Olivia
Chapter fifteen
Once we’re in the center of the lake, we stop paddling and let the canoe drift. Gage lays his paddle across the sides of the boat, holding it in the center like the lap bar on a roller coaster.
We relax in the canoe as the sun starts to set; the sky shifts from blue to pink and red and orange, silhouetting the trees until they appear black against the colorful sky. The air already feels cooler as the sun sinks low.
I think back on the first week of camp—the activities I led, how much fun everyone had, and the kids I met.
“You know what’s weird?” I ask.
“What?”
“Almost everyone this week called me Olivia instead of Delaney.”
Gage looks away. “Huh. I guess I’m a trendsetter.”
Before that super suspicious reaction, I figured Linda maybe got confused about which name I use and it caught on. Now, I’m questioning whether Gage had anything to do with it.
“Why do you look guilty?”
“Do I?” He shifts in his seat, keeping his eyes on the sunset over the trees.
“Should you?”
“Umm.”
“Gage,” I say sternly. “Look at me.”
He finally meets my gaze again. I give him my best no-nonsense look. He matches my expression for a beat but can’t stop the grin from spreading over his lips.
“You did something!” I accuse.
He shrugs. “Not really. All I really did was mention you a lot in conversation with the other staff and overemphasize your name. Your actual name.”
“Gage!” I groan. “There’s a reason I prefer to be called Delaney.”
“Ah. Well, then please share. What’s the reason?”
I hesitate. The real reason is that I didn’t want to be “Stupid Olivia” anymore.
I decided to reinvent myself heading into high school.
No one would notice my shortcomings in the classroom if I dominated on the soccer pitch and my popularity made everyone want to be my friend.
So I became cool, fun Delaney. But it still wasn’t enough.
He reads my reluctance to share as reticence. “You’ve got nothing, do you? And ‘Olivia’ suits you. I never understood why you wanted to change something that was already perfect.”
I scoff. “Nothing about me is perfect.” I pause, deciding to share part of the truth.
“You want to know why? Fine. Heading into high school, I wanted to differentiate myself. From my sisters, who the teachers all remembered and then expected me to be just like, and also from who I was before. I wanted to be … fun.”
Gage tilts his head, as if trying to figure me out. “You’ve always been fun. You still are. I had an amazing time with you today.”
“It was a good day,” I agree.
He doesn’t need to know how I’m filing away each and every moment from this day together to pull out and relive after this summer is over and we go back to living our separate lives again.
We row back to shore in the postsunset twilight and pull the canoe up the bank and out of the water. I leave Gage on the shore as I put the life vests and oars back in the boathouse.
When I return, he’s sitting in the grass with his eyes trained on the sky.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Stargazing,” he answers, then pulls on my hand until I’m sitting down next to him. “Join me.”
I turn my head up to look at the stars, painfully aware that he’s still holding my hand. The night is quiet; the only sounds are the buzz of the cicadas and the soft lapping of the lake water on the shore.
Without thinking, I lean against Gage’s side, tilting my head until it rests on his shoulder. His body stills, as if he’s afraid moving might break the spell.
Slowly, he brings his face down and kisses the top of my head with agonizing softness. Then he stops, but when I don’t push him away, he moves on to my forehead. His lips linger against my skin, and I close my eyes, drinking in the sensation.
I switch my brain back to autopilot. Playing in the creek, tussling together over cards, relaxing into conversation on the lake; everything about today with Gage has lulled me into my feelings and away from the very good reasons I have for leaving him alone.
I tilt my face toward him, giving him better access, and he kisses down one side of my face—to my eyebrow, my cheek, my jawline, my chin—and then back up the other side. His mouth is warm when he parts his lips and presses an open-mouthed kiss to my temple.
His nearness and his touch are so exhilaratingly loud and bright in the dark quiet that they leave no space for my doubts. So, I push the doubts aside.
I shiver, and he wraps an arm around my shoulder, pulling me close. The shift puts my mouth mere inches from his, so close I can feel his breath on my lips as he breathes in and out. Time stops, and we’re suspended in this moment, hearts pounding and breaths ragged, for too long.
He doesn’t come closer, doesn’t make a move, and my frustration ratchets up with each second that passes. I reach out and clutch the fabric of his T-shirt in my fist, hoping to jolt him into closing the gap between his lips and mine.
“Olivia,” he breathes out. “If you want this—”
“I want it,” I murmur.
“It’s your move.”
I don’t second-guess. It’s like the thread holding me back has unraveled bit by bit and now it snaps, and I’m falling into him. My lips are on his in an instant, desperate and needy. He returns the same energy, moving his mouth over mine with a frenzy that leaves me gasping for air.
We can’t get close enough. He pulls me onto his lap, and I use the new angle to deepen the kiss. With one hand still gripping his shirt, I slide the other to the back of his neck and drag my fingers through his hair.
He has one of his arms braced behind my back while the other cups the side of my head. When his mouth detaches from mine, I whimper, then gasp as he drags his lips down the side of my neck to my shoulder.
A deep, low-pitched “hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo” from the nearby trees startles us away from each other.
Gage chuckles, smoothing a hand over the wrinkles in his shirt from where I was gripping it. “An owl, I think.”
I nod, though I’m not sure he can see me. It’s gotten dark quickly.
With the loss of his proximity, my brain switches back on, and the doubts crowd back in.
I check my smartwatch to distract myself from the impulse to reach for him again. Wow, it’s late. So maybe it hasn’t gotten dark quickly; we’ve been out here a while.
The realization sets my nervous system into panic-mode. Questions shoot through my mind so quickly I don’t have time to consider answers to any of them. Was this a fluke? What is Gage thinking? What did this mean to him? How can we move forward as friends after this?
I clear my throat, forcing myself to channel the detachedness of my cool, unbothered Delaney persona. “We should probably get to our cabins so we can get some sleep before the new group of campers arrive tomorrow.”
Gage is quiet. The owl hoots again, and a breeze blows over my bare arms, causing me to shiver.
“Yeah,” he says finally, his voice subdued. “Let me walk you back.”
At my cabin door, he leans forward and brushes a strand of hair off my face. I watch him, searching his face for any indication of what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling. But he’s impassive.
For him, that kiss must have been a bit of closure on our halted relationship five years ago. For me, it was a compulsion, something that I couldn’t have stopped if I wanted to, despite my better judgment and my desire to do the right thing.
As if confirming my thoughts, he brushes a dispassionate kiss to my cheek before stepping back. “Good night, Olivia.”
“Night,” I echo.
Once inside, I lean my back against the closed door and squeeze my eyes shut with enough force that red spots ignite behind my lids.
Hot shame rolls down my back like beads of sweat during a grueling soccer practice. Kissing Gage was reckless, but leading him on would be unforgivable.
When we talk about this tomorrow—and knowing Gage, I’m certain we will—I need to set expectations. Throw up boundaries and restrictions. Make it clear I know where I should stand with him.
I know I’m not a good long-term match for him, but after those explosive kisses, I need more.
Maybe there’s a way to kiss him for now without tying him down. Maybe we can lean into our physical chemistry without getting his heart involved.
I groan and run my hand down my face. Maybe when I kissed Gage, I made this summer a whole lot more complicated.
“What have I done?” I whisper into the dim cabin.