“I said a boom-chicka-boom!” The voice calls out, carried on the evening breeze. The campers are gathered in the dining hall, affectionately known as The Slop Shack, even though our cooks are amazing. Even one building over, it’s impossible to miss the thundering feet stomping the old boards to the beat of the chant. The screened walls of the buildings are both a blessing and a curse.
“I said a boom-chicka-boom!” The raucous chorus calls back.
“I said a boom-chicka-rocka-chicka-rocka-chicka-boom!” The campers yell the final line at the top of their lungs before erupting in a round of applause.
“Good job campers! Dig in!” The noise level in the dining hall drops to a dull roar as mouths fill up with chili dogs and tater tots. I train my focus back on the forms I’ve been drowning in all day long.
“Jesus pleasus, are you still at that?” I look up and see Bobbi leaning around the doorframe, peering at me with her owl-like gaze.
“Unsurprisingly, yes,” I say, rubbing itchy, tired eyes.
“As much fun as that looks, it’s my night off. So, you get to set up the campfire and s’mores.”
“Ah, shit. I’m sorry, Bobbi!” I glance at the clock and realize she’s already stayed late. Closing my laptop, I stand and grab my flannel from the hook by the door. “I’m on it. Go have fun.” Bobbi nods and hustles out the door with a wave. I lock up and head to s’mores storage. We buy graham crackers and marshmallows by the pallet. It’s so excessive that Bobbi jokes I should have bought stock in Stay-Puft before buying up the camp.
It’s a short walk to the ring of benches that surround a stone fire pit. I make quick work of starting the fire. It crackles cheerfully, little sparks floating up into the night air as two dozen pairs of feet come tromping down the path. The campers carry flashlights, shining them at each other and up under their own chins, trying to look as eerie as possible, but that’s not what’s stolen my attention.
A woman leads the group, her soft auburn hair pulled back from her face. She’s leading a chorus of On Top of Spaghetti while the campers sing at the top of their lungs. As they get closer, she turns to face them, walking backward so she can wave a stick like a conductor’s wand. I’m hit with a wave of Déjà vu so strong it nearly knocks me off my feet.
My heart thumps harder and harder until it’s a physical ache. I have a moment of panic as I rub my chest. Is this what a heart attack feels like? It can’t be. It’s not nearly as unpleasant as I would have expected. But if I’m not dying, what the fuck is wrong with me?
She turns back around, her ponytail swinging over one shoulder. She’s close enough now that I can see the firelight sparkling in her hazel eyes. Unforgettable eyes. The wave of unease turns to disbelieving excitement when my brain finally puts the pieces together.
“Amelia?” I ask. Her footsteps falter and three of the kids crash into her from behind, knocking her off balance. I reach out and catch her forearm, and where her soft skin connects with my fingers, sparks fly, invisible but no less real.
She peers up at me, brow furrowed in confusion. My heart pounds, threatening to go ballistic if she doesn’t remember me. But then her eyes light up and I see the recognition. The excitement spreads over her face, pink lips curling in a smile I haven’t seen in over a decade. But no matter how much time has passed, that grin is one I’d never forget.
“Noah!” she cries excitedly, jumping at me and wrapping her arms around my neck. I hug her back, lifting her feet off the ground. Her curves mold against my chest, her body warm and soft. I hold her as long as I can, but little whispers start moving through the crowd of campers. When the giggles start, I know I have to let her go.
Amelia must have the same thought, because she pulls back first. I release her, but letting go feels like a hit to the gut. Staring up at me with wide eyes, she fixes her shirt, tugging the hem back down. “What are you doing here?”
“I own the camp,” I tell her, my heart racing. Jesus. Why can’t I breathe? “I can’t believe you’re here. Why are you here? Wait, that came out wrong. God, it’s been a long time, Amelia.”
“It has,” she laughs breathlessly. “I go by Mia now. Bobbi hired me to do the music. I just got in today. Wait, you changed your last name?” her lips purse as she frowns.
“Yeah, Germaine. My mom remarried and my stepdad adopted me. I took his last name when I turned 18.”
Amelia—now Mia, gives me a smile, crooked and genuine and exactly how I remembered her. I can just barely see the dusting of freckles on her nose, and I’m hit with memories of hot summer days at the lake with the first girl to set my heart on fire.
The only girl.
I always chalked it up to her being my first kiss. My first love. But standing here in front of her, it’s not just that. There’s an invisible force, desperately trying to pull her close again—
“Um… Can we have s’mores or what?” The little voice rises out of the pack of campers. It’s more than a little snotty, but she has a point.
“Yeah! Or what? Are you two just going to stare at each other all night?”
Mia grins sheepishly, a hint of color rising in her cheeks. I clear my throat and step aside, letting the campers rush the s’mores table. With their attention glued to the marshmallows, I turn back to Amelia. I know better. I know I should be professional. But she slipped through my fingers once. It’s taken 16 years to get a second chance and I’m not the passive teenager I once was.
Leaning down so only she can hear me; I whisper in Mia’s ear. The clean scent of her skin mixes with the pine needle carpet, calling up sense memories that have me on the verge of needing to sit to conceal the way she affects me. “At the risk of making Bobbi yell at me for an HR violation on your first day, wanna catch up later? Grab a late dinner in town?”
“I dunno,” she says, making my heart drop. “I don’t want to get fired for fraternization on my first day…”
I straighten up and catch her grinning mischievously, sending relief flooding my body. “Well, lucky for me, I have an in with management.”
“In that case, I’d love to catch up,” Mia says, placing her hand on my bicep. My skin tingles, the nerves dancing under her touch. I love running the camp. Really. The kids are hilarious and it’s far more rewarding than tech consulting, but, at this moment, I’d give anything to have these kids far, far away.
Mia settles on a log stool, her long sleek ponytail falling over one shoulder. I fidget, rubbing the pads of my fingers against my thumb, trying to remember how it felt. I can’t, and it’s annoying the fuck out of me until she strums her guitar, making me laugh.
“Down on the banks of the Hanky Panky, where the bullfrogs jump from bank to banky...” Mia’s voice cuts through the evening air, sweet and bubbly. Her enthusiasm is contagious, coaxing even the shyest campers to sing along while they scorch their s’mores. They talk and giggle, but I can barely tear my eyes off of Mia.
Her fingers move along the neck of the guitar in a seemingly effortless display of talent. She barely even looks down at it, playing like it’s an extension of her body. I’m doing my best not to stare. I really am. But every time our eyes meet, my heart leaps like the damn thing is trying to jump out of my chest and get closer to her.