Till Summer Do Us Part(27)

But yeah, it was just…awkward, and now that we’re here, I feel even more awkward because it’s game time now.

This is it.

No going back.

Wilder is my pretend husband, I’m his pretend wife, and we’re here to fix our marriage.

A squeaky screen door opens and then slams shut against the wood of the doorframe, startling me. I look up to find Sanders standing just outside the main building with a large smile on his face, waving his hand. “You’re here. How was the drive?”

“Beautiful,” Wilder says as he walks up to Sanders and offers him a handshake.

One thing I’ve observed about Wilder is that he’s a social guy. Outgoing. He’s not shaking Sanders’s hand because he’s playing a part; he’s shaking his hand because that’s the kind of guy he seems to be. I need to remember that if he starts shaking the hands of the Brads and Chad.

“What about our passenger princess?” Sanders says as he smiles at me.

This man has zero fashion sense. On camp day one, he’s wearing a pair of swim trunks accompanied by a bright blue bowling shirt. His hair hasn’t seen a comb in what I’m assuming is a week, and caressing his feet are a sturdy pair of ankle rain boots.

I mean, I guess it must be nice though, not having to think about putting an outfit together. He probably just sticks his hand in his dresser and pulls out the first pair of bottoms and shirt he sees with not a care in the world if they work together.

He’s a stark contrast to Ellison, who’s always so put together.

“It was a very nice drive,” I say.

Together, we move to the back of the car, where Wilder starts pulling out our bags and setting them on the ground.

“Run into any weather?” Sanders asks me.

Putting on a gentle smile, I nod. “Ran into a sprinkling of rain, but other than that, just a nice drive upstate. Always nice to get out of the city on occasion.”

“That’s what I say,” Sanders says, and then from his pocket, he pulls out a white golf ball and says, “Think fast.” He tosses the ball at me, and somehow out of sheer panic and surprise, I’m able to catch it.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“That is what they call a golf ball,” he says. “Don’t you write about those?”

Very funny, Sanders—said with absolutely no sarcasm.

Trying to hold back from nailing him in the head with said golf ball, I say, “Why, yes, but I was just wondering why you were handing me one.”

“It’s for our first activity of the day. We like to jump right into things. We’ll have a proper welcome a little bit later, but we find it’s a good icebreaker for all the couples to start with an activity. Leave your bags here, Wilder. Our staff will bring them to your cabin. For now, you two need to follow me.”

Okay, so we’re just doing this, huh? No easing in? No tour? Just right into an activity. God, I don’t think I’m mentally prepared just yet.

Wilder comes up next to me, and then together, we follow behind Sanders, who brings us around the main building and to a much bigger building that I didn’t even notice behind the A-frame. Half of it is inside, the other half outside seating covered by a portico.

The covered area is decorated with couches, wingback chairs, coffee tables, ornate rugs, gold-framed pictures… It almost reminds me of Central Perk from Friends, coffee bar and all.

“There they are,” Chad says as he lifts his hand with a wave. “Nice that you could make it.”

He says it in a gentle tone, but I know it’s a barb at us for being what looks to be the last couple to show up. Not a way to start things off, Chad.

Next to him sits his wife, who is intensely coloring a golf ball with Sharpies. I want to say her name is Danielle. That or Diana. I’m having a mental block. I’ve seen her quite a few times in the office. I remember her specifically because she likes to sit on Chad’s lap and make out with him in the middle of the day, in the middle of the office. Massively inappropriate, but apparently since we are a marriage-positive workspace, make-out sessions are approved.

“Hello,” Wilder says with a friendly wave. “I’m Wilder. Really excited about being here.”

Wilder, what did we just talk about in the car? We’re not making friends with these people.

Then he loops his arm around me and says, “You all know my wife, Pips.”

Pips.

Why do I hate that name so much?

“Pips? I might have to use that in the office,” Chad says with a smirk.

Oh no, you don’t.

“I’d rather you not,” I say. “That’s Wilder’s special name for me.”

“We can chitchat later,” Sanders says, standing in front of us and blocking off the view from the rest of the crowd. “First things first, please take out your phones.”

Wilder and I exchange glances but then pull our phones out and hold them in our palms.

“Great. Now turn them off,” Sanders says. “This is an electronics-free area.”

“But what if we need to make a call?” I ask.

“Did you not send the information to your loved ones?” Sanders asks, a pinch to his brow.

What information?

“Uh, I did,” Wilder says. “I think I forgot to tell Scottie.”