“You were, in fact, the best.” My chest squeezes. “And you were never annoying.”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on. I was definitely annoying. It was the first thing I realized about myself when I started my job at Urgency. I would crack a joke in a meeting, and everyone would stare at me like I was an alien.” She shakes her head as if recalling the memory. “God, that was embarrassing. It must have been all those years working with kids. The addiction of getting them to love me was real.”
I squint at her, realizing that she wholeheartedly means what she said. “Hope, you were the highlight of those kids’ weeks. You brought in the highest compliments of any other counselor here, and”—I contemplate cutting myself off before I say too much but decide to go for it anyway—“you were the brightest part of my days. I meant it when I said you were irreplaceable.”
Her pacing slows, and she blinks back at me, surprise flashing in her eyes while my heart feels like it’s lunging into my throat. How I’m able to find the courage to say all the things I should have said when she was still here is a mystery to me, but it feels good.
Maybe I haven’t completely lost her after all.
Maybe there’s a reason she came back here.
Maybe she’s meant to stay.
I think she might say something, but she blinks again, and just like that, the surprise in her eyes fades, and she quickens her steps. “Well, then it’s a good thing Urgency sent me here to help you with your reopening. Let’s get started, shall we?”
Her business tone is almost cutting, but I realize I wouldn’t think anything of it if it were anyone else, so I follow her lead toward the cafeteria, rushing to get the door for her once we reach the entrance.
While she was settling into her cabin, I was busy setting a table and preparing our meal. Looking over at the clothed table now, embarrassment begins to set in. Maybe the dim lighting, candles, and flowers were a little inappropriate for a business dinner, but it felt right while I was putting it all together.
I pull out her chair and move around the table, immediately reaching for the bottle of wine sitting in a bucket of ice. “Wine?” I offer.
She eyes the pinot grigio hungrily. “I hope you have more where that came from.”
I chuckle and begin to pour her a glass first. “There’s another bottle being chilled now, and I’ll show you my stash later. You can help yourself whenever you want.”
She takes a sip and her eyes close as she hums against the glass like it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted. It’s such an innocent reaction, but it’s enough to awaken the beast inside me that’s longed for this woman who I never believed I could have.
“I just got hit by a reminder of the nights you, me, and Silver would sneak off to the marina late at night and drink on the dock.” Her smile is contagious, and I find my cheeks lifting too.
“And at the campfire and in the barn,” I add.
She laughs. “And at your parents’ cabin since they were never here.” She tilts her head. “Did they ever come home?”
I shake my head, my mood souring some. Seems to happen every time the subject of my family comes up. “They’re still living up in Bellingham on a plot of land my dad bought years ago. I can’t remember the last time they’ve been back. I finally moved out of my old bedroom last year and into the master.”
Hope looks almost as surprised as I am about the whole thing. “But you said this camp was everything to your dad.”
“But not to my mom.”
“What? Silver told me that Miriam loved it here.”
I quickly pour myself a glass of wine and take a long sip. “She loved what she did, being a nurse and helping kids and all, but she didn’t like what this place brought out of my dad over time. Before he retired, the business side of things always stressed him out. He wasn’t great at managing the anger, even after he’d pretty much handed the ropes over to me. He still got too caught up in it all. When my parents first moved to Bellingham, I think they always planned to return. But after we got that big money donation and my dad knew I was handling things, I think it gave him enough peace of mind to finally focus on my mom’s happiness. So, they stayed gone.”
Hope frowns. “Was your dad’s anger the reason your brothers left?”
I shrug, the weight of the topic suddenly folding in on me. “Something like that.” I lift my glass, hoping to change the topic. “To a fresh start.”
She looks a bit taken aback by the subject change, and it takes her a second to lift her glass to mine. When she does, she’s frowning. “To a fresh start.”
An unsettled feeling churns in my gut as we’re sipping to our toast. When I set my glass down, I lock eyes with hers. “I’m not just referring to the campground. I was talking about us. It’s been a long time, but that doesn’t mean it has to be any different than it was when you lived here.”
A light laugh floats from between her lips. “Everything is different now. I’m different. Hell”—she sweeps her arms around—“this entire campsite is different. And you’re probably different too. There’s no use pretending we live in the past.” She straightens her spine and adopts a proud look. “I’ve matured.”
The displeased grunt that escapes my throat was supposed to stay in my head. Her eyes widen on mine. “Sorry.” I chuckle. “It’s just… you have a very low opinion of the woman you were when you lived here. It’s like you’re convinced there was something wrong with you.”
She hitches a brow. “I wouldn’t say that, but this past year has been a whirlwind, to say the least. I’ve traveled more than I have in my entire life. I’m already up for my first raise at the end of the month—my boss is even promising me a promotion if all goes well here—and I live in the city, Anderson.”
I squint, waiting for her to make whatever point she was aiming for. “So?”
“So,” she adds matter-of-factly, “I’ve never lived in a big city before. My apartment is three times the size of my old cabin.”
Anger rumbles in my chest. “You’re basing your success on the size of your living quarters?”
Hope’s body deflates a little, her head tilting to the side. “No, of course not. But three years ago, I never could have imagined moving to Seattle alone and working a nine-to-five job. I’m proud of myself.” Hurt registers in her eyes. “I thought you would be proud of me too.”
Now it’s my turn to deflate. “I am proud of you. It’s everything you ever wanted. I’m eager to see what you’re capable of.” I take another sip of wine, racking my brain for a way to steer the conversation to safer topics, happier memories. She beats me to it.
“Talk to me about Camp Bexley,” Hope says, straightening her posture. “Your project came with very vague details, which is unusual for what I’ve dealt with before at Urgency. Usually, we itemize each step of the timeline down to the hour. I’ll need to take your budget and work backward.”
I reach into the folder I’d set on the bench earlier and hand it to her. “You’re already familiar with the layout of the land, but there are some new structures I can show you tomorrow. A pool, an outdoor gym, a bar—”