his deep voice causing ripples on the still lake. “But I can’t look away, I’m not strong enough.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind the irregular rhythm, my heart likes jazz. I’m more into Norwegian death metal and Bay Area gangsta rap personally but my heart enjoys it.”

The sound of his soft chuckle makes my eyes close involuntarily. He doesn’t roll his eyes at my jokes or alleged zany behavior. He doesn’t tell me to act like a normal human being. He doesn’t tell me I’m being too serious when I’m not saying something the normal human beings don’t typically say. A girl could really get used to this.

“I don’t really listen to that kind of music. Well, maybe a little but it’s mostly girls who sing about their feelings while strumming a guitar. I didn’t want you to get excited in case you’re into Myrkskog or The Luniz, yadadamean. But I can talk Olivia Rodrigo all day.”

“How are you so awesome?” he asks through a laugh, shaking his head since I rolled my Rs in yadadamean. “You’re sure there’s no real fiancé back in Connecticut? Because I can’t believe every man in that state let you slip through his fingers.”

“I can be quite slippery when I want. And guys can be pretty cruel when you’re a chubby redhead with skin that either matches your teeth or looks like it’s covered in brown bug bites. And some people actually think I’m weird, I know, shocking.”

“I love your skin,” he whispers, planting a kiss on the back of my hand that might impregnate a lesser woman.

Me, I play it cool by nearly fainting when his lips meet my skin. I’m sure the small whimper only adds to my debonaire.

“I love your red hair too.”

When he runs his fingers through my fiery mane, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a little faint. His touch has my heart skipping beats like someone scratched the jazz disc it’s been listening to.

“Your body is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

The backs of his fingers slide down my arm with the tenderness of a ghost grazing my skin when the veil between worlds is at its weakest. And it’s got my knees at their weakest. Thank the heavens I’m already sitting or I’d be swimming beside Springy right now.

“And you’re not weird, Rayne. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman. I’m not completely convinced I didn’t bump my head on the jobsite a few days ago and this is all a fantasy.”

“I promise you, it’s not. If it was, I’d be engaged to a different Procter cousin.”

“Yeah, I saw the way you were looking at Lazy Rick.”