“I thought that was you,” he says, his dimples appearing as he flicks his copper hair away from his face.
“Hi!” I say, lifting my legs to rotate and stand. I look down at my swimsuit, wondering if he’ll be able to notice my little baby bump. It’s a toss-up, considering how tight the one-piece suit is, but even if he suspects, I doubt he’ll ask. “How’ve you been?” I ask.
“Good, good, keeping busy. Lifeguarding here and teaching private swim. How about you?”
“Pretty good,” I answer as he starts to descend the ladder. “At the café. Still.”
Cam stops a few feet shy of me, tugging on the lanyard around his neck. “It’s so funny I bumped into you… I was just thinking about you the other day.”
Okay… maybe I should tell him I’m knocked up.
“I just started teaching this kid, Henry. He has a hand just like yours. I was telling him all about my friend who’s the best swimmer I know, and he nearly lost his mind with excitement.”
I pout, and an adoring whine escapes from my chest. “Really?” I ask, elongating the word.
“Yeah. He’s so sweet. A really fun kid to teach. I was chatting with his parents after his first lesson, and they mentioned they’re trying to find a summer camp for him. I immediately thought of you and that idea you told Casey and me about at last year’s bonfire. Your camp?” He brushes his hair away from his face again and adjusts the whistle on his neck as his eyes glaze over in thought. “What did you call it? Camp…”
Camp Cando. A bit on the nose, sure, but it is for kids. “It was just an idea…” I shrug one shoulder while simultaneously wrapping my arm across my stomach, holding on to my elbow. “I don’t even remember. I think I’d just drunk too much.” Six beers. But I do remember. It felt incredible to talk about it again. That was the only time I’ve talked about my camp in the past few years, other than when I told Bo.
“That’s a shame. These parents would love something like that.”
I smile despite the ache in my chest nagging to be heard. “How’s he doing? With the swimming?”
“Fine. But, actually, while I have you here, can I pick your brain?”
I nod eagerly.
“He’s got most of the technique down, but he really overcompensates with his right hand—the bigger one—and it steers him a little off course. I’ve tried the usual stuff, but he seems to still get off balance. What would you suggest?”
“What position?”
“Nearly all of them, but it’s worse with breaststroke.”
“It’s hard to say without seeing him swim. When’s he here?”
“Tuesday evenings.”
“I’m off on Tuesday next week. I could come by if you’d like.”
“Seriously?” Cam asks, bending his knees, crouching down so our faces line up—his totally bursting with joy. I nod, caught off guard, as he picks me up and spins me around in the air. “That’d be amazing.” He drops me, one hand stuck on my shoulder, and steadies me as I regain my balance.
“Any time?” I laugh out.
“Can I text you the details? I don’t think I have your phone number.”
“Oh, sure.” I wait as he pulls out his phone, then I put my number into it. Saving myself as Winnie the One-Handed Wonder—because it just felt right.
And suddenly, I’m not in such a bad mood.
“He’s going to be so excited to meet you. And,” he smiles down at my contact information on his phone, tapping the screen, “the name suits you. I did talk about you as if you were a superhero.”
“Well, let’s hope Henry isn’t disappointed.”
“Aw, well, who could be?” He winks before glancing around the pool. “Shit, I am very lucky no one decided to drown just now. I, uh, should probably get back up there.” He points a thumb over his shoulder.
“Right, yeah, I’m going to try a few more laps. Clear my head.”
“You should really think about that camp, Win.” Cam says, sauntering backward slowly. “I think it could be a very cool thing!”
And I do think about it.
I think about it so much that I’m no longer thinking about last night or what could have been. In fact, by the time I’m showered, dressed, and on the bus ride home—I can’t think about anything else. My thoughts, ideas, and questions pile on top of one another. And suddenly, I have an entirely new conversation I’d like to have with Bo.
Finance Bo, that is.
Not to be mistaken with a Finance Bro.
God, no.
When I get home, Bo’s on a client call at his desk, swivelling in his chair as he taps the end of a pencil to the far corner of his eyebrow. His long limbs are all spread out as he leans back, nearly capsizing.
I approach his desk, buzzing with energy, dropping my things onto the couch on my way toward him.
He tilts his head curiously at me, agreeing to whatever the other person on the phone is saying with a series of murmured mm-hmms. “What?” he mouths silently, his giddy smile matching my own.
“I have an idea,” I whisper, hovering above him. “But… I need your help.”
He checks his watch and nods at me, holding out one finger.
When I linger for what feels like too long, I begin biting at my thumb nail anxiously. Bo checks his watch again, apologising with an eye roll directed at the phone and a wrap it up motion with a finger pointed at the sky.
The immediate realisation that I’m standing over the guy while he’s working strikes and fills me with embarrassment. I’m acting as if I’m entitled to his time. I’m very much not entitled to his time. Especially when his time pays the vast majority of my bills.
“Sorry, never mind. It can wait,” I say, waving my hands and stepping back onto my heel.
He stops me with a firm grasp around my forearm, dropping the pencil onto the floor as he does.
I had only just gotten those thoughts out of my head…
“Hey, Odette? I’m so sorry to interrupt, but my colleague, Fred, just reminded me of a meeting that’s already started without me. So I’ll have to let you go.” He nods, his eyes stuck on his computer screen and his hand still clasped around me.
I take a second to appreciate the veins in his hands. The sheer size of them causes envy on the best of days, but the strength and definition of them isn’t lost on me either. I know it’s ironic, to have some sort of hand fetish. But in my defence, I never even considered hands as anything other than limbs prior to Bo.
And I could shrug free of his hold, but I don’t.
“Yep. Yes, of course. I’ll check in then. Best of luck with the move. Okay, yes, bye-bye.” Bo drops his phone on the desk with a careless thud and turns to me, eager-eyed and excitable, before he releases my arm. “What’s happening? What’s this idea?”
I grab a folding chair still left out from the DND game last night and drag it over to his desk. “I want you to help me with money.”
“Seriously?” He grips the arms of the chair as he kicks a leg out. “Hell yeah!”
I laugh, a little offended. “I’m not that bad with money, am I?”