Not ready to return to her camping friends, and wondering how she would ever live down this embarrassing episode, she decided to just walk it off. Hopefully she’d cross paths with Jordan. As she walked, she couldn’t shake the expression in his eyes when Brandon had pulled out that stupid velvet box—it was a cross between confusion and hurt. Dillon knew she’d have to explain this to him . . . and apologize for Brandon’s stupidity.
By the time she’d circled the whole campground, she felt like her breathing had stabilized and her blood pressure returned to normal. In fact, she could almost see the humor of the whole situation. She could almost imagine explaining it to Jordan and having a good laugh over the whole thing. Almost.
The campers had drifted away from the group area and Dillon went to her trailer in the hopes of finding Jordan. But it was only Janelle and the girls, packing up.
“What was that all about?” Janelle asked Dillon after they stepped outside.
Dillon sighed. “That was my delusional ex-boyfriend.” She explained about Brandon and his stubborn persistence. “I really thought I set him straight the last time he was here, but apparently he didn’t believe me. I honestly think he might be a narcissist. It’s like he only thinks of himself and what he wants.”
“Did he really propose?” Janelle asked. “With a ring and everything?”
Dillon nodded. “Unfortunately. I think he honestly thought it would turn my head, that I would forget everything and agree.”
“He does sound a bit narcissistic.”
“Is Jordan in his trailer?” Dillon glanced next door.
“No. I’m not sure where he went. He disappeared while your, uh, suitor was still here. The girls are getting their stuff out of your trailer.”
“You’re not leaving yet, are you?”
“No, we’ll stick around for lunch. And I promised them they could go swimming later on.”
“Oh, good.” Dillon looked down to the nearby beach, noticing a kayak was missing. “I wonder if Jordan is on the lake.”
“Maybe.” Janelle frowned. “I don’t want to worry you, Dillon, but he looked pretty upset when he walked away.”
Dillon nodded. “Well, hopefully I can find him and set him straight. If he gets back before I do, tell him I’m taking out a kayak.”
Before long, Dillon was on the lake, but because of the time of day, there were other boats and canoes and kayaks out as well. Trying to spot Jordan, if he was even out here, might be a challenge. But she was determined.
Finally, she thought she recognized him on the far side of the lake. Paddling full force, as if she thought he might escape her somehow, she got close enough to call out and wave.
As he paddled toward her, she prepared her statement—starting with an apology. But before she got the words out, he was apologizing to her. “I’m sorry I took off like that,” he said. “But I just couldn’t stand it.”
“I’m sorry Brandon did that,” she told him. “The poor guy needs his head examined.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how I could’ve made myself more clear to him last time he was here. But he really thought he could persuade me otherwise today.”
“But he couldn’t?”
“Of course not.” She held up her hands in frustration. “I very bluntly told him that I would never marry him—ever. Hopefully he got it this time. Otherwise he should be locked up.”
Jordan shrugged. “Well, you can’t really blame him.”
“I can and do blame him,” she argued. “I’ve told him again and—”
“No, I mean you can’t blame him for loving you.” Jordan smiled. “I know how he feels.”
She blinked. “You do?”
He nodded, paddling closer to her kayak. “Yes, I do.”
“Really?” She was afraid to get too happy . . . what if she’d heard him wrong?
“I suppose I was aggravated at Brandon because I’d planned to tell you that today. It felt like he’d cut me off at the knees.”
“You’d planned to tell me . . . ?” She studied him closely.
“Yes. I’d decided that since it was your birthday, I would tell you how I really feel about you, Dillon. Then Brandon came along and . . .”
“Well, Brandon is gone now.” She smiled. “And it’s still my birthday.”
“Okay then.” He set his paddle down then reached for her hand. “I love you, Dillon. And it’s about time you knew it.”
She felt so happy that she could hardly contain it. “I love you too, Jordan.”
He pulled her closer, bumping their kayaks together in an awkward attempt to kiss her. Not just a peck either. It was a long, sweet, passionate kiss. But then, feeling dizzy—or perhaps unbalanced—Dillon felt her kayak tilting too far toward his. She grabbed for him as it toppled over, causing his kayak to follow suit. The next thing she knew they were both plunged into the chilly lake. But Jordan simply laughed and kissed her again—soggy but sweet. And she knew they were just a pair of happy campers . . . getting ready for a brand-new adventure.
CHAPTER
1
George Emerson didn’t need anybody. Or so he told himself as he carefully shaved with his straight-edged razor, just like he always did seven days a week at exactly 7:07 each morning. George knew that most men used more modern razors, but this silver implement had been left to him by the grandfather who’d helped raise him. Wiping his razor across a soft terry towel, he stretched his neck to examine his smoothly shaved chin in the foggy mirror. He could see better with his reading glasses, but after so many years of the same routine, George felt certain the job was done right.
As he closed the bathroom window, shutting out the humming “music” of his overly friendly neighbor, George wondered if there was some polite way to avoid Lorna Atwood this morning. She’d been puttering around her yard for the last ten minutes, and George felt certain it was in the hopes of catching him on his way to work.
As he replaced the cap on his Barbasol shave cream and returned his razor to its chipped ceramic mug, a pinging in the kitchen told him that the coffee was done. The automatic-timed coffee maker was one of the few modern perks that George had been talked into a few years ago. But, as with most electronic devices, he still didn’t fully trust the fancy machine. What if it got its wires crossed and decided to make coffee in the middle of the night?
George peeked out the kitchen window as he filled his stainless steel travel cup with steaming coffee, only to see that Lorna was now sitting on her front porch. He slipped two thin slices of whole wheat bread into the toaster, removed a hard-boiled egg from the fridge, and poured himself a small glass of grapefruit juice. This was his standard weekday breakfast. On weekends he’d sometimes fry or poach himself an egg or, if feeling particularly festive, he might stroll over to the Blue Goose Diner and splurge on pancakes and bacon, which he’d leisurely consume while reading the newspaper. Although it had probably been more than a year since he’d indulged in that.
But today was Friday, and by 7:27, George’s breakfast was finished, his dishes washed. With his travel mug refilled and briefcase in hand, he locked his front door, checked to be sure it was secure, then checked again just in case. Lingering for a moment, he pretended to check his watch, glancing left and right to be sure Lorna wasn’t lurking nearby.