Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
VICTORIA
F or six more days, Noah Valentine is off-limits. I shouldn’t stare at him, I shouldn’t touch him, and I definitely shouldn’t imagine kissing him again.
So far, I’m failing at all three. Tonight at dinner, his knee brushed against mine under the table and when we locked eyes it was hot enough to burn that room to ash. One simple touch made me replay everything that had happened in his tent and imagine all the ways we might pick that up later. Off the mountain, of course.
But still. Boundaries. That’s why I called Gwen right after, because she’s become an expert on boundaries and I need her to tell me I’m being reckless and impulsive, and help rein me in.
When I tell her about the camping trip, she sighs and says, “Tell me about that kiss again. And don’t leave anything out this time.”
The kids have a half-hour of free time before we start movie night. I’m pacing under the cell phone tree, which is still the best spot for privacy—though it’s not the best place to convince myself that I can get through these next few days without losing my mind over what might come after.
Specifically, what happens with Noah.
“Was there tongue?” Gwen says, her voice deepening. “Was it just as hot as you imagined?”
“I can’t do this,” I tell her, looking around to make sure there’s no one lurking in the bushes. Only Sophie and Noah know about the cell phone tree, but they’re the last people who need to hear any snippets of this conversation. We’ve got twenty-four minutes of free time before the movie starts and I need a game plan to get through the rest of this session because my intrusive thoughts are in overdrive. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” I tell her. “It was irresponsible.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself,” Gwen says. “It’s summer camp. Have fun. You’re allowed to relax a little, too, you know.”
“It’s camp for the kids ,” I argue. “No fraternizing. That rule was super clear.” That was a crisp line in the sand, and I danced right over it when I went into Noah’s tent last night. If anyone had seen us, it would have been a disaster. I’ve imagined having to explain myself to Roxy a thousand times, and I hate that sinking feeling that settles in my gut whenever I think about it. It’s that nauseating feeling that goes hand in hand with failure. And Roxy’s the last person I want to let down.
Was the kiss amazing? Better than. But that’s beside the point.
Gwen sighs, and I know she’s twirling one of those big loose curls of hers in her thumb and index finger, like she always does when she’s deep in thought. “If you’re asking me to shame you, it’s not going to happen.”
“It’s not that,” I answer.
“Then stop punishing yourself,” she says. “You don’t deserve it.”
“I’m not,” I mutter.
“Aren’t you?” she says. “People make mistakes. It’s how we grow. Not that I’m saying kissing him was a mistake.”
My heart leapt into my throat when Noah suggested getting together when camp was over—but is that feasible? He’s settled, with a home near Charleston and a job he adores, and I’m rolling through life like a tumbleweed. It doesn’t feel like the right time.
That ever-helpful little voice in my head pipes up to say, But what if it’s the only time?
Is there ever a right time?
“He wants to date,” I blurt. “When camp’s over, and we’re back home.”
“Oh my gawd,” she gasps. “Did he actually use the word date ? That is so freaking cute.” She inhales sharply. “Wait. You sound worried.”
“I’m just afraid it’s not real,” I tell her. “What if it’s just a summer camp crush?”
“Does it feel as simple as a crush?” Gwen says.
I pick at the bark on the big blue-green evergreen limb that hangs over me like a canopy. “Maybe I’m just feeling…this way…about Noah because we’re here in the camp bubble, where everything’s fun and magical and the real world is a million miles away. Along with our history.”
She hums like she doesn’t believe that for a second. “Or maybe,” she says, “you don’t want to risk your heart again yet. That’s fair, you know, after he-who-shall-not-be-named. But don’t pretend your feelings aren’t real, Vic.”
“I like this job,” I tell her. “I love working with the kids, and I’m even getting used to being in the woods.” I slide my fingers over the rough bark of the fir tree. “I want to do something different with my life, and this is all so inspiring and exhilarating—but it makes me wonder if I’m confusing those feelings with how I feel about Noah.”
She hums. “I don’t think I follow.”
“I feel like I’m falling hard for him—but is it because it’s him, or because he’s part of this exciting, magical place? Or what if he’s feeling something similar and leaves me again when he decides that what we have isn’t magical, but completely mundane? And what happens when camp is over, if we start dating, and then this job works out and we’re working together—” I stop myself before I say anything more, but the worry makes my gut churn and I don’t want to think about how that could end.
Because mixing my work life with my dating life? I already tried that with Theo—and that ended in a dumpster fire.
“Okay, first,” Gwen says, “This sounds like more than any crush I’ve ever had. And second, I need to come clean about something.”
Before I can answer, she plows right ahead. “What you said the other day about Noah ghosting you and how he stopped texting after you told him you wanted him to leave you alone.”
“I never told him that,” I correct her.
After a pause, she says, “I know you’re going to hate me for this, and you have every right to, but before you murder me, please know that I did what I did out of love.”
“Gwennie,” I say. “What did you do?”
She lets out a heavy sigh. “I texted Noah from your phone that summer. I pretended to be you and told him to leave you alone. Then I deleted the message so you’d never see it. And then I blocked his number.”
“Gwen!”
“I’m sorry!” she cries. “I was so mad at him for hurting you. You were heartbroken and he was off galavanting with some other woman and sending you photos like it was nothing, making you watch him fall in love with someone else—and I just couldn’t stand seeing how much it crushed you.” She huffs. “I wanted to fly across the ocean and punch him in the nose, but I settled for sending an angry text. Or three.”
“I can’t believe you did that.” My gut churns.
“I know. I’m so sorry.” She groans. “I guess I thought that if he really loved you like he said he did, he’d man up and come see you in person and resolve things. Or else he’d just disappear forever and spare you any more hurt feelings. But I shouldn’t have interfered, and I should have told you this long before now.”
I lean against the fir’s massive trunk, feeling the air whoosh right out of my lungs.
Noah didn’t ghost me after all. Now what he told me at the beginning of camp makes sense: I thought I was doing what you wanted. You said to leave you be.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to make this up to you,” Gwen says. “I feel terrible.”
“It’s okay,” I tell her, because it will be.
“You deserve all the love the world can send you,” she says. “Don’t shut it out, okay?” Her voice fades in and out a little, and I take a step farther from the tree. I caught the most important words, and they’re hitting me square in the heart. “Vic?” she says again. “Did you hear me?”
“Yeah,” I tell her. Tears prick my eyes because I know she’s right—about all of it. “I should go,” I tell her. “I have to do snacks for movie night.” Noah and Sophie are setting up the projector in the lounge, and I’m in charge of popcorn. And now it feels like, once again, the world has turned sideways and I’ve lost my footing.
“Love you, babe,” she says. “I’ll see you soon. And I’m rooting for you here. I always am.”
Just as I end the call and step away from the tree, my phone beeps with a missed call and voicemail that came yesterday, no doubt delayed by our spotty signal. Curious, I play the message. There’s a lot of static, so I listen to it twice to make sure I didn’t mishear the words—because surely I did.
But I didn’t.
The message is from Diana Chase, former partner at Rayanne’s real estate firm and her biggest rival—until she moved to Pensacola. Diana’s voice sounds razor sharp, her words concise as always. She heard I left Rayanne’s firm and wonders if I’m interested in joining hers. She asks the question like she’s just asking me to meet for lunch—like it’s not the kind of leveling up I’d dreamed of for my career. It’s a big idea to leave hanging in a voicemail message, but that’s right on-brand for Diana Chase. The phrase Time is money was made for her. She was doing well when she left Jasmine Falls, but now that she’s been selling multi-million-dollar homes on the Florida coast for a couple of years? She could probably retire already, in her late forties. But Diana’s a shark, and she likes the thrill too much to retire. I shadowed her for years, hoping I could learn her kind of poise and closing skills.
For her to ask me now seems almost too good to be true. Because working with Diana Chase? That’s a game-changer. A career-maker. An offer I’d be crazy to pass up.
So why am I not more excited by the idea?
Her call is from yesterday, just before noon. It’s nearly seven now, which isn’t too late to call her because Diana Chase doesn’t take time off. I’m not certain she even sleeps. But the movie’s starting soon, and I need to help get everything ready for the kids.
I also need to get my thoughts together so I don’t sound like a frazzled mess when I talk to her.
So I text her a quick reply, but it’s too eager and there are too many exclamation points. Diana Chase does not use exclamation points. Frowning, I delete it and write another, settling for gracious and concise, asking if we can chat in the morning or on Tuesday. Then I read it a dozen times to make sure there are no typos or over-excited punctuation, and hit send.
I wait for a moment, pacing under the tree, making sure it goes through. Satisfied that it did, I shove my phone into my pocket and head toward the admin building, where one of the lounges will soon be transformed into a movie theater. I’ve only made it a few feet when my phone buzzes with a text.
Great, Diana writes. How’s Wednesday at 10 am?
Perfect, I reply. Looking forward to it. I head back to the tree, just in case, waiting to see the check mark that means it’s gone through.
Same, she replies.
Something churns in my belly and I can’t decide if it’s excitement, or nervous energy, or a different feeling I can’t quite name.
Through the last half of The Martian , I’m trying hard to forget about waking up with Noah’s arm draped over my waist. I can still feel the weight of his hand, the way he held me close against his chest. I could have stayed that way for days.
He laughs at a line in the movie, I don't want to come off as arrogant here, but I'm the greatest botanist on this planet , and even from my chair a few feet away, I can see those adorable creases at the corners of his eyes. When he turns toward me, he smiles just enough to make his dimple pop, and it tugs at a spot deep in my chest.
There’s so much I still need to say to him, and none of it can be said here at camp. I’m trying to be honest with him about my feelings, but the truth is that I don’t quite know how to put all these swirling thoughts into words. I just know that I’ve missed him so much it hurts to breathe—and I don’t want the end of camp to be the end of us.
The logical part of me is building a case for taking this job with Diana. It would mean building up my savings account and getting back on my feet. It would be the smartest career move I could ever make.
But it would mean leaving Noah again and abandoning this new path that shows so much promise. It’s only been two weeks, but I love working with these kids and seeing them grow self-confidence. It’s something I didn’t have at their age, and somehow helping them discover their strengths is healing a part of me, too.
I hate that these things I want are at odds with each other. I don’t know how to choose.