Chapter 8
Callie
Holland’s sitting at the kitchen table with a pink marker, which has mostly made it onto her coloring page, though there’s some smudged on her cheek.
She’s humming some made-up song while she colors a picture of a horse that’s also a doctor.
Nash, just now two years old, is in his booster seat absolutely demolishing a banana and sippy cup of milk.
This is what my life will look like for the foreseeable future. Babysitting full-time for Kayce and Wrenley. And I’m excited about it. They pay me well, I adore their kids, and it keeps my baby fever from spiking.
“Callie, look!” Holland holds up her paper proudly. “She’s gonna work at a rainbow hospital!”
“That’s amazing,” I say, crouching down beside her chair. “What does she do there?”
“She gives you a lollipop,” Holland says very matter-of-factly.
I smile and brush her hair back from her cheek. “That’s pretty fun.”
My phone buzzes on the counter. I wipe my hands on a dish towel and pick it up.
Mitch: This heat is brutal today. You busy later?
Me: I’m sure. Nope. Why?
Mitch: Creek later?
Me: Sure, I’ll grab hoagies from Dockside?
Mitch: Perfect. Around six?
Me: It’s a date.
I send it without thinking and instantly grimace. But before I can delete it, the three little dots pop up.
Mitch: Yeah. It is.
My stomach flutters so hard it almost makes me lose my footing.
The rest of the day drifts by in that easy, unhurried rhythm that only early summer seems to have. We spend nearly two hours in the backyard blowing bubbles and playing on the slide until lunchtime.
By the time Kayce and Wrenley pull into the driveway, I’m definitely tired.
Thankfully, the kids settle in with Blue’s Clues while I start on dinner.
I only do this a couple nights a week so they can sit down and eat together when they get home.
Nothing fancy. Usually she has a casserole ready to go, and all I have to do is slide into the oven, or she’ll prep a container of cut-up potatoes, meat, and vegetables that I just have to toss onto a sheet pan and bake. Easy, and I’m happy to do it.
* * *
It’s just after five when I swing by Dockside Deli.
The place smells like baked bread and oregano and reminds me of Subway, but this is the only one in the world.
It’s close to Holland Lake, and very popular with people going and coming into Holland Valley.
I know it’ll be busy but it has the best hoagies in town and it’s worth the long line.
“Two Italians,” I tell Sam, who’s behind the counter. “Extra pickles.”
“Gotcha, Callie,” he says, already reaching for the bread. He asks about my parents as I watch him make my sandwiches; guess they haven’t been in a while. I tell him it’s probably to avoid the crowd and he says he gets that. He tells me they’ve been just as busy as they are every year.
Ten minutes later, I’m back on the road, and feeling so tempted by the smell of the sandwiches in my car.
Pavement turns to gravel as I drive the lake length and follow the creek.
No one drives this road unless they’re going fishing or they’re lost. It doesn’t take you anywhere, just back out onto the main road if you follow it through.
The trees are thick here. You can’t see any part of town, but you can hear it.
Mitch’s truck is here already, backed into the woods, leaving room for me to just be able to get off the road.
He’s sitting on the tailgate. A cigarette glows faintly between his fingers. He only smokes when he’s stressed or overwhelmed.
“Hey.” I smile.
He tucks the cigarette under his lip and jumps down, smiling before saying “Hey” back.
He takes the deli bag so I can climb up into the truck bed with him, settling beside him on the tailgate. Our legs dangle over the edge, knees brushing before I can get situated.
He taps ash into an empty beer bottle wedged near the wheel well and glances at me. “You want one?”
“Sure,” I say, and watch him pull one from the pack. I’ve smoked before, enough to know how to, but also to know that it’s not something I desire or feel addicted to. But right now it feels like part of the moment. Part of him.
He passes it to me without comment. I take a slow drag, exhaling toward the trees. The smoke curls between us, quiet and familiar.
We sit there like that for a few minutes, not saying much. Just watching the water as our cigarettes burn.
“Your mom still mad?” I ask. He didn’t tell me she was, but Macy did. Texted me late last night, venting in long paragraphs, the way she always does when things blow up. I got the full rundown.
“Yeah,” he says. “She’ll cool off.”
“But it still bugs you.”
He nods. “Yeah.”
When my cigarette burns down, he takes it and drops it into the beer bottle. The smell of smoke fades, replaced by warm bread and vinegar as we open the hoagies.
He’s quiet, and I hate that. He takes a bite and chews slowly. “She and Macy are talking now, though. Which means I’m the problem.”
“Like you said, she’ll cool off.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, but there’s no real confidence in it this time. “Still stings. You spend your whole life wanting to make her proud, and somehow, some days, you’re still the disappointment.”
I bump his shoulder gently. “You’re not a disappointment, Mitch. You’re eighteen and running a business. That’s more than most people our age.”
We finish our sandwiches as the sky deepens to a dusky purple. Fireflies start blinking near the cattails, and a frog croaks somewhere close. The world feels slower here, smaller somehow. Like everything beyond this dock doesn’t matter for a little while.
I scoot closer without really thinking about it, my knee knocking into his. He glances down at me, something unreadable in his eyes.
“Have you thought about us?” he asks, swallowing, eyes back on the water. “Like, what it’d be like if we actually dated. Not just hanging out and pretending it’s not something more.”
I laugh softly, but my heart kicks up. “Yeah. Constantly.”
“And?”
“I think I’d want that,” I admit. “But…we both know the group would make it a thing. Maddie would plan double dates, Brad would never shut up, and Macy would want every detail.”
He grins. “So, basically, chaos.”
“Pretty much.”
He thinks for a second, nodding slowly. “What if we keep it between us? Just until we know it’s not a mistake. We’ll tell everyone later—Fourth of July, maybe. That gives us a few weeks.”
I look over at him, and he’s serious. Not nervous or joking. Just honest.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I like that idea.”
“So, you’re saying yes?”
“Yes.” I nod, smiling. He smirks and the air shifts. He reaches for me first this time, hands warm at my waist.
His mouth moves against mine in a slow way, learning me as he goes. I kiss him back a little more aggressively, fingers scratching into his hair.
I climb onto his lap without thinking, my shorts riding up. He exhales against my mouth, hands settling at my hips again.
“Callie,” he murmurs, more warning than question.
I kiss him again instead of answering.
His hands touch my skin under the hem of my shirt, just a graze, then his palms flatten against me. They slowly creep up my spine until he feels the strings of my bikini top, and he pulls back.
“You planned on going swimming?” he asks teasingly.
“Maybe,” I say, smiling against his mouth.
He lifts me off of him and jumps down off the tailgate, his boots hitting the dirt. He reaches a hand out to me and pulls me toward the creek water. It’s shallow upstream but there’s a swimming hole in the middle where the rickety dock sits.
I kick my flip-flops off once I step onto the dock that creaks in the same spot it always has. I reach for the edge of my shirt and pull it over my head, revealing my navy-blue bikini top. Mitch is toeing off his boots and then peels his shirt off too. Sunburned shoulders and a farmer’s tan.
I reach for the button of my shorts and shimmy out of them at the same time he’s reaching for his button on his jeans. He watches me, moving slowly, like he’s distracted. Like he can’t handle undressing and watching me at the same time.
He gives me a devilish smile as he steps closer, and his boxers make me laugh. They’re patterned with pictures of fireworks. And when he looks down at himself in them, he laughs too. “Don’t ask.”
“Wasn’t gonna.” I smirk.
He crosses over to me in two strides, his hands reaching out and settling on my waist.
“I finally don’t have to try to quit staring at you.”
“Yeah?” I murmur and he kisses me softly. The second he stops for air I kick at his foot to push it off the edge of the dock.
He laughs. “Don’t you dare—”
I laugh and push him harder. This time he loses his footing, and at the last second he grabs me and takes me down with him.
I scream and laugh as we tumble in together, hitting the water in a loud splash that steals my breath. Cold rushes up my skin, shocking and a little numbing. I come up laughing, hair swept back, and he’s right there,
“That didn’t work out how you thought, huh?” He laughs.
“You’re mean,” I joke, and jump up on his back to try and dunk him.
“I am not,” he says, fighting the dunk. He twists his arms around my legs and moves through the water, trying to run to a shallower spot. The way he’s yelping that the rocks are hurting his feet and stubbing his toes has me cackling so hard I’m crying.
When he reaches the shallower part of the swimming hole, which reaches to the center of my chest, he drops me in and waits for me to wipe the water from my nose and eyes before he gets any closer.
“You know, boyfriends aren’t supposed to be mean.” I flash a playful glare. He cracks a grin.
His voice drops into that teasing tone that always gets me. “Says the one who tried to push me first.”
And then he’s kissing me again.
The water laps around us and his hands settle lower than before.
Without thinking, I let my legs float up and wrap around his waist, instinctively pulling myself closer.
I look at him differently now, really seeing him.
The way his brown eyes catch the last of the sun, dark gold threaded through them. I never noticed before.
His forehead rests against mine for a second, his breathing uneven and warm against my skin.
Then his hand slides to the small of my back, fingers moving upward until he finds the thin string of my bikini top at the back of my neck. He pauses just long enough to meet my eyes before giving it a gentle tug.
The knot slips free, and I can’t stop the small, surprised smile that curls at my mouth as the fabric loosens and falls away into the water between us, my chest suddenly bare.
Mitch doesn’t look down, he just kisses me again, deeper, pulling me closer until my bare skin presses against his, our shared breath catching the second we realize there’s nothing between us at all.
Then…a truck engine rumbles loudly, echoing down the dirt road.
Mitch freezes. I do too.
Because that is the unmistakable growl of Luke’s truck. You can hear that thing from a mile away, especially out here where sound carries over the water. The buzzing under my skin disappears instantly, replaced with pure, blinding panic.
“Oh shi—” Mitch says.
“Quick, tie it back up,” I cut him off, already pushing away from him and turning around, lifting my hair off my back.
Mitch fumbles with the strings, fingers clumsy and rushed, not getting it tight enough.
“No—ugh, move.” I take over, looping the ties myself as he heads for the bank. I follow right after him, heart hammering, hands shaking as I secure the knot.
Thank God you can’t see the watering hole from the road. It sits low, hidden by trees and thick brush. We can’t see Mitch’s truck from here—but from the road, you definitely can.
Luke’s engine cuts off.
“Aye yo!” Luke calls out.
“Yeah!” Mitch shouts back, already climbing out of the water. “Just cooling off!”
I scramble up the rocky incline behind him, trying to smooth my hair, trying to look normal, like I wasn’t just two seconds away from doing something very stupid.
Luke and Maddie come down the short trail, breaking through the trees. Luke’s got one hand wrapped around Maddie’s, tugging her along. They’re carrying fishing rods, towels, a tackle box, and a small cooler.
“Oh,” Luke says, stopping short. “Where’s everyone else?”
Heat rushes to my face. This looks so bad. Just us. If they ask anything more, I won’t be able to lie—I already feel it sitting in my throat.
“Yeah,” Mitch says easily. “Sorta last minute.”
“Uh-huh,” Luke mutters, eyes flicking from Mitch to me.
Maddie doesn’t say anything. She just looks at me—and somehow that says more than anything Luke could’ve asked.
I drop my gaze and head for the dock, sitting down and forcing myself to act casual. Like this isn’t weird. Like this isn’t obvious.
Two friends. Secretly hanging out at the swimming hole. Not mentioning it to anyone.
It basically follows Luke and Maddie’s exact recipe for a relationship—the only difference being that Mitch and I kept our clothes on.
Well, mostly.