Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
I throw her a reproachful glare. She needs to ease up on Camille. It’s obvious to anyone who’s been around our group for long that Camille is interested in me, but that’s not what bothers Isla. She doesn’t like Camille because when they were first introduced, Camille asked about Isla’s job. When Isla mentioned she works in advertising, Camille looked down her nose and snidely asked if she came up with “those little jingles for commercials”. Isla took offense considering she’d just been promoted to senior art director at one of the largest ad agencies in the country. No, she doesn’t come up with jingles. First and foremost, she’s an artist and designer.
I thought they’d smoothed things over since then.
Apparently not.
“How’s the project coming along?” Brody asks just before the waiter comes by to take our order. Everyone’s due for another round, so I open a new tab.
“It’s on schedule, which is all you can really hope for with these large-scale projects,” I reply once the waiter leaves.
“Isla told us all about it.” Camille smiles. “It sounds like it’ll be amazing once it’s complete.”
“Can’t wait to check it out,” Jace says, throwing his arm around Alice’s shoulders.
“Yeah, it’ll be a fun weekend,” Brody adds.
My gaze clashes with Isla’s and her eyes beg me not to ruin the moment by telling everyone the trip is off. Memorial Day is two weeks away and the resort won’t even be framed by then, much less welcome to guests.
I don’t want to rain on everyone’s parade, so I try for honesty instead. If they realize how shabby the camp actually is, I doubt they’ll still want to come.
“It’s not going to be a luxurious vacation. The camp is old and there’s nowhere to stay. My crew is taking up the old bunkhouses.”
“So we’ll pitch tents!” Isla replies brightly.
The guys agree.
Camille wrinkles her nose at the idea, which only excites Isla more.
“And there’s a lake, right? Can we swim in it?”
We had water samples taken when we were testing the soil, just to get our bearings as to what the bacteria levels looked like. It’s actually cleaner than the water coming out of most people’s tap owing to the fact that it’s fed from an aquifer underground.
“You can, but it’s freezing.”
That doesn’t faze them either.
It’s no use.
Everyone’s curious about the site and no one—except maybe Camille—minds the fact that they’ll have to rough it in nature.
After drinks on Friday night, the weekend creeps forward like a slug. In fact, I’m not totally sure it isn’t moving in reverse. The meeting on Saturday lasts hours and only holds half of my attention considering it’s a very straightforward project based here in Austin. I’ve done ten just like it in the last five years. After that, I work, go to the gym, decline an invitation to have drinks with Camille, and snuff out each errant thought I have about Taylor like I’m pinching the wick of a candle.
It doesn’t always work though. That flame still flickers, and every spare minute I have amidst the flurry of activity is spent debating whether or not I should head back to camp early. I nearly do it, too. I pack my stuff Saturday afternoon and catch myself just before I walk out the door.
What the fuck am I doing?
There’s no good reason for me to go back to camp early except to see Taylor. Oh, sure, I try hard to mask it with another motive like wanting to check up on the jobsite or confirm that she followed my orders. That said, the fact is plain and simple and a hard pill to swallow: I’m actually anxious to see her, anxious to get back to that cabin.
Obviously, this infuriates me, so I double down and force myself to stay in Austin even longer than I would have otherwise. It’s why I join my parents and Isla for dinner Sunday night.
My knee jostles under their table while my gaze flits to the clock every five minutes. My bag is already in my truck. I’ve got a full tank of gas. I plan on heading back to the camp straight from here.
“Seems like you have a lot on your mind,” my mom says, nodding toward the untouched dessert plate in front of me. It’s my favorite: warm apple pie with a dollop of melting ice cream beside it. I hadn’t even noticed it was there.
Isla’s grinning at me from across the table. I haven’t brought up Taylor to her at all this weekend, but it doesn’t matter. Isla knows me too well.
I narrow my eyes, and she gloats as she scoops up a big ol’ bite of pie.
I wonder if it’s too late to put her up for adoption. Being a single child sounds nice.
After dinner, Isla and I walk out to our cars together. I’m aiming for pleasant silence.