6. Chapter 6
Chapter six
Benji
I set everything on the picnic table as Gina hands a glass of wine to Clay and another to Briar.
“Too good for the swill?” Clay asks Briar, an amused look on his face.
“When you’re buying the good stuff, yes.” She takes a drink. Her nose wrinkles. “Oh god, it tastes like a forest floor.”
Gina laughs and hands her a beer.
“It’s French,” Clay says. “It’s supposed to.”
Briar cracks the beer and takes a long drink. “Gross.”
“Don’t blame the wine for your unsophisticated palate,” Clay says, but then he takes a drink, and no one misses his subtle wince.
Gina hands me a beer, and I follow her to the grill.
“Can I do anything?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
Briar’s drawn Clay into conversation over by the fire pit—not so far away that the four of us couldn’t carry on a conversation, but far enough that it feels like an attempt at giving us a chance to talk semi-privately.
“Have you been out to your island yet?” I ask her. The little island out on Happy Lake is one of her favorite places.
“I told you about that, did I?” She frowns as she flips a piece of chicken. “I haven’t had a chance yet. Too busy.” There’s a hot plate on the grill, and she empties a container of sliced peppers and onions onto it, pulling a wooden spoon out from her back pocket to stir it.
It doesn’t take a lot to get her talking.
All I have to do is ask questions about the lodge, and she opens up.
There’s so much love and enthusiasm for Happy Lake in her voice that I’m excited to explore the place, to spend afternoons lounging in the treehouse, and to learn all the trails.
I want to know the names of all the birds and wildflowers, too. Like Rudbeckia.
I want to stay for the summer so bad. But I need Gina to want me to.
When the chicken is cooked, Gina slices it and brings it to the picnic table with the peppers and onions. We all sit, filling our plates. I sit next to Gina, as close as I can get away with. My knee bumps hers, and she bumps mine back.
“Chicken fajitas were the only thing I could do with what I had on hand,” Gina says apologetically, smiling at Clay. “All out of caviar, I’m afraid.”
He smirks, looking amused at the stern look I shoot him. “Can’t stand the texture anyway,” he says. “So—second cousins?”
Gina groans. “You can’t tell anyone.”
“We won’t,” Briar promises.
“Does your fiancé know you’re married?” Clay asks. “I doubt he’ll believe the second cousin thing.”
I kick him under the table, and he gives me a cold look. But I turn to Gina because I was wondering the same thing.
She hesitates. “I told him.”
Clay raises an eyebrow her way. “And?”
“And he stormed off.” Gina frowns at her fajita. “He needs some space.”
So does Gina, at least from this topic. So, I change the subject. Briar takes the cue, and although Clay doesn’t talk much, the conversation flows, and everything feels comfortable.
The evening is cooling down when we finish, shadows deepening across the clearing as the sun sinks into the trees across the lake.
We carry everything back into the cabin.
Briar and I do the dishes. Clay reclines on the green sofa, stubbornly drinking his awful wine and feeling no need to offer his assistance.
Not that there’s room for him around the sink.
Gina leans against the refrigerator, joining the conversation.
She insisted we were guests and that she could do it, but she cooked, so we won’t let her help.
I don’t hear the heavy tread on the front porch, only the loud spring of the screen door. Gina stiffens and pushes off the fridge.
The lumberjack stands in the doorway, the door swinging shut behind him.
He just stands there—and the room goes silent.
Life is cruel because he crosses his arms, putting all that corded muscle on display and looking effortlessly badass.
When I cross my arms, I immediately feel like a toddler refusing a nap. So I uncross them.
“You remember Briar and Clay from this afternoon,” Gina says. “And Benji.”
He doesn’t glance at any of us. Just nods.
“There’s leftovers if you’re hungry,” she adds, stepping away from the fridge.
He says nothing as he walks to the fridge and pulls out a beer. He twists the cap off, drops it on the counter, and then takes Gina’s position by the fridge, watching us.
Whatever. I bring my attention back to the dishes.
“Why are you here?” he asks gruffly.
“Milo, don’t,” Gina says in a quiet voice.
I hand the last dish to Briar and dry my hands on a towel as I turn to face him, leaning against the counter as casually as possible, picking up my beer, and taking a drink because it feels like rebellion not to answer him immediately. “I think it’s pretty obvious why I’m here.”
He stares at me for a long moment, and it’s dismissive. “Are you old enough to drink that?” he asks, tipping his beer toward mine.
“I’m twenty-five.”
He snorts. “You look like you’re still in college.”
“Didn’t go,” I say evenly.
“Neither did I,” Gina says. “Neither did you.” That’s directed at the lumberjack.
He ignores her. “What do you do?”
Does he think he can shame me? I laugh. “I’m a stripper.”
His dark eyes widen, and he turns slowly to Gina, who shrugs helplessly. “A stripper, Gina?”
“Do you have a problem with strippers?” Briar asks, her voice sugary sweet but somehow sharp enough to cut. I’ve heard her use that voice before, only a handful of times with shitty patrons and once on Baz. It took Baz a whole week to look her in the eye after that conversation.
The lumberjack blinks at her. “No.” But he doesn’t sound certain.
“Now you’ve done it,” Clay says with a short laugh, folding his hands behind his head and crossing his feet at the ankles.
“Because,” Briar continues, “it sounds like you do have a problem with strippers.”
His brow furrows. “I don’t.”
She makes an indifferent sound.
“I don’t,” he insists more forcefully.
“So you’re a bully?”
“No, I—” he cuts himself off abruptly and scowls at her.
“Okay,” Gina says, stepping in between them. “We can all agree this situation is…not great.”
“It is,” Clay assures her. “Better than reality TV.”
Gina turns to him. “Glad you’re entertained,” she says dryly.
“Let’s make this whole thing more interesting.” Clay rises to his feet. “We’ll settle it with a fight.”
My spine stiffens. I’d get my ass kicked. I don’t know how to fight and something tells me the lumberjack does.
Briar snorts. “Let me guess—oiled up and shirtless.”
“Naturally.” Clay grins, and okay, this is a joke. They’re trying to break the tension to de-escalate the situation. I glance at the lumberjack. He looks bewildered.
“Oh my god,” Gina mutters, rubbing her eyes.
I size him up, pretending this is something I’d consider. “Is hair pulling allowed?”
“It’s encouraged,” Clay says.
Gina pinches the bridge of her nose. “No one is fighting.”
“In that case,” Clay says, setting his wine glass on the table, “it’s getting late. Thank you for dinner, Gina. It was lovely.”
We’re leaving? I turn to Gina. I’m not ready to leave her yet.
“I’ll walk you out,” she says, turning a warning look at the lumberjack. He doesn’t say anything and has the distinct look of someone trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
The sun has set, but it’s still bright enough to see our way to Clay’s car. Gina and I trail behind.
“I’m sorry about Milo,” she says.
“You don’t have to apologize for him.” I reach up, tuck a curl behind her ear—it doesn’t stay—then cup her face ever so softly. Her eyes widen, and she sucks in a breath as I lean close, planting a kiss on her cheek, half an inch from her lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I whisper before I step back.
She touches her cheek, looking dazed.
I manage not to jump up and shout ‘yes’ at the top of my lungs. I am most definitely in this. I still have a chance. “Goodnight, Gina,” I say instead. But I can’t stop the smile.
“Um. Goodnight. I…” I can see her swallow in the dim light. “See you tomorrow.”
When I reach the car, Briar is in the backseat, so I drop into the passenger seat.
Gina stands where I left her, and there’s something distracted in her wave as Clay reverses.
She’s not in love with the lumberjack. She didn’t claim to be, and she would if she were. There’s something off about their relationship.
Which means I can’t leave tomorrow. I have to convince Gina to give us a chance.
I turn to face Briar. “I need your help. How can I stay for the summer?”
Clay mutters something under his breath, but Briar claps her hands together. “Okay, here’s the plan.”