Wildfire (Maple Hills 2)

TWO SUMMERS AWAY HAD MADE me forget how much I truly love Honey Acres.

After we completed our week of training with minimal further incident or embarrassment, our campers arrived a few days ago, full of excitement and trepidation, but mainly sugar, and I feel like my feet haven’t touched the ground since.

I’ve traveled to so many different places with Formula 1, experienced some of the best the world has to offer, and this dot on a map in the middle of nowhere in California is my favorite place on earth.

It makes me feel so content, watching the people I’ve gotten to know become comfort counselors for kids, some of whom are away from home for the first time. It’s only been a few days, but I finally feel like I’m doing something with purpose. I’ve been so tired and busy it hasn’t occurred to me to check my cell phone, and after Russ and I finally cleared the air, I spend my time thinking about how to make things the most fun and not overthinking.

I’ve already replaced Emilia with two new best friends, Freya and Sadia, two eight-year-olds in our group, because they said they liked my freckles and I’m really tall. That’s nicer than Emilia has ever been to me, so she’s out. She totally understood when I told her, and she confirmed she’s also replaced me with Tammy, a nine-year-old fellow ballerina who in the few days she’s been here has not attempted to hurdle the ballet barre.

Xander and Russ watched Emilia and me argue playfully for five minutes, heads moving between us like they were watching a tennis match, until Xander finally wrapped an arm around Russ and declared he’d never replace him.

Russ has been the most relaxed I’ve seen him in the past few days. He’s amazing with each and every kid in our group, knowing exactly what to say or do to get them involved or bring them out of their shell. I’m careful not to stare in awe too much because kids at this age notice absolutely everything, and the last thing I need is to be hounded about whether he’s my boyfriend.

There are twenty campers, aged eight to ten, in our Brown Bears group, and what I apparently didn’t consider before asking for this age group is eight- to ten-year-olds are really fucking nosy. It’s tricky territory for me, a chronic oversharer desperate for any kind of acceptance she can get, but I’ve managed to keep my mouth closed so far. Plus, Russ has no intention of being my boyfriend given his love of rule keeping. Not that I want him to be my boyfriend, but an only semi-celibate summer would be nice.

Only eight and a bit more weeks to go.

The kids are currently having an hour break after lunch to keep them out of the sun at the hottest time of the day and give them a chance to wind down after a morning of horse riding, archery, and volleyball. Making my way across the camp, I immediately spot Russ and Emilia watching something near the Brown Bears’ cabin.

“What’re you doing?” I ask as I approach the two of them. I’m immediately greeted with shushing. Russ points toward a shaded area beside the cabin, where several of our campers appear to be coordinating a routine of sorts. Blocking the sun from my eyes with my hand, I watch in silence with them for two minutes before asking again, “What’re you doing?”

“We’ve been trying to work out what they’re doing for five minutes,” Emilia says. “But we can’t decide if they’re playing together or plotting to take over a small country.”

“Maybe it’s a ritual,” Russ clarifies, shrugging when I glare at him, confused.

“You two should not be left in charge of children. They’re clearly practicing for the end-of-summer talent show. They must have been here before. Smart to get a head start. We should have done that.”

“Sorry, back up,” Russ says, stepping in front of me, eyebrows pinched together. “Why should we have done that?”

I lower my hand. “My favorite thing about you is you’re big enough to block out the sun,” I say, referring to his six-five frame.

Emilia shuffles closer to me, standing in the shade Russ creates. “Oh, you really are.”

“Aurora, why did you say we should have been practicing? Practicing what exactly?”

“Did Xander not tell you about the talent show? Everyone has to do something, including the counselors. They’ll announce it on Sunday most likely; that’s what they used to do when I was here.”

I’ve never seen him so distressed, and I’ve just spent a week watching him awkwardly stumble his way through compulsory sharing about himself. His jaw is tight as he chews the inside of his cheek, and I struggle to stay focused on his concern as my mind begins to wander to the image of him dancing on a stage.

“Are you gonna throw up?” Emilia asks, taking a step away from us.

“I have no talent,” he says.

I want to tell him that’s not true, since I’ve personally witnessed what he can do with his mouth, but that is counterproductive to our fledgling friendship.

“I’m sure you do,” I offer. “What about hockey?”

“I can’t play hockey at a talent show. Can I cheer you on from the audience? It’s better for everyone if I’m not involved.”

“No, you have to do it. I love the talent show. I look forward to it all summer. The kids do, too.”

He sighs, tilting his head back to the sky before looking at me again. “It’s really important to you?”

I nod. “I was tutored when I was younger because we traveled with my dad’s job. I didn’t have school plays and talent shows. This was the only chance I had, and it made me feel less lonely.”

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Promise?” I ask, holding out my pinkie. “You have to come to all the rehearsals.”

He links his pinkie with mine. “Promise.”

“That was Aurora’s really wholesome way of emotionally blackmailing you into participating, Russ, and you fell for it,” Emilia says. “Have you considered showing hockey through the medium of contemporary dance?”

“You’re the goalie, right?” His reaction switches to surprise and he nods. “I’ll throw stuff at you and you can block it. There. Talent.”

Dragging a hand through his hair, he slides it to the back of his neck, digging his fingers into his skin to ease out tension. “Why does this feel like you just want to throw stuff at me?”

“You know her so well,” Emilia jokes, turning her back to us to watch the kids dancing around again.

Russ smiles, the dimples of his cheeks making me lose my train of thought until he speaks again. “Maybe that’s my talent.”

“You don’t need to feel nervous,” I say quietly so only he can hear me.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

AFTER A WEEK OF SETTLING in, camp is in full swing and my soccer elective sign-up sheet is almost full. I’m buzzing with excitement.

Following lunch and break time, the campers get to pick how to spend their afternoon by signing up for different counselor-led activities. After having their morning decided for them, the kids have a chance to do things more suited to their personal preferences.

The only thing I’ve ever been good at is getting myself into trouble, but Jenna said I wasn’t allowed to put that down as an option. I thought about doubling up with Emilia to offer dance, but she immediately told me to get my uncoordinated body away from her studio. So I’m teaching soccer because it’s pretty hard for me to screw that up.

It’s near impossible not to have a good understanding of it when you spent your childhood around as many English men as I did. I just need to act confident and the kids will think I’m actually good at it.

I know my nearly full sign-up sheet doesn’t really mean anything, but there’s something soothing about knowing you’re offering an activity they like and are excited about. And I know it’s not about me, it’s about the fact they want to play soccer. But it feels a little about me, and I’m happy they like me enough to choose to spend time learning from me.

Even if I’m about to make it up as I go.

Russ approaches as I’m spacing the colorful markers across the grass. “You need help?”

“You’re supposed to be enjoying your day off.”

Cool and calm. Don’t get distracted by how pretty he is.

“I am enjoying my day off.” His lips tug at the side, dimples appearing. “And I’m excited to learn about soccer.”

He picks up a handful of markers from the stand and begins copying me, placing them on the ground at the right distance for kids to dribble a ball between. I repeat cool and calm in my head as he picks up the agility ladder and begins to spread it next to where I’ve already put the others. I’m making a conscious effort not to fill silences with nonsense because Russ is a quiet guy and I’m scared he’ll get tired of me, but every quiet second feels like a missed opportunity to open him up a bit.

Plus, when I’m around him, I truly have no idea what’s going to come out of my mouth.

I have nothing of value to say, so I settle for small talk, which some would argue is worse than rambling. “Where’s your lover?”

“She’s asleep in my cabin. It’s too hot for her, but it’s pretty cool down there.”

My head whips up so quickly my neck crunches. “Wait, what?”

Russ stops what he’s doing and there’s a moment where we just stare at each other. He’s trying to understand why I’m confused and I’m trying to work out if he’s really telling me what I think he’s telling me. Jumping to conclusions is silly, but I don’t exactly pride myself on my levelheadedness.

He moves closer, until he’s standing right in front of me, the soft smile from earlier still there. “Rory, I’m talking about Fish. Were you talking about Xander?”

Okay, see? This is a learning experience. “Yeah, I thought… I was trying not to jump… yeah. Yeah, I was talking about Xander.”

He’s trying not to laugh at me, which I appreciate because I’m trying to think of the best hiding place on site; I’ve found tons of great hiding places over the years, he’d never find me. I could live peacefully with the animals, like Snow White.

“He’s having a nap with the dogs. I didn’t change my entire personality and start fucking random women I work with in the middle of the day.”

The way he says fucking random women makes me feel strange; it sounds alien coming from his mouth.

“I thought you might be ready to say fuck the rules. It’s hard work being good all the time.” It’s not that hard now that I’m trying. It took getting drunk and hearing how committed Russ is to keeping this job to make me realize I needed to uphold the commitments I made to myself when I got here.

Continuing the same cycle of getting hurt and acting out doesn’t benefit me, and it’s not why I wanted to come back to Honey Acres. This is the longest I’ve stuck to anything that doesn’t involve being petty.

“I’m not there yet, but you’ll be the first to know if I feel like getting into trouble.”

He’s flirting with me. I’m 99 percent—okay, more like 87 percent—sure he’s flirting with me. Where is Emilia when I need her? I need a second opinion. I need to respond with something smart and funny, and more important, something that tells him I am not above having sex in the woods.

I’ve got to stop forgetting about the universe’s intention to mess with me because not even ten seconds later, I spot Clay and Maya walking toward us, followed closely by a crowd of eager soon-to-be soccer players. Maybe it’s not the universe, maybe I just keep forgetting that I’m here to look after the kids and not just to stare at Russ’s massive thighs in his shorts.

Either way, it’s not the second opinion I was looking for.

The class goes by without a hitch, the flirtation percentage certainty reducing every time I think about it. By evening, I’ve survived another round of dining hall chaos, a dance, and making sure everyone gets ready for bed. The day is over and I’m totally exhausted, which significantly reduces my chances of getting into mischief. Emilia went to bed an hour ago after her nightly phone catch-up with Poppy, and I’ve been trying to summon the energy to get out of this very comfortable chair beside the campfire for twenty minutes.

Salmon is snoring on my chest, the heat of the fire is keeping us both warm, and there’s a chance I could just fall asleep instead. My eyes are trying to close and I’m fighting to keep them open, knowing if I fall asleep here, someone will definitely draw on my face.

“Are you asleep?”

Opening one eye, I spot Russ standing over me, looking as fresh as he did this morning. “Yes, go away.”

He chuckles, and it’s annoying how great he looks all the time. I know how little sleep he gets, and I know how hard he works all day, and yet here he is—bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your cabin. You can’t fall asleep here. Xander said he’s going to draw a dick on your face if you do.”

“But I can’t disturb the puppy,” I groan, gesturing to my fluffy stomach warmer. “I think she’s doubled in weight in, like, a week, so I’m not sure I could get her off me if I tried.”

“Xander taught her to do tricks for turkey bacon. I’ll pick her up, come on.”

“Can’t you pick both of us up? I’m asleep.”

I try not to shiver when his hands brush my stomach as he scoops up the golden retriever, positioning her on his chest like you would a baby. I don’t manage it, but he’s polite enough to pretend not to notice. “You have legs and you don’t have a bellyful of bacon.”

He holds out a hand for me, pulling me to my feet gently. “How do you know that? Rude presumption.”

“You’re a vegetarian, Rory,” he laughs. “If you’re learning tricks for turkey bacon we have bigger problems than you having a dick on your face.” He makes it so easy. There are so many things I could say, but I bite my tongue to keep them in. Russ shakes his head, ushering me away from the fire pit and in the direction of my cabin. “Don’t say a thing.”

“It’s fine. You’ve made it clear who your favorite is. Salmon has legs, too, but whatever. Just know if I manage to befriend a real brown bear, you’re dropping to second choice like that,” I say, clicking my fingers.

“I—” he starts, then stops, and as we continue the walk to the cabin, when I look over at him, I can’t read the look on his face. My watching snaps him out of whatever daze he was in and he laughs, but it sounds forced. “I think I can cope with being your second choice, but we don’t have brown bears in California. I haven’t been able to figure out how it fits in with Hedgehogs, Foxes, and Raccoons, since I read the brochure.”

“Orla introduced the animal names for age groups when she took over from her dad. She thought it was more fun than being named for ages or something, and she let Jenna pick the names when she was like five or six. I can’t remember the full story, but, yeah, baby Jenna doesn’t know her bears apparently.”

“Jenna came here as a kid, too?” he asks, running his palm down the puppy’s back. “It’s pretty cool she works here now.”

“What? Jenna is Orla’s daughter. Did you not know?” I say. “I thought everyone knew that, sorry.”

His expression is hard to pinpoint, somewhere between amusement and despair. “Of course my boss is the owner’s daughter.”

We finally reach the cabins and I wish there was a reason to keep walking and talking. He stops as I reach the steps. I take the first one and stop, too, reluctant to say good-bye.

He takes a step closer and lowers his voice, presumably not wanting to wake Emilia, but I’m closer to his height on this step and his body is dangerously close to mine. “Jenna said we have to stop carrying the puppies everywhere, because soon they’ll be too big, but they’ll still expect it. She also said they’re dogs not babies, but I can’t help it.”

My jaw drops. “I’m sorry, are you telling me that you’re breaking rules?”

“It was more of a suggestion…”

“It’s a rule and you’re rebelling. Oh my God.”

“I’m not. I’m ju—”

“You’re out of control, Callaghan. That’s how it starts. One minute you’re carrying a puppy, the next minute you’ve crashed a boat you weren’t supposed to be on into the rocks and are being threatened with deportation.” His eyes narrow at my far-too-specific example. “Theoretically. Anyway, I’d invite you in, but unlike you, I respect authority and apparently there’s something about cabins and not dragging men and their comfort animal into them.”

“Who knew you could be such a good girl.”

I almost choke. “Good night, Russ. Thanks for walking me.”

I step backward up the remaining steps onto the porch of my cabin. Space between us is good. Space means I don’t lean forward and kiss him. Or attempt to climb him like a tree.

“Good night, Aurora,” he says softly. “Sweet dreams.”

Turning my back to him, I quietly open the door, careful not to wake my sleeping roommate. When I look over my shoulder, he’s still standing next to the steps. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m watching you go in so you don’t have to watch me leave.”

My heart is in my throat as I close the door gently behind me, and when I finally get into bed, I decide that it was definitely flirting.