Chapter Four #2
In the weeks leading up to today, I’ve received numerous emails from other parents who are, naturally, inquisitive about the program and what the job entails.
This wasn’t the case with Evan, however.
While he did ask about CHW, his initial emails almost sounded like an advertisement about all his son’s ‘red flags’ and whether or not I ‘could handle having a kid like him’ working here.
It didn’t sit well with me, that he felt his son needed to come with a warning label.
It actually made me want to hire Colton more, if I’m being honest, and that’s saying a lot, given my initial reservations about hiring kids his age.
It seemed to me like Colton himself could benefit from a summer here.
So, I went in with an open mind and extended an offer to both Colton and his friend, Nikolas.
From what I understand, Colton has been struggling with staying out of legal trouble.
From the emails, I gather that Evan is struggling too—struggling with how to connect with his son—but I know what a man who’s too prideful to admit when he needs help looks like—and the man standing in front of me now sounded an awful lot like the poster child—er, poster man? —for that.
Evan here looks like the exact definition of a man’s man, the type I expected to see from his tone in the emails.
I’d bet he’s like 92% toxic masculinity, the type that doesn’t want to hear what you have to say, because he’s the man and he’s right.
The other 8% probably knows he’s hot as asphalt on a scorching summer's day, and can get any woman he even winks at—and yes, let’s face it, he’s unfortunately straight.
He’s not even registering as a blip on my gaydar right now.
Not that it matters, because he’s only here to drop off his son.
And I’m not here to pick up a date, nor am I interested in trying to convince someone to take a deep dive into their sexuality.
Ain’t nobody got time for that. I know what the rumors are about Camp Healing Waters—that because Kai and I are both gay, we must run a queer camp—and I don’t need to add more fuel to the fire.
Mental sigh. I know I shouldn’t be judgmental and assume things.
Ma did always warn me not to judge a book by its cover, but I’ve been known to pick up a novel or two just based on the ripped abs and bitten lower lips I see on the cover model.
It’s human nature. Besides, I can’t be wrong; I’ve always prided myself on being a decent judge of character.
I offer Colton a warm smile. “Of course, I’m sure I want him working here. Sometimes, all we need is a chance to be understood, right?”
I don’t even look at Evan to see if the barb sticks, the triumphant smile that morphs on his teenager’s formerly scowling face is enough of a victory for me as well.
The two boys heft a couple of totes of clothing and gear out of the bed of Evan’s truck and wait for instruction.
Just then, I hear giggling behind me. Morgan and Aspyn are trudging up the hill, laughing about something that had been carved into the wall of their cabin that I didn’t catch, by the sounds of it.
Colton’s expression changes again, once he lays eyes on Morgs, and I realize that hiring a bunch of teenagers might be problematic after all.
I may be thirty-two now, but I was once a teenager…
I recognize that look. I have way too much on my plate already, without having to worry about keeping things purely platonic between hormonal teens.
The look she’s giving him right back isn’t doing anything to subdue my unease either.
“Dad,” Morgan huffs, finally peeling her eyes off Colton, “did we ever have anyone here named Stacy?”
My brows furrow. “I don’t think so…”
“Well, her mom’s got it going on, apparently,” Aspyn giggles. “We’re going to get some sandpaper and scrape it off.”
I roll my eyes, and before they can break into song and scamper off, I ask if they can show Colton and Nikolas to their cabin. They requested to be buddied up together.
Today is going to be a low-key meet and greet day.
Tomorrow, the work begins: cleaning out the campers’ cabins, getting the kayaks, canoes, and paddle boards out of storage, setting swim buoys out, and prepping activities for the first round of campers to come early next week.
Basically, I’m delegating work to them that I should have gotten done long before now, but here we are.
Now we’re down to one long weekend to get everything done, yikes.
I watch the four of them descend the hill, Morgan chattering their ears off already, and spin to catch Evan giving me another appraising sweep of his gaze.
I pluck at my shirt. “Sorry about, ya know, this,” I apologize, gesturing at my car.
“Was up all night with a couple of giggling teenagers, and then this thing decided turning over wasn’t a thing it wanted to do anymore, so yeah… lost track of time.”
Evan looks over his shoulder to my rust bucket and it’s popped hood. “S’not starting?” he asks, taking in my appearance once more and shaking his head.
Yeah, I know. I look dreadful. Thanks for the subtle reminder.
I shake my head. “And despite the many troubleshooting videos I’ve watched, I can’t determine if it’s the battery or the alternator. Not a graduate of the YouTube Academy of Mechanics yet, I guess.”
He snorts. “Wouldn’t recommend turning to YouTube to try to save a buck.”
“Yeah, well, I really have no choice. I’ve had it since I was eighteen.
First and only car I’ve ever bought right off the lot.
I know I’m probably due for something newer, but…
” I trail off shrugging, like it needed some sort of explanation.
“Up until this morning, it was still driving, so why add another bill? You’re raising a teenager; you know what those grocery bills alone are like. Yikes, right?” I chuckle nervously.
His lips thin and tip up marginally into a slight grin, and he nods but still doesn’t say anything.
“I promise you that smell isn’t me, by the way.
I’m pretty sure it’s Morgan’s softball cleats.
I think the odor is practically branded into the upholstery by now.
Well, you must know. You told me in your emails that Colton plays football.
I’ve heard the horror stories. I will keep your washing machine—and your olfactories—in my thoughts and prayers. ”
His response is just standing there, blinking at me.
His lips twitch again though, so I know he heard me.
I feel myself shrinking back under the oppressiveness of his silence and the weight of his appraising gaze on me.
First impressions can tell you a lot about a person, and his first impression of me must be that I’m a complete trainwreck.
Ugh, I am such a fool. Why the heck am I babbling to a complete stranger?
To fill the awkward silence, I suppose. Yeah…
right. More like it’s to cover up the fact that I’m finding myself attracted to him—a married man, judging by that ring on his finger—gawking at him like I used to with the pictures of heartthrobs I ripped from a Bop magazine when I was a teenager.
Married or not, I already look like an unkempt slob.
The last thing I need to be doing is lusting for someone who is the parent of one of my newest employees.
If I want to salvage my last remaining scrap of professionalism, I can’t ogle every ruggedly handsome man that drops off his kid here. Though, I will say that fathers have been dropping their kids off for years, and this is the only one to leave me practically salivating.
What am I, a dog? No, I can’t lick the eye-candy. Bad, Brooks!
“I can take a look at it for you.” Evan pops his shoulder and saunters over to my car.
Oh, ok… so I—wait, I didn’t scare him off?
He’s going to look at it for me? He’s going to do me—a complete bumbling fool—a favor? I may have misjudged the man.
Unless, he’s secretly a shady car salesman, and this is his way of talking me into a newer vehicle, only to turn around and swindle me out of thousands—that I don’t have—to sell me a lemon.
No. That’s wrong too. He looks nothing like someone who would dress up in a suit and try to haggle over price tags.
The grease on his jeans, the black stains on the edges of his fingernails and on his callouses, this guy’s appearance are total mechanic vibes.
He may truly just be trying to be helpful.
Huh, not what I expected.
I expected a sarcastic ‘sucks to be you, buddy.’
I’m so startled speechless, that the “thanks” I respond with comes out as a rasp, and I physically have to pull myself from where I was rooted in place to catch up to him.
He rests his hands on the edge of the engine compartment and leans in.
I watch as the sinews in his forearms ripple as he fiddles with—I don’t even know what half these components are.
I know about rippling forearms, though. I know I like them a lot. Like, a whole heck of a lot. Especially when they’re accompanied by the equally sexy scene of shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows.
I can’t fire myself for being NSFW in my mind, right? Gah! Pull yourself together!
Then, without a word, he scratches at the black bristles that stubble his jaw, and he stalks off towards his truck. I watch as he plants a boot on the step-up rail, and he swings himself up in his driver’s seat. With a rumble, his truck roars to life.
“Okay? Bye, I guess…” I mutter to myself.
What the heck was that all about?
Instead of backing up and driving off, however, he inches his truck forward, so it’s nose-to-nose with my car. He hops out, grabs jumper cables out of the cab, and hooks them up to my car. Then, more awkward silence as we wait…
Finally, he nods towards my car, after letting his truck idle a bit. “Try the ignition.”
I oblige the man of few words and try turning the key. Nothing. The fleeting spark of hope I had fizzles out.