Chapter Seventeen

seventeen

Hillary

"I'm going home," I tell Cooper. We're in the kitchen, tucked into the corner by the walk-in cooler. Dinner is starting in fifteen minutes, so everyone is too busy to notice or care what we're doing.

Not that it matters anymore.

I choke back a sob and curse myself for listening to my stupid sentimental heart. Nostalgia is about looking back, not literally going back. My dad and Aaron were right. It was crazy for me to come here, to put my entire life on hold and walk away from everything I've worked so hard for. If I'd stayed home or just come for a weeklong session like a normal person, Jessie wouldn't have gotten her hopes up. And I wouldn't have let her down. Again.

"What are you talking about?" Cooper asks, tilting my chin up so I'm looking at him. There's concern in his gray eyes, and I turn away. It hurts too much.

"Jessie wants me to go," I say. "I'll be on one of the buses this Sunday."

"Chef! Where do you want the bacon?"

"Give me a second," Cooper shouts, then turns back to me.

"Fire's ready!" another employee yells, and Cooper hisses out a breath.

"It's okay, go," I say, even though I desperately want him to stay. "I'm not leaving today."

"We'll fix this," he says, giving me a kiss on the forehead before getting back to work.

—

Half an hour later, I'm sitting alone in a shady spot at the edge of the lawn, away from the bustle of activity. It's just me, my feelings, and my plate, loaded with the elevated BBQ fare Cooper and his team made.

If only I hadn't lost my appetite.

Everything looks delicious: a blue-cheese-stuffed turkey burger, champagne-Dijon-mustard potato salad, Chinese coleslaw, and a watermelon-feta salad.

The feta makes me think of Aaron. It's hard to fathom that I was considering—no, planning—a future with him. On paper, he's everything I thought I wanted. Now, I want to crumple up that paper and throw it in the trash. Instead of making my heart grow fonder, this distance has made my head grow clearer. And it's telling me that my heart was never really in it with Aaron at all.

My stomach rumbles, but not from hunger. It feels like an engine revving up, the kick in the butt I need to end things, to make our break permanent. Just because I'm going home doesn't mean I'm going back to him.

I reach for my phone, which is burning a hole in my pocket. I had it on me today so I could take pictures of the flags for the parade. Of course, it's useless out here. I glance longingly in the direction of Jessie's cabin. I haven't seen her since she stormed out of her office. Now I imagine casually walking in as if nothing's happened between us, all, "Hey, boss, mind if I use the Wi-Fi so I can unceremoniously end a second relationship today?"

But even as I laugh at the implausibility, I wonder: does the signal reach outside her cabin walls?

It's worth a shot. I pick up my plate and make my way over, keeping my head down lest anyone try and make small talk. I sneak around the corner to the far side of the cabin. Her bedroom is on the other side of the wall.

Taking out my phone, I suck in a big breath, hoping for a signal. All I need is one bar.

There's nothing.

My heart deflates—until I remember a trick Dot shared the last time I had trouble connecting. I switch airplane mode on, then off, and watch the spinning wheel, holding my breath for good luck. When the tiny single line pops up, I exhale in relief and type out a quick text to Aaron before the signal drops.

Hey. I know we said this break was temporary, but I think it's time we call things quits. Service out here is awful, but we can talk when I'm back home in a few weeks.

He doesn't need to know I'll actually be back in two days.

I hit send and the message pops up in a blue bubble, the word "Delivered" beneath it.

With that over and done with, I slip my phone back in my pocket and look down at my plate. I'm still not hungry, but if I don't eat now, I'll be starving later. I'm about to take a bite of the burger when my phone vibrates in my pocket.

I jump, the once familiar feeling taking me by surprise. I hesitate, considering what his response might be. We were together for two years; Aaron made it clear he was planning to propose. But he also wanted to take the summer off to sleep his way around Chicago.

I could imagine a world where he responds with a passionate plea for a second chance, unwilling to let the boss's daughter go. But I can also picture a response fueled by logic, agreeing it's best for us to part amicably. I take a deep breath and reach for my phone, hoping for the latter.

It's not that. It's better. Or worse?

I laugh, and rub my eyes, making sure I'm seeing this correctly.

His response: a thumbs-up.

Any glimmer of guilt I felt for ending a two-year relationship over text disappears. I switch my phone back to airplane mode and take a bite of my burger. It tastes like freedom.

—

After I finish eating, I rush down to the dock to help Zac and Zoey get the canoes and kayaks lined up for the parade. The work is hard; it's physical, and I understand how Zac stays so buff while eating so much. As an added bonus, staying busy helps keep my mind off of everything with Jessie.

Mostly.

Cooper's been busy, too, getting everything cleaned up both outside and in the kitchen. He doesn't get down to the lake until the parade is about to start, so we don't have time to talk before he climbs into the old wooden canoe we're stationed in.

The two of us bob in the water, watching Jessie, who's standing at the end of the dock. She looks so pulled together with her perfectly plaited braids and crisp uniform. No one would guess she's had her heart broken twice today—once by the Valentines, and once by me.

"Good evening, Camp Chickawah!" she says into her megaphone.

It's dusk, and the sky looks like a palette with spilled paint—pink and blue and orange and yellow.

"It is my honor, as your camp director and the grand marshal of this parade, to say…" She lowers the megaphone and looks out at the campers lined up in their canoes, their paddles resting on their laps.

I try to imagine what she's seeing; if she sees the adults these campers are today, or the children they used to be. Or if she's thinking about all those years when we were the ones sitting in canoes, full of hope and optimism, believing that this camp and our friendship would last forever.

Jessie clears her throat and continues, "Let freedom ring—and the parade begin!"

The campers hoot and holler, their voices echoing off the water. Jessie climbs into her canoe at the front of the line with Zac and Zoey. Someone hits play on an Americana playlist and Springsteen's voice booms out from the wireless speaker.

One by one, the canoes push off, following the path along the shore before going past the swimming platform, almost to the other side of the lake. Cooper and I are in the last one, bringing up the rear and making sure no one strays off course as the sun goes down.

He's doing most of the work, expertly moving the paddle from side to side, sluicing it through the water. Lee Greenwood's "God Bless the USA" starts, and I close my eyes. There's a gentle breeze, and I try to memorize this moment so I'll always remember how good it felt to belong to this place, this tradition.

A loud boom shakes me out of my reverie, and I look up at the explosion of light and color filling the dark sky. Zac has been working all week to put together a "bonza" fireworks show, and one of the guys from Cooper's staff is setting them off from the swimming platform.

I've seen plenty of fireworks before, of course, but there's something mesmerizing about watching them on the lake. Everything happening in the sky is reflected in the water, as if the fireworks are moving in reverse, falling up, toward me. It's like living in a mirrored world, more vivid and alive than the everyday one.

The fireworks come faster and faster: white spidery ones that pop like confetti, sparkles falling like rain; then reds and blues, pinks and greens. The dark sky is alive with color, and even though there's a smile on my face, a salty tear slides down my cheek.

—

After the last firework goes off, gray clouds streak the night sky. They're all that's left, a ghost of the celebration, reluctant to let go. Not unlike me.

Cooper takes his time paddling back to shore. It's just the two of us out on the water now, and I'm grateful he doesn't try to fill the space with words. Between the still of the night and the gentle rocking of the old canoe, any residual tension in my shoulders dissipates. I'm sure the captain of this rusty bucket ship has something to do with it, too.

"Hands and feet inside the vessel," he says, mocking Zac's safety lecture at the start of the canoe parade, Aussie accent and all.

I look up and see we're almost back at the dock. Cooper guides us in for a smooth landing, then hops out and ties a rope around the cleat before helping me up. I keep hold of his hand, even after my feet are safely grounded on the dock.

It's silly, but I love holding his hand, the way it feels to have his fingers laced through mine. Steady and secure. There's so much I like about this man, and I hate that I've held myself back. We haven't even slept together.

"You probably should've picked someone else to have a summer fling with," I tell him.

"No way," he says, pulling me in for a hug. "The point was to have fun—and I definitely had fun. Did you?"

I nod, because I did. But having fun and being fun are two different things.

Aaron's face flashes in my mind, but I push it away. He doesn't deserve more of my mental real estate. Not anymore.

"I broke up with Aaron today," I tell Cooper.

"Oh," he says, his brow furrowing.

"Made the break permanent," I explain.

Cooper nods, and I wish I could reach into his head to see what he's thinking. If it matters to him. It probably doesn't, since this is just a fling. But it matters to me, and I realize that, consciously or unconsciously, I was letting Aaron stop me from being all in with Cooper.

But Aaron's a nonissue now, and it's time I stop listening to my head and start following my heart. Without another thought, I lunge for Cooper, kissing him like there's nothing holding me back. The butterflies in my belly flutter to life as our tongues dance. I have never felt more alive. I press my body flush against his and swivel my hips ever so slightly, desperate for friction. He's already hard, and I have a sudden urge not to let his erection go to waste.

"Let's get out of here," I say.

"What do you have in mind?" he asks, his voice low and rumbly.

Cooper has been so respectful with my boundaries, agreeing to take things slow. But it's time to hit the gas. I look up at him, at his beautiful gray eyes full of desire. For me.

I take a deep breath, lower my voice to a whisper, and, as seductively as I can muster, tell him exactly what I want.

"I want you to fuck me."

Cooper barks out a laugh, and I recoil.

"Forget it," I say, pushing past him.

"No, wait," he says, grabbing my hand and pulling me back. "You just caught me off guard—those are the last words I expected from your prim and proper mouth."

He's got a point. My father taught me from a young age that cursing wasn't ladylike. He wanted his daughter to be a lady, and I wanted to make him happy, so I kept my language clean.

But right now, my thoughts are very not clean.

"Okay, so I don't curse a lot," I admit. "But ‘sex' sounds so…clinical. And ‘making love' is too emotional for a summer fling. The f-word felt more appropriate."

"I follow your logic," Cooper says, wrapping one of my curls around his finger.

"Great," I say. "So, do you want to?"

"Do I want to…"

He's smiling, and I know I'm the only one who is uncomfortable with this conversation. But I'm also the one who started it. So I let out an exaggerated sigh and put it all out there.

"Do you want to fuck me?"

"Fuck yeah, I do," Cooper says. "Let's go."

He takes my hand, and I don't even care that we're breaking a rule by running on the dock. He starts up the path toward the Lodge, but I pull him back.

"Not there," I say. I know how thin the walls are, and I don't want to hold back tonight.

"Got another idea?" he asks, his voice thick with desire and the tiniest hint of impatience.

We spot the ironically named Yacht Club at the same time and make a run for the wooden shanty, where the life jackets, oars, and other water gear are stored.

Inside, the light is on, a single bulb hanging from a wire. It casts long shadows around the room, which in any other circumstances would give me the heebie-jeebies. But I'm too turned on to be scared.

Fully committed to our plan, I rush over to lock the door—and realize that the lock is on the other side; it's intended to keep people out, not in.

"Shit," I mutter.

"It's fine," Cooper murmurs behind me, taking my earlobe in his mouth, sucking gently. A moan bubbles out of my throat, which is all the encouragement he needs. He turns me so my back is against the door and his lips are on mine. His kiss is urgent, hungry. As he makes my mouth his, I go slack in his arms, my hands splayed on his chest. I can feel the rhythm of his heart, and I want to make it go even faster.

Slowly, I move my hands lower until I find the button of his shorts. It comes undone easily, and as they drop to his ankles, I drop down, too. I reach for his boxers, dragging my fingers lightly over the bulge of him.

Cooper bites his lower lip, and I smile up at him as I hook my thumbs inside his waistband. But before I can free him from the fabric prison of his boxers, he pulls me back up to my feet.

"Hold on," he says.

I take a step back, afraid I did something wrong. But he just smiles and says, "We've been following your rules for this fling, but I've got some of my own. And the number one rule is—"

"Honesty," I say, getting restless. "You already told me."

"That's the number two rule," Cooper says. "The number one rule is: ladies first."

Oh. Oh.

Cooper swoops me up and into his arms, cupping my butt with his big, strong hands. I wrap my legs around his waist, heat rushing to my core. He walks us toward the workbench at the far end of the room, moving debris away with one hand while he supports me with the other.

Once a space is clear, he sets me down gently. I glance toward the unlocked door, shocked—and a little impressed—that I'm actually going through with this.

Cooper must read the anxiety on my face, because he says, "You're in control, remember? Nothing happens unless you want it."

"I want it," I say immediately. "I want all of it."

His lips quirk in a tiny, pleased grin. "Well then. I've got you."

For some crazy reason, I believe him. More than that, I trust him.

Cooper steps between my legs and kisses me, more gently than before. This is good; this I know. As his tongue teases mine, his hands slip under the back of my shirt, lifting it up and over my head.

He looks down, admiring me.

"You are so beautiful," he says, moving his lips to my shoulder. He playfully bites down, and I gasp as his fingers unhook the back of my bra. It falls to the table, and he turns his attention to my breasts, taking one nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it while cupping my other breast with his hand. "I've been wanting to do this since that first day. Your towel…"

He switches sides, and I close my eyes, savoring the sensation of his wet mouth and persistent tongue as I run my fingers through the soft waves of his hair. When I'm somewhere between satiated and frustrated, desperate for more, Cooper drops lower, trailing kisses down my belly while his fingers undo my shorts. They come off, followed by my underwear.

"Scootch forward," he says, and I obey. I'll do anything this man asks me to do.

Cooper slides me forward a little more and I grimace, hoping the wood under my bare butt doesn't give me splinters. He hooks one of my legs over his shoulder, then kisses the inside of my thigh. I hum with pleasure as he gets closer to the spot where I want him.

Then he's there. I'm there. On the edge. Cooper works magic with his tongue as he slips a finger inside me. Holy hell.

"Do you like that?" he asks in a husky whisper.

"I like it," I say through a moan. "I like it a lot." My hands fumble, searching for something to hold on to for fear of falling off the workbench. I grasp on to what turns out to be a life jacket, for all the good that does me. I toss it to the side, aware that I'm drowning in pleasure.

Another moan escapes my lips, and Cooper looks up from between my legs, his eyebrows lifting in appreciation of my appreciation.

"Don't stop," I plead. He listens, sliding another finger inside me, working in tandem with his tongue as the tension builds until—fireworks. I don't just see them; I am them. I cry out, a puddle of nonwords, noises, moans. Sounds I've heard while watching porn with Aaron or listening to Zac and Zoey on the other side of the wall; sounds I've never heard coming from my own mouth.

It's more electrifying than anything I've ever felt, but it's still not enough.

"Do you have a condom?" I ask. I have a few of the latex-free ones up in my room, but that feels miles away. Plus, I'm pretty sure my legs have turned to jelly.

He stands, his hair wild and his expression dazed. "A condom? Here in the boat shack?"

"You didn't stash them everywhere around camp in case we might need one?"

"I should have, obviously," he says, adjusting himself. "I've got plenty up in my room—wait here, and I'll—"

"No!" I shout, startling him. "I'm not staying in here alone. It's creepy."

"Then come with me," he says. "We'll be fast."

I hop off the bench and quickly get dressed, stuffing my underwear in the pocket of my shorts. It'll just slow us down later.

I take Cooper's hand and we stumble out into the darkness, both of us breathless and rushing, desperate to finish what we've started.

When we reach the Lodge, I wait outside while Cooper runs in to get what we need—I told him to grab the ones in the top drawer of my dresser. I bounce anxiously on my toes until he returns, the pockets of his shorts bulging. We duck into the trees a few yards away, and he pulls me into his arms and kisses me. I'm clawing at his shirt, lifting it over his head while he pushes my back against a tree and runs his hand up my shirt, unclasping my bra for the second time tonight.

I'm reaching down to undo his shorts when a sound stops me—a group of campers tromping through the woods toward us, singing "Linger" in a three-part harmony I'd admire under any other circumstance.

Alarmed, I look at Cooper.

"Kitchen," he says, grabbing my hand.

And we're off, running down the dark path toward the dining hall, his shorts undone, my bra unclasped inside my tie-dyed Camp Chickawah T-shirt. We burst through the doors—the kitchen is empty and dark, the only light the glowing numbers on the twin industrial ovens. I'm not sure where we're going to do this, but Cooper leads me to the large, movable island with the stainless-steel top and locks the wheels.

"Condom," I exhale.

He pulls half a dozen packages out of his pockets and tosses them on the surface. "I've got one of every kind we bought," he says, looking proud of himself.

"Latex-free?" I say, hopeful.

He flips through the foil packets. "Bingo."

"Hurry," I beg, slipping my shirt over my head. I let my bra fall to the floor as I slip out of my shorts.

"Hop up here," he says, patting the counter, then tugging off his shirt. The stainless steel cools my burning skin, and I watch hungrily as Cooper (finally!) takes off his shorts, removes his boxers, and slides the condom on. He's not as buff as in the photo spread, but I like this even better, broad shoulders and solid chest but soft in all the right places. And hard in the right ones, too. He steps between my open legs and kisses me like we've got all the time in the world.

And maybe we do, but I want him now. I slide forward, desperate to feel his length inside me. The counter is the perfect height, and it feels like it was made for this, made for us. I rest my hand on Cooper's shoulder for balance and wrap one leg around his waist, then the other.

He reaches a hand down, guiding his shaft to where I'm wet and ready. He teases me with the tip, slipping it in and out, going a little deeper each time. I rock my hips toward him, making a noise that's somewhere between a growl and a moan. Cooper laughs, but I don't care. I'm more comfortable in this moment than I've ever been the first time with someone new. Because it's him. It's…

"Wait!"

Cooper startles, pulling back. The movement is so quick, I lose my balance and slip off the counter, thankfully landing on my feet.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks.

"No," I say, embarrassed by my outburst. "It's just…I don't know your first name."

"Oh. Well, it's Ben."

"Ben," I say, testing out the feel of his name. "Or Benjamin?"

"Cooper," he says, stepping back toward me. "Now, you good?"

I nod, and he presses me against the counter, lifting my leg and hooking it around his waist. The time for teasing is over, and he pushes inside, stretching and filling me in the best possible way. He rolls his hips, slowly at first, groaning about how good I feel. I arch toward him, urging him on, matching him thrust for thrust.

When he's as deep as he can go in this position, he lifts me up, setting me on the counter where we started. I lean back, my hands splayed on the cool steel for support. With this new angle, his strokes are longer, reaching new depths, and I cry out as he fucks me as promised. The locked wheels of the counter squeak against the floor, moving us inch by inch across the kitchen.

Cooper's gray eyes, intense in the dark, lock onto mine, and warmth pools in my lower belly. I'm dangerously close to unraveling when he leans down and slips my nipple between his teeth, tugging gently on one, then the other. I let out a guttural moan and pray no one shows up hoping for a midnight snack.

Just the mere thought of a snack makes my stomach sound its alarm, a rumbling growl.

"You hungry?" Cooper asks, a laugh in his voice.

"Only for you," I say, wrapping my legs around his waist and pulling him closer. He leans toward me, and I meet him halfway so we're chest to chest, our skin slick with sweat and our breath coming fast. I reach my hand down between us to apply pressure where I need it, and my body clenches around him as the intensity builds and builds until I finally combust.

I attempt to silence myself by biting down on his shoulder, but he doesn't stop thrusting and I can't stop my cries from coming, rolling with waves of pleasure as we fall apart together.

"Is that what you wanted?" he whispers into my neck.

"And then some," I say, allowing myself to relax into him.

Once we catch our breath, I pull on my underwear and T-shirt, he pulls on his boxers, and we retreat to clean up in our separate bathrooms—me to the girls', him to the boys'—then meet back in the kitchen.

I stop in the doorway, admiring the sight of Cooper's backside, illuminated in the light of the open fridge. "What are you doing?" I ask.

"Feeding you," he says, taking out last night's spaghetti and meatballs. "I'll heat this up—"

"No!" I blurt, then flush. "I mean, can we have it cold?"

"That's right, your weird leftover fetish." He shrugs and sighs. "Fine, but only because I'm still not thinking straight after what we just did."

"If you really want the full experience, we'll forgo the plates and eat right out of the Tupperware."

"You're a heathen, Hillary Goldberg," Cooper says. "But I'm in."

We sit on top of what I'll forever consider "our counter," two forks and the open container between us.

"Isn't it good?" I ask, after taking a big bite and swallowing.

"I'm not about to yuck your yum."

I laugh. "Do you remember what my cabin used to call spaghetti and meatballs when we were teenagers?" He shakes his head. "Noods," I say, pointing to a noodle, "and balls."

"Noods and balls?" he repeats, choking on a laugh.

"Yup. And speaking of balls," I say, glancing down at his package. "Can we do that again for dessert?"

"We can do that anytime, anywhere you want," he says, giving me a sweet kiss. I let out a satisfied sigh, happier than I can ever remember being. We could've been doing this for the last three weeks!

I'm going to do my damndest to make up for the time we lost, getting as much of him as I can until camp is over.

Which, for me, is in two days.

"Hey," Cooper says, turning my face toward his. "What's wrong?"

"I'm just so happy," I tell him. "And so incredibly sad."

He slips an arm around my waist, and I lean into the crook of his neck.

"I'm sad you're leaving, too," he says, kissing the top of my head.

"It's not just that. I'm sad that we're losing Camp Chickawah, that I couldn't save it."

"If I had a million dollars," he says, "I'd buy the property from the Valentines and decree that the land only be used for a camp from now until the end of time."

"More like a hundred million dollars," I say, exaggerating slightly.

"If a hundred former campers each had a million bucks, we could buy it."

I laugh and up the ante. "Or if a million former campers each threw in a hundred bucks."

Cooper sits up straighter. "Hang on—the sale's not final yet, is it?"

I shake my head and twirl cold spaghetti around my fork. "No, but it doesn't matter since I don't have millions of dollars lying around. Do you?"

"No," he says. "But how many adult campers are coming through here this summer?"

I do a quick calculation in my head: about three hundred campers a week for eight weeks…"More than two thousand."

Cooper's eyes light up. "There's this restaurant in Boston," he says. "It's one of the oldest in the city, and the family couldn't afford to keep it running. The community didn't want to let it go, so a bunch of locals invested."

"A co-op." As I speak, I feel that tingle in my belly, the one that comes along with an idea— the idea—that could save a business.

Cooper nods. "Exactly."

"Benjamin Cooper, you are brilliant!" I drop my fork and bring my hands up to either side of his face, kiss his smiling lips, then hop off the counter. "I'm going to find Jessie."

"Can't it wait till morning?"

As much as I'd love to sneak back up to his room at the Lodge and spend the rest of the night wrapped in his arms, rules are rules. No sleepovers. And I can't wait to talk to Jessie.

I have to tell her now.

Cooper must see this written all over my face, because he sighs and stands, putting his feet on the floor. "Hand me my shorts," he says. "We're going to sanitize this counter real quick, and then I'm going with you."