Page 51 of One Last Summer
Mack bit back a laugh, pressing his fist against his mouth.
“Bruce here has handled all the exterior painting at Pine Lake for the last few years,” Mack explained. “He’s the reason everything looks so nice every summer.”
“Ah, he’s just blowing smoke up my ass.” Bruce dismissed him with another wave of his hand, but I could tell by the smile that flickered across his face that he appreciated the compliment.
“He’s good at that,” I quipped.
Mack’s mouth fell open in exaggerated offense. “Hey!”
“It’s nice to meet you both,” I said. “I hope you heal up fast so you can waterski next summer.”
Travis’s face fell, and Bruce glanced at his son and then shot a look up at Mack.
“We drove by this morning on our way to the trail,” he explained, clearly choosing his words carefully. “I texted my friend who’s in real estate and got the dirt.”
“Oh,” I said as realization hit—they’d seen the SOLD sign in front of camp.
“Don’t worry, buddy. We’re going to figure something out.” Mack’s voice was upbeat, but his jaw shifted slightly, a hint of tension. Travis nodded, and his smile returned; clearly, Mack’s word was gold to him.
“Let me know what the surgeon says?” Mack asked, and Bruce nodded before offering him a fist bump.
“Will do, man. Appreciate it.”
“Travis.” Mack reached a hand toward him as if he was about to share a high five, but what followed was some sort of secret handshake, a series of slaps and gestures that ended with Mack and Travis both miming playing the trumpet.
“That was impressive,” I said as we waved our goodbyes and walked toward the exit.
“They’re shockingly easy to remember after you’ve done them, like, fifty times,” he said nonchalantly. “I can make one up with you if you want, Millen. You know, if you’re jealous.”
“What, do you have a secret handshake with every camper?” I asked, half joking.
But Mack simply shrugged, a wistful look on his face as he slid into the driver’s seat. “Just about.”
He smiled as he said this, because—I realized—Mack smiled at everything. His lips curled up slightly more on the right side when he teased me, and they grew to a huge grin when he was genuinely laughing. They parted slightly when he looked at me like he wanted to tear my clothes off, his teeth grazing the edge of his bottom lip. And when he was sad, truly crestfallen like he was now, the edges of his mouth tugged tight across his face, in a thin, flat line.
I loved Mack’s smiles. But this one, I couldn’t stand. It ate at me as we drove in silence again, Mack fiddling with the radio until some sports talk channel came in through the static. I looked down at the Alewife notes I’d typed out on my phone hours ago, trying to get my mind back on work, but I couldn’t shake the thought of Mack’s face, the way he lit up like a sunbeam at Travis.
We were alone again, and the heat of last night—the way his lips had melted against my skin—came rushing back to me in a wave of fizzy nerves. It didn’t help that my subconscious had been colluding with my libido, telegraphing Mack make-out sessions as I’d slept. Part of me wanted to demand he pull over on the side of the road, wrap my arms around his neck, and yank him on top of me, right here in the passenger seat. But the sadness that had settled around him since talking with Travis called to another part of me entirely.
“You should buy Pine Lake,” I blurted out.
“Huh?” He shot me a confused glance before turning back to the road.
“You should try to buy Pine Lake,” I said adamantly. “Fuck this glamping developer. You’d be the perfect person to run the camp and keep it as it is, as it should be. Talk to Steve and Marla about it. I bet they’d say yes.”
I studied him, searching for some sort of hint of a reaction. Finally, he reached across the console, pulling at my sleeve until my hand was free and wrapped in his own, warm and secure.
“It’s complicated, Millen. Also, the guy is offering all cash. And I’ve already promised my parents I’d start training with them this fall. It just doesn’t make sense.”
“Stop being so goddamn practical,” I teased, curling my knees up onto the seat as he let out a satisfied chuckle. “That sounds frighteningly similar to something I would say.”
“What’s wrong with that?” His voice was low and sultry, and it hit me like oil on a hot pan. “I like the things that come out of your mouth. Especially the stuff you were saying to me last night.”
I cleared my throat. “Maybe we can find a time to, you know.”
“Keep making things weird?” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, eyes firmly on the road in front of him. If I didn’t know better, I’d assume he was nervous. But this was Mack; nothing ever fazed him. But the more his fingers tapped against the worn leather, the more I wondered.
“I’ll check my calendar,” I said finally, attempting a joke as my breath hitched, my body remembering what it had felt like to have his lips on my skin. “See if I have the time.”
