Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
KRISTA
Saturday, Day Two of the Summer Swap
“Krista and Joe—perfect. Just the two people I wanted to see,” Walt said, stepping off his Polaris Ranger and walking up to their campsite.
His jeans were worn, flannel sleeves shoved to his forearms, and heavy work boots dusted with gravel.
When he smiled, it crinkled the corners of his eyes under his baseball cap, softening the edges of his rough exterior.
Krista straightened from kneeling by the picnic table, a lens cap in one hand, tripod in the other. Joe was helping her sort through camera gear.
Their campsite, tucked beneath a stand of pines, still smelled faintly of last night’s rain with its wet earth, damp leaves, and the fresh lake air drifting in.
On this side of the campground, the rustic sites were quieter, more secluded.
No electrical hookups humming in the background.
Just bird calls, the distant chop of wood, and Walt’s Ranger rumbling in the background.
“Hey, Gramps,” she said. “What’s up?”
“That storm was a doozy on the north side,” he said, pushing back his cap. “Made a mess of the storm drains. I was hoping you could help me clear the lines ahead of the morning shower rush. You know how those bathrooms get if the pipes are stuck.”
Krista immediately pictured a line of campers—flip-flops, towels, damp hair—waiting for a shower while water raced across the concrete floor. Her shoulders tensed automatically.
“Yeah,” she said, grimacing. “I don’t want to relive the Great Shower Swamp of ’21.”
Joe arched a brow. “That sounds…memorable.”
“That’s one way to describe it,” Krista replied dryly.
Walt hesitated, then asked, “And, uh…your grandma’s been down at the camp store since sunup, trying to tackle inventory again.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Last time, we ended up with a truckload of toilet paper and no bug spray. I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but…”
Krista winced. The inventory still hadn’t been done. The new sand for the beach, the firewood from the sawmill? Not ordered. Every undone task pricked at her like pine needles.
“We can help,” she said automatically, then glanced at Joe. “If you don’t mind us postponing the hike until, say, Monday? We can still squeeze in a photography lesson in town before your shift.”
“Not at all,” Joe said. “Helping at the campground is part of my duty now, isn’t it?”
She shot off an apology to Zoe, just as a message came through.
Reminder!!! Summer Swap Day 2! Today’s challenge: Krista Photography Re-Do, sponsored by the Cocoa Corner. $100 + % of truffle sales to your grandparents’ fund. Don’t forget those website shots
Guilt tugged in two directions at once, pulling her between town and everything that needed to be done at the campground.
Joe leaned a little closer, reading over her shoulder. “We’ll still do the lesson, get the shots,” he said quietly. “Elsie can wait an hour. Flooded showers can’t.”
Krista exhaled slowly. “Okay. Drain duty first. Photos second.”
“That’s my girl,” Walt said, relief softening his face. “You grab the gloves and shovel from the maintenance shed. I already threw the snake in the Ranger.”
Joe’s eyes widened a fraction. “The…snake?”
Krista smirked. “The plumbing kind. You’ll live.”
They piled into the Ranger—Krista wedged between Joe and Walt on the bench seat.
As they rattled along the gravel road, she watched the campground roll by.
The rustic south side, ringed by trees with hammocks and wild flowers, gave way to the more developed north end, RVs plugged into electrical posts, kids riding bikes in loops, and the smell of bacon and coffee wafting in the air from all the open kitchens.
These were the sights she knew as well as her own reflection. She loved this place. Loved the way her grandparents had built a whole little world out of pine trees and picnic tables and people who came back year after year because it felt like home.
But it wasn’t where her heart was. This had always been their dream while the Hideaway was hers, and now she had to let it go.
And when Walt couldn’t haul a line snake or Alice couldn’t remember where she’d put the keys, what would be left?
Krista could picture herself clearly, keeping the campground running, carrying their dream forward even if it was never the life she’d pictured for herself.
A good life. A meaningful one. Just…not fully hers.
The bathhouse came into view, the long brown building crouching between a cluster of maples. A small line had already formed outside. Campers stood with shower caddies and towels waiting for the “all clear.”
“Sorry, folks,” Walt called as he parked. “We’ll have it flowing in no time.”
Krista hopped down, tugged on a pair of rubber gloves, and nodded toward the nearest drain grate near the shower entrance. Pine needles, leaves, and debris had piled over it in a messy, soggy mound.
“Alright,” she said. “I’ll clear the covers. Joe, if you want to help me bag this stuff, Gramps can run the snake through the line.”
They worked side by side, picking up the debris that was blocking the grates, holding the trash bags open and tying them off once they were full.
He was close enough that she kept catching little flashes of him in her peripheral vision, the way his T-shirt clung to his biceps as he cinched the bag.
Every time his shoulder brushed hers, the touch was electrifying.
“Wait, let me get a photo for Elsie.” Krista reached for her phone. “We should’ve grabbed your camera.”
“I wasn’t thinking about photographing clogged bathroom drains.”
“No, but you’re looking pretty good clearing them,” Krista replied with a smile. “Maybe grab one of the rakes. I’ll get some action shots.”
Joe shook his head, but did as he was told, raking up leaves and pine needles while Krista moved around him, taking photos at various angles.
“So let me get this straight,” Joe said while Krista sent off the photos to Elsie. “You do this, handle the store inventory, order firewood etcetera, and run the Hideaway?”
“Don’t forget schedule the sand delivery for the beach,” Krista said, grimacing. “I was supposed to have it done in the spring. ”
Walt snorted. “We made it this far. We’ll make it a little longer. Kids don’t mind a few rocks under their toes.”
Krista shot him a look. “That’s not the point and you know it.”
He shrugged. “Builds character. Same as lukewarm showers and mosquito bites.”
The snake suddenly broke through a clog with a wet gurgle. A rush of water surged, then settled.
“Ah,” Walt said, satisfied. “There it is. The sound of victory.”
Krista wrinkled her nose. “The sound of something. I’m not sure ‘victory’ is the word I’d use.”
A small cheer went up from the waiting campers like they’d just been rescued from the wilderness. One woman called, “Thank you, Krista!” Another man gave Walt a thumbs-up.
Someone farther back added, “You’re doing the Lord’s work!”
Walt clapped. “Alright. I’ll walk down and tell your grandma we’re good. Maybe stall her away from that inventory list for a bit.”
“Are you sure?” Krista looked skeptical.
“I’ll keep her busy,” Walt said. “You two go take your pictures. Make us famous.”
He tipped his cap to Joe. “Thanks for the help, son.”
“Anytime,” Joe said.
As Walt headed toward the camp store, Krista’s phone buzzed again.
It was an email. The subject line: Offer on the Hideaway .
Krista’s stomach dipped.
For a second, the world narrowed to the phone in her hand. The word “offer.” The promise of relief, of money. Of finally being able to say yes to more help for her grandparents instead of just patching holes everywhere she turned.
She should’ve felt nothing but grateful.
Selling made sense. It was the responsible choice.
The adult one. But the thought of the Hideaway belonging to someone else…
of another person standing behind that counter, making her drinks, rearranging her shelves, changing things without knowing why she’d chosen them—it made her stomach turn.
She locked the screen without reading the offer and slid the phone back into her pocket.
She’d deal with it later. For once, she wanted a morning that wasn’t all decisions and numbers and stress.
She looked over at Joe, who was silently watching her. His gaze flicked from her pocket back to her face, steady and patient, like he was waiting to see if she’d tell him what was going on.
“You still up for town?” she asked, bypassing the look and forcing her voice light. “Photography lesson, iced drinks?”
His smile was easy, warm. “Lead the way, boss.”
And just like that, she decided that for the next couple of hours, the potential buyer, the proposal, and the future of the Hideaway could sit on read.
Maybe—if they played it right—she and the sexiest man she’d ever met could sneak off for more than just a photography lesson.