I occupy myself with the dogs while he’s gone and when he comes back, the same—no doubt goofy—grin is still on my face. Neither Xander or I are working today—the second of my days off and his first after switching with Aurora yesterday—but without even talking about it, I know we’re going to be hanging out with everyone all day helping out.
Don’t get me wrong, the kids can be exhausting, but it’s a good kind of exhausting. It keeps my mind busy and I enjoy helping the kids find their confidence. In a weird way, when I was younger, I kind of put the wealthy kids on a pedestal because I believed that I would never have any problems if my family was rich. That didn’t change much as I got older, especially when I started a college where it felt like everyone around me was more financially privileged.
Working here is starting to heal that inner child, I think. I see these kids with the same insecurities and worries as I had and I realize how silly I was all those years ago.
And yeah, maybe a tiny part of my motivation to help out today is to see Rory.
Xander throws himself onto his bed, narrowly missing Trout who is chewing on one of his socks. “Can I guess what miss sticky fingers stole? Was it a condom by any chance?” I nod and his grin widens. “I’m glad you kids are being safe and I don’t have to give you the birds and the bees talk.”
I’d rather be attacked by birds and bees than have that conversation with Xander. “You know we’re the same age, right?”
“Kids these days . . .” He avoids the shoe I throw at him. “Reflexes of a cat, my guy. But seriously, I’m happy for you. I’m jealous as fuck, but I’m happy. You get to do the whole summer love thing. You’re living the dream.”
“Thanks, man. What’re you doing today?” I ask, changing the subject before he asks me to share too much.
Old habits die hard.
“First thing I’m doing is going back to sleep. Jax decided to tell horror stories before bed, the douchebag. And I know it’s not cool to call a ten-year-old a douchebag, but he really is a bit of a dick. Loads of tears and drama; all very annoying. I won’t ask what you’re doing because I know the answer is hanging around your girl and pretending it’s because you care about team sports.”
I want to correct him and say she’s not my girl, but I like how it sounds. “Pretty much.”
He yawns, tugging the blanket over him and trout, who immediately begins to chew it. “Your secret is safe with me, man.”
By the time I’m showered and heading for breakfast, last night’s rain has disappeared. I’m halfway to the food hall when I hear a “wait up” from behind me.
Freshly showered and now sporting her Brown Bears t-shirt, Aurora smiles as she jogs to catch up to me. Her hand gently brushes past mine, not lingering long enough to be suspicious if anyone was to spot us, but long enough for goosebumps to spread up my arm. “Hey.”
“Hi.”
“Hi,” she repeats awkwardly. “I just wanted to say . . . Well I’ve been thinking and, well, I know I made you break the rules last night and I promised I wou—”
“Rory,” I say softly, interrupting her. I stop, moving from her side to in front of her. I’m not used to the look of doubt on her face, or the lack of confidence in her voice. Even when she’s rambling to fill the silence, there’s an air of confidence to it, but right now, she looks like a woman grappling with uncertainty. “You didn’t make me do anything. I went to your cabin, too, remember?”
“I know, but this job is important to you and it’s important to me, I love it here, but I also have the impulse control of a hungry raccoon. I don’t want you to think that the things that are important to you aren’t important to me, when I know they’re important to you. Does that make sense?”
“I think so. I don’t regret it.” Fuck, I want to kiss her. “I promise. I’m trying to relax a little, not be so worried about everything.”
“It would be good for you if you could do that. I think you’ll be happier.”
“So . . .”
How do I say this.
“So . . .” she repeats.
“I like you. Aurora. A lot. I’m really happy last night happened.”
Her mouth opens and closes, then opens again a little, much like a goldfish. She clears her throat and nods, forcing out a croaky “me too.” She clears her throat. “I really like you too.”
“So . . .”