She practically spits out her sip of wine. “Did you say a bar? When did that become part of the plan?”
“Remember that old, abandoned building we used to trek to in the woods?”
Hope nods slowly before she focuses on the folder I’ve handed her. “You turned that into a bar?”
I shrug. “A small one. I had to clear out some of that land anyway for the resort cabins. I’m still working on getting the liquor license, but as soon as I do, I’ll be hiring. It’s guaranteed cash flow as long as we can keep the resort side booked up.” I nod to her. “And that’s why you’re here. I need a strong marketing plan that can get this place up and running fairly quickly. Hence the reopening party I’d like you to help me put together.”
She’s still flipping through the folder as she speaks. “That shouldn’t be a problem considering the contact lists we have for all the parents of the kids that have come through here. We can get some strong direct mail campaigns out there, and you won’t have to purchase a single list. But your online game will have to be strong too. We can look at all of that tomorrow. As far as I can tell, you’ve never changed your branding.”
My lips tug up at one corner. “You would be correct.”
“Not even when you changed from Camp Dakota to Camp Bexley?”
I cringe and shake my head. “I wasn’t sure how to smoothly make that transition without confusing our existing clients.”
“No problem,” she says confidently, her eyes still focused on the folder in her hands. “I can help you with that.”
I continue to watch her as she rambles off a checklist of tasks as she peruses the land map. The next thing I know, she’s pulling an iPad from her purse and using a stylus to scribble in it like crazy. She’s lost in her own world, and it’s clear she’s in her element, mapping out the work ahead.
She doesn’t even notice when I get up to retrieve our dinner, until I’m placing steaming hot cast-iron skillets filled with foil hiding some of her favorite foods. She freezes, and her eyes get wide. “That smells like heaven.”
I smile at the compliment and begin to peel open the foil to reveal a variety of combinations. Campfire pizza, Italian flatbread paninis, steak and sweet potato hash, and—my personal favorite—campfire nachos.
Hope has always been a meat-and-potatoes girl, so I kept that in mind while preparing our miniature feast.
Moisture thickens on her lips as she practically salivates over the main course. But then I unveil the skillet cornbread and watch as her body convulses slightly at the sight. I’d never been fortunate enough to pleasure Hope in all the ways I’d imagined over the years, but her reaction now is the way I imagine she would react to my tongue ravishing her delicate places.
I release a breath, lifting myself from my very vivid daydream and settling back in the present. “Welcome to Bexley Diner, where we specialize in camp-inspired combinations, fresh off the skillet.” I wink, certain she’ll be as impressed with the new menu as I am.
“I was not expecting this.” Her eyes meet mine. “You’re managing to surprise the hell out of me today, Bexley. Maybe I’m not as prepared as I thought I was.”
Something about the doubt in her words makes me panic, like I had the night I found out about the possibility that she would be leaving. Back then, I was so terrified at the thought of losing her that I’d made up my mind right then and there to let her go. I’d been through one loss after another with my brothers and parents, and I knew Hope leaving was only a matter of when. The thought of prolonging that agony twisted inside me like the spiniest vines, so I’d made the decision for her.
Now I realize the long, dark days of missing Hope can finally come to an end.
Now that she’s back.
Now that she’s here.
I won’t make that same mistake again.
“You’re more qualified than anyone else. Don’t say that.” I lean forward, wanting her to not only hear me but see me. “I need you, Hope. The changes to this place might be something my brothers and I dreamed up when we were kids, but you were the only one who ever believed in that dream with the same passion I once felt. The fact that you’re here when neither of us expected it is…” I dart around all the words that make the most sense for fear of scaring her away. Fate is the only word that keeps coming to mind.
“Silver.”
“Huh?” I ask, confused at her mention of my sister.
Hope smiles. “Silver is the reason I’m here. Obviously. She knew you needed me, and she knew how to get me here.” She shrugs. “She never thought I’d leave this place, you know. When I did, I think it surprised her more than anyone.”
I swallow, desperately wanting to rewind the last few seconds so I can say what I wanted to say instead of hiding behind my silence.
“But,” she starts again, cutting into the courage I’d been summoning, “when one door closes, another one opens, right? It was all meant to be, even if I didn’t realize it at the time.”
The way she says that so nonchalantly makes me sick inside. “I should have never forced you to go.”
Her eyes snap to mine, and for a second, I wish I’d thought to put some music on the surrounding speakers. My thoughts become far too loud. She needs to know how sorry I am for that night and for all the silence since. Seeing her again has made me realize how much of a coward I was to push her away like that.
“I’m glad you did.” Hope’s smile that follows is easy. Too easy.
Squinting, I toy with her words in my mind. “You’re glad I threatened to fire you if you didn’t take that job?”
There’s a flash in her eyes, something deeper that she’s holding back, and then another smile. “If you hadn’t forced me off the island, I would have never gotten to experience the life I’ve lived for the past year. I should be thanking you.”
I lean back, my appetite suddenly gone. Hope, on the other hand, starts to dig in to the dishes, filling spoonfuls from each skillet onto her plate.
“Funny,” I murmur dryly. “I’ve yet to hear you thank me.”
I’m not sure that she hears me, though, because her gaze has slipped from mine, and she’s scanning the food once again.
A gasp brings my attention back to her pink lips. “Is that blackberry crumble?”
I put the foil lid back on the dish that just piqued her interest. “That’s dessert.”
“It looks and smells incredible.”
“Thanks. I picked the blackberries myself. You used to love going out to the bushes with me.”
“Did I?” She leans back in her chair and stabs a diced potato with her fork. “I don’t remember.”
Another thought comes to mind. An idea. My heart hammers in my throat. “Maybe I can jog your memory tomorrow.” I lean forward. “In fact, why don’t we take the day tomorrow to revisit your old favorites here?”
Maybe, just maybe, Hope needs a little help to jog her memory. I can already picture her eyes lighting up the way they used to the moment she spotted the wild bush growing through one of the perimeter fences. The way she ran and plucked the first berry, only to close her eyes and hum like heaven was bursting inside her mouth. And how she inevitably ended up eating more berries than she picked. My chest squeezes. How could I have ever let her go?