Till Summer Do Us Part(17)

“It’s charged. There’s still a spark, and if you’ll allow me, I’ll help you turn that spark into a full-blown inferno.”

Yeah, not interested. Thanks though.

I’m about to tell him that we’ll discuss this when Wilder and I get home, but before I can even put on an expression of gratefulness, Wilder jumps in and ruins everything. “How?”

Nooooo.

Visions of shoving my shoe into his mouth cloud my brain as I hold back the feral cry of anger bubbling up inside me.

Dude, we were good.

We were on our way out.

Stop making bad choices.

“I’m glad you asked,” Sanders says with a touch of perkiness in his voice as he stands from the coffee table and moves over to his desk. He sifts through a mound of papers and then pulls out a brochure.

What the hell is that?

“Starting Monday, I’m putting on an eight-day marriage camp up in the Catskills. I only invite a select few couples. We spend eight days talking over our feelings and rediscovering the original spark of connection. I have couples on the verge of divorce like yourselves and couples who come to rejuvenate their marriage.”

A marriage camp?

He’s got to be joking.

“Like a summer camp for adults?” Wilder asks, looking far too interested for my liking.

He reaches for the brochure, but I snag it from Sanders before Wilder can even lay a finger on it.

Oh no, you don’t, mister. Don’t even freaking think about it.

“Precisely. Like a summer camp for adults,” Sanders answers. “We focus on bonding techniques, open conversations, and finding the true reason why we fell in love in the first place. It’s activity focused, so if you think we’re going to be sitting on a couch all day, that’s not the case at all.”

“Oh good, because I’m not good at sitting still,” Wilder says.

What do you mean, oh good? No, we don’t show interest in adult marriage camps. We don’t show interest in any sort of resolution.

I need to nip this before it gets out of control, before I end up spending eight days up in the Catskills with a man I don’t know, trying to work out our nonexistent marriage. But I need to tread carefully, because I don’t want to look like the bitch who doesn’t want to work on her relationship.

Clearing my throat, I peruse the brochure and nod slightly. “This all looks so nice, but I don’t have enough vacation days to make this work—”

“Oh, that’s nothing you need to worry about. Ellison always gives time off to attend my camps.”

Of course she does.

Sanders looks between us, a smile stretching across his face. “So what do you think? Want to give it a shot?”

“This is so nice,” I say again, “but—”

“We’d love to,” Wilder says, taking my hand in his as he lovingly looks in my direction. “I’m self-employed, so I don’t need to worry about vacation time from work.”

Did he just say what I thought he said?

Did he just agree to a marriage camp for eight days?

“Fantastic,” Sanders says and then picks up his football and tosses it over to Wilder. To my horror, Wilder catches it, gets off the couch, and starts charging toward Sanders, jukes him out, and then spikes the ball to the office floor before raising his hands in the air.

“Touchdown.”

Yup, he’s getting my shoe. The heel right to the esophagus.





Chapter Five





WILDER

“That went really well,” I say as we make it out on the sidewalk, where I turn to find a very pissed-off Scottie.

Through clenched teeth, she says, “That went well? You think that went well?”

“Yeah, he said he thinks our marriage still has potential.”

“You idiot!” she shouts, clenching her fists at her sides. “I don’t want our marriage to have potential. I wanted it to die dead on the floor of that office. I wanted us hemorrhaging up there. I wanted there to be no ability to resuscitate.”

I gesture toward the office. “After the potential he saw in us?”

“Potential?”

“Yes, he said we could still make it.”

She stands taller, blinking. “Oh my God.” She takes a step back. “You’re crazy. You’re actually crazy. Does your brother know this?”

“I’m not crazy.”

“Yes, you are. That’s the only explanation I can fathom for why you’re carrying on this farce. You…you come dressed like you just left a My Chemical Romance concert, you have total disregard for anything you said in there, you talked about penis skin and then held my hand on the way out. It’s not real, Wilder. We are not real.” She gestures between us.

“I understand that.”

“Do you though?” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “Because you just paid for eight days in marriage camp at reception.”

I shrug. “I know, because that seemed fun.”

She rubs her temples. “Seemed fun? Wilder, don’t you hear what you’re saying? I can’t afford a marriage retreat, even if I was married.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I say nonchalantly. “My treat.”