Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
ROMILLY
I don’t want to do the kayaking activity.
I really don’t. Not only is it cold outside, but my hair is freshly washed and straightened for the week, so possibly tipping over and plummeting into the lake is the last way I want to spend my morning.
But it’s on our schedule for today, and as the only counselor in my group, I have no choice.
The sun is warm on my skin. It’s the kind of autumn day that makes me forget winter is coming.
Orange and red leaves float lazily down from the trees lining the lake’s edge, dotting the surface like little boats of their own.
They mingle with the actual boats already holding two teens each.
Everyone is partnered up, and when Heidi and Taylor—the last two in my cabin—take the oars and push off in their own boat, I’m the odd one out.
And now, here I am, standing at the edge of the lake, blinking at the two-person kayak I’m supposed to somehow navigate alone.
Logan nudges me with his shoulder. “Bash is going to be your partner. You’re going to need his help more than I will.”
Hope blossoms in my chest. “Are you sure?”
“Oh, yeah. The water is my domain. I got this.”
Bash grins as he walks up beside me, pushing up his sleeves like we’re about to compete in the Olympics. “Ready to paddle into the sunset with me, pumpkin?”
“I’m ready to get through this as quickly as possible. Preferably dry.”
“That’s the spirit.”
Bash lets me get in first. When I take a step into the front seat, he steadies me by the waist so we don’t tip, and then he gets in behind me.
The water sloshing against the sides of the kayak is nothing compared to the nerves and butterflies crashing in my stomach.
But my excitement quickly transforms into irritation, because we’re barely five strokes in before it becomes clear that we are terrible at paddling together.
Bash rows too aggressively, like he’s trying to beat the water into submission.
“Easy. We’re not in the ring right now. Calm down.”
“What do you mean? I’m doing an excellent job,” he says.
Maybe he is, but my rowing is so weak in comparison that we spin in a circle, drawing the attention and laughter of several teens as they paddle past us. Pretty soon, we’re the last ones drifting away from the shore.
“You’re not following my rhythm,” I say.
“I didn’t realize this was a rhythm-based activity.”
“Stop muscling it. Paddle lightly.”
He scoffs. “I don’t know how to paddle lightly. Have you seen my arms?”
“Unfortunately.”
He eases up slightly.
And then we tip. One sharp lurch of the kayak and we’re in the water.
The lake is icy, as expected, and shockingly quiet beneath the surface. When I come up sputtering, Bash is already laughing.
I glare at him. “You did that on purpose!”
“Me? Never.” He floats effortlessly, his black sweater drenched and clinging to him in a way that makes it hard to form coherent thoughts. “I mean, I didn’t not see it coming.”
“Bash!”
He grins. “I’m sorry.”
Everyone else is so far ahead of us by now. Even Logan has caught up with the rest of our groups.
We swim toward the nearest section of shoreline. By the time we drag ourselves onto the grassy bank, my pulse is racing for a reason that has nothing to do with cold.
We’re alone.
“You’re maddening.” I spin away from him and stomp deeper into the trees.
Of course, of course, I’d end up completely soaked after partnering with him.
It’s bad enough that I was trying to avoid getting wet in the first place.
It’s even worse that I can’t fully be angry at him because his contagious smirk is making it hard for me not to start laughing right along with him.
As he follows me, another low chuckle escapes him, making me spin to face him. I take in the water dripping from his hair and the leaf stuck to his shoulder. I reach for it without thinking, and when I brush it away, my hand lingers.
Mistake .
The tension blooms instantly. Bash’s storming gaze collides with mine, sending a thunderclap of feeling through my veins.
“You should stop doing that,” I whisper.
He doesn’t move. “Doing what?”
“Looking at me like that.”
“I’m not looking at you any kind of way.”
“Yes, you are.”
He shifts closer. Heat rolls off him despite how cold the lake was.
“Romilly,” he says, his voice low and tantalizing. “Why do you keep pretending you don’t want this?”
I try to look away, but his hand gently brings my face back to him.
“You’re just…you’re everything I swore I wouldn’t fall for.”
He looks stricken by my answer. Something sharpens in his gaze like he’s seeing clearly for the first time. “And what’s that?”
“You’re way too charming. You’re overprotective and constantly concerned about my appetite.
You make it hard for me to stay serious and professional because you turn everything into a joke.
You make me want to break all the rules, and you can’t even slice sourdough bread.
” I try to find more reasons but come up empty.
And I can’t deny the ones I just gave him are hardly marks against him.
If anything, they only draw me into him even more.
Neither of us speaks.
And then I kiss him.
Or maybe he kisses me.
Either way, our mouths find each other in a rush of heat and desperation and want.
His hands are on my waist, on my back. Bash pulls me closer, and the way his fingers slide against my soaking, skin-tight clothes give me goosebumps.
My fingers twist in his shirt to tug him toward me, but I’m simultaneously trying to make sense of the chaos inside me.
His mouth finds mine again with no hesitation this time.
His hands slide into my hair, fisting gently at the base of my neck as he deepens the kiss.
His lips move with a kind of hunger that steals the air from my lungs.
It’s slow at first—velvety, coaxing—but it builds fast, like a flame against firewood.
When his tongue brushes against mine, my knees go weak. I gasp softly against his mouth, gripping his arms like I’m afraid I might fall again, even though he’s the one who’s doing all the unraveling.
Bash’s mouth captures mine over and over like he’s memorizing it, like he’s making up for all the times we’ve come close but pulled away.
The world disappears. I’m hyper-aware of everything, like how his chest is pressed tight to mine, and how one of his hands slides down my spine, slow and reverent, like he’s mapping out something sacred. The other stays tangled in my hair, holding me in place as if he can’t bear to let me go.
Heat coils low in my stomach and spreads outward, making me feel dizzy, drunk on him. When he pulls back for air, I chase his mouth—because I need more, because this feels too good, too much, and yet not enough.
He groans softly. “You drive me insane, you know that?”
“Likewise.”
His thumb strokes along the edge of my jaw. My lips are still tingling, my whole body practically humming, and his eyes…oh, his eyes. They look like they’ve just seen heaven. Or maybe like he’s staring right at it.
And I hate that I’m about to ruin it.
It’s too much. Too good. Too dangerous. He still hasn’t decided he’s staying. If he really wanted to, he would have told me by now, but he hasn’t. That’s as good as a no in my book.
And now, it’s going to hurt so much worse when he leaves.
“Romilly—”
“Don’t.” I hold up a trembling hand. “If you care about me at all…just let me go.” And Lord, if he’s not for me, help me let go of him, too.
Bash frowns. “What on earth are you talking about?”
I hug my arms across my chest. “We want different things, Bash. I want someone I can count on, and you’re not even staying in Meadow Hills because you want freedom.”
Bash cradles my face in his palms. “All I want is you . I’ll stay. I promise.” His eyes look feral. Desperate. They tug at my heart.
But the truth rings in my ears. He’s only agreeing to stay for you. If you let him, he’s going to regret it or resent you for it. If he really wanted to be with you, he should have decided to stay on his own before you mentioned it.
It’s all the things I know I should tell him, but to do so would be admitting way too much.
“No. We’re not right for each other,” I tell him. “We’re much better off as friends.”
Bash’s brows knit together, but he doesn’t argue. He doesn’t try to kiss me again. He just swallows and steps away from me, but I still feel his touch like it’s branded onto me.
My eyes sting. I wish he’d yell. I wish he’d call me dramatic or stubborn or difficult. But he just looks at me with those wild blue eyes.
“I want to be a lot more than your friend. And I don’t think I can let you go,” he admits, voice thick.
My heart cracks.
“But I can give you space. If that’s what you need.”
I nod, even though it feels like someone just pulled the sun from the sky. And when he finally steps away, everything in me aches to chase after him. But I don’t.