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fter returning to the tent, sleep proved to be elusive. Even after devouring an entire container of Nutter Butters, the cold lingered, leaving me tossing and turning in a half conscious state , which meant I had nothing to keep my mind busy, so it replayed every embarrassing interaction from the day on a looped track.

Time passed, and the sound of crickets quieted.

Eventually, I must have fallen asleep.

A pressure sat on my chest, and I couldn’t wake or call out for help. My vision was hindered, as if my eyes were closed even when I knew they were open and blinking. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe, and I couldn’t speak—blind, helpless, and suffocating. Then, I’d woken, realizing I’d passed out at some point. I attempted to return to sleep, only to repeat the awful, horrifying process.

By the time the smell of sausage and sage yanked me from the last bout of exhausting slumber, I looked and felt awful.

Dad and Nick were up, their bedrolls empty, peeled husks where they had emerged from their own sleep. Based on the loud volume of sizzling food cooked over a crackling fire, it was probably my family cooking the sausage that smelled so lovely.

Dad was big on everyone pulling their own weight when camping, so I must have looked utterly exhausted for him to let me sleep in.

I ran my hand through my knotted hair, groaning when my fingers snagged on the snarls and tugged at my scalp. I hadn’t brushed it after my shower, and it seemed I’d be paying for that decision today.

Gathering the unruly locks up into a semblance of a bun, I took advantage of the empty tent to dress, making sure to secure my watch after such a rough day yesterday, before heading outside.

Nick sat at the picnic table playing a game on his phone, bored eating an entire container of fruit on his own. Dad crouched by the fire, expertly cooking eggs and sausage in an iron skillet. He glanced up when he heard me—Nick didn’t.

“Hey, Willy. What’s that beast on your head?” he asked, pretending to be terrified.

I plopped down at the picnic table, swiping the fruit carton just before Nick could reach for it. His hand hit the table, finally startling him free from his doom scrolling.

His eyes narrowed, and I stuck my tongue out before plopping a juicy, round blueberry on it that was ripe to bursting.

I hummed as the sweet liquid exploded in my mouth while my taste buds sang a sweet chorus of Hallelujah .

“Wil-la,” Nick whined.

“Yep?” I asked, popping another berry in with relish.

“Ugh.”

“Get over it,” I quipped, angling for a crisp-looking piece of fresh pineapple. My eyes closed as I savored the tropical tang.

So much better than canned.

“Be nice to your brother, Willa,” Dad chided as he used tongs to carefully roll the sausage links to brown the other side.

“Yes, Dad,” I replied with as little sass as I could manage.

It was barely passable by his standards. He gave me the stink eye for a second, but then he returned his attention to the skillet to salt and pepper the eggs. Obviously, I looked worse than I thought for him to let that one go.

“So, your name’s Willa,” someone said behind me. My face lit beet red since the voice was easily recognizable after replaying our conversation most of the night between bouts of horrid nightmares.

I dropped the cherry I’d selected and immediately started choking on the fruit already in my mouth.

The person who had given the greeting thumped me on the back, nearly knocking me into the table. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I attempted to clear my lungs of whatever fruit I’d choked down whole.

All the while, Nick’s laughter rang out so loud I heard it over the pounding in my ears.

For a second, I pondered what life would have been like if fate had blessed me with a sister instead of Nick. It was a nice little dream as I struggled to accomplish something as simple as breathing in front of one of West Winsor’s nicest, most talented football players and current bane of my existence—Ben Pierce.

My inability to speak right now wasn’t a horrible thing considering I had no idea how to break the ice after running off the night before.

Hey, Benny boy, sorry I bailed on you like a lunatic. Wassup?

Dad had stood from the fire and approached at some point, because he was there, sliding a bottle of water to me across the table. Desperation fueled my movements as I broke the seal, sensing light at the end of the tunnel—or rather, relief from this never-ending embarrassment.

I swallowed a quick gulp with a contented sigh as it soothed my overdramatic throat. My respite was short-lived, though, as I caught the expression on my dad’s face.

His hands propped on his hips, and he gave Ben the once-over, but it was way more than once.

Wondering why and trying to see Ben Pierce from Dad’s perspective, I allowed myself the same opportunity.

Ben wore a T-shirt that boasted some famous athlete on the front promoting either sweat or a sports drink—I wasn’t sure which. The sweat was really prominent, painstakingly edited to frosty blue, but all I could focus on was how wet and icky that had to feel. The basketball shorts he’d paired it with were also branded by a famous sports logo.

Being a little too into sports couldn’t be why Dad continued studying him so intently.

I took another look.

Ben’s hair contained hints of red in the sunlight, letting me know he didn’t have true black locks. He was, in fact, a brunette. His features were symmetrical, from his Cupid’s bow lips to the sculpted jawline. Dark lashes framed his coffee eyes thickly enough to make any mascara enthusiast jealous. Actually, if he were born as a woman, he’d be a total knockout. As a man, it made him uniquely striking because the shapely lips and high cheekbones balanced so well with his unquestionably masculine, muscular frame.

The weight of his hand on my shoulder sent a shiver of goosebumps stealing over me in memory.

Oh, duh. That had to be why Dad seemed defensive.

Ben was a good-looking teenage boy talking to his daughter—the one he’d told not to rush growing into adulthood only yesterday.

Ready the jets, Willa. We’re in for a bumpy ride.

By the time Dad’s eyes returned to Ben’s face, he wore an unimpressed look with a healthy dose of skepticism. “You know Willa?” he inquired with a raised brow.

“I do now, though she wouldn’t tell me her name last night,” Ben replied as he stopped patting my back—a lot belatedly if Dad’s narrow-eyed focus on said hand was anything to go by—now that I’d regained the ability to breathe.

I actually, literally face-palmed myself at Ben’s response.

Did he hear what he’d said? To my dad ?

There was no way his phrasing was accidental, right?

I was clueless, an empty diary when it came to that stuff, and I’d caught the implications. Someone like Ben couldn’t be that ignorant. Surely not.

The deep dimples on Ben’s cheeks were even more prominent in the light of day, and his angelically masculine face presented the perfect picture of ignorance. He really had no idea what he’d implied to my dad and how said dad would react.

Not for long , I thought, and braced for impact. Dad sure didn’t disappoint.

Dad’s voice thundered, “Last night ? Didn’t even ask her name?”

I risked a peek over my shoulder. Dad was pretty cool and collected most of the time. Not a lot upset him, and he always rolled with any punches. Likewise, he found amusement in almost all aspects of life, but his family?

That definitely made the cut of things he’d gear up for battle over.

So, to zero surprise, this was something on his no-no list.

His face mottled red. He was beyond angry. In fact, I’d bet he’d never been this mad before.

Ben, finally catching on to the unintended meaning of his words, held his hands up, his complexion paling as his eyes rounded. “Wait—I said that wrong. I didn’t mean—your daughter and I didn’t—that’s not—”

Wait a second.

Did Dad’s lip just twitch?

My eyes narrowed.

“Dad,” I interjected, finding my Word Vomit Willa self in the unexpected role of mediating. Something about Dad’s expression made me suspicious. “I told you when I was leaving the tent and why. Remember? I waited for eye contact, just like you told me to. You even opened both eyes and gave me a reply that made sense. Tell me you weren’t asleep during all that.”

“You did?” he asked, trying to raise his right eyebrow but dragging the twitchy left one up along for the ride.

Yeah, that was definitely a twinkle. Some of my anxiety melted away, and I rolled my eyes. “Stop messing around with us. I know you were awake.”

Dad’s stoicism finally cracked and faded when he couldn’t contain his mirth. He snapped his fingers as if he just remembered. “Oh, yes. I seem to recall something along those lines.”

I relaxed a bit on the bench, hearing Ben huff a shaky exhale as well.

“However,” Dad continued, plating eggs and sausage for all of us—including Ben freaking Pierce, as if the Ben Pierce would be joining us for breakfast, “I don’t remember you mentioning that you would be going out to meet with a boy. ”

Doing my absolute best to remain unaffected, I gave a one-shouldered shrug. “That’s because I wasn’t. I was getting some fresh air.”

“Is that what they call it?” Nick asked, having given up on his phone in favor of watching the intense tennis match that had become my life.

“Don’t even start with me, pipsqueak,” I ordered, pointing at him.

He didn’t seem as bothered by that insult as he used to be—probably because he was almost my height and knew it wouldn’t be long before he was taller. Nick grinned a very Grinch-like grin and triumphantly reclaimed the box of fruit I’d stolen just to pester him. He popped a cherry in his mouth like the world’s most smug Pac-Man.

Lesson learned, Miss Karma. Thank you so much.

“Dad, honest, I just ran into him. We go to high school together.”

This had to be so uncomfortable for Ben. I didn’t dare glance at his face, but I heard leaves and grass crunch as he shuffled back and forth. Ben hadn’t even known of my existence until I spazzed out on him early this morning, and now Dad was implying that Ben not only knew and liked me but was also sneaking around to rendezvous with me , a nothing psycho.

“What a coincidence that you were both up at two in the morning.”

I closed my eyes, exhaled, and tried again. “Look, I get what it seems like, but—”

“Ben,” Dad said—no, ordered. “Sit. Eat.”

Ben cleared his throat. “Actually, sir, I’m not really all that—”

“Nonsense. You’re a teenager. Teenage boys are always hungry, even if they’ve already had breakfast. I know. I used to be a teenage boy once.”

Oh joy. My cheeks pinkened once more. I brought my hand up and face-palmed at my dad’s heavy emphasis on his last statement.

And so transpired the most awkward breakfast ever had at a picnic table as Dad pretended he wasn’t but actually was interrogating the school’s star football player, even though said interrogee hadn’t done a thing to earn such treatment.

The entire situation had Nick tickled pink. He looked right at me as he said, “Hey, Ben, you should join us on the trails today. It’s always better riding in a group.”

My eyes bulged as I tried to get him to stop, but he ignored both my silent threats and the kick to his shin under the table.

For some reason I couldn’t fathom, Ben replied, “Yeah, I’ll have to check with Hunter since it’s his Jeep, but I doubt he’ll have a problem with that. Is that okay with you, Mister, uh…”

Masochist. Ben had to be a masochist to want to subject himself to more of this treatment.

“Walker,” Dad finished with all the loaded judgment in the world a person could possibly fit into a single word. “You know, I find it funny how you never once crossed paths with my daughter at a school the size of West Winsor.”

What? What did he just say?

Forget the iron skillet over the campfire. Dad could finish frying the eggs on my burning face.

Ben cleared his throat, his hand stretching up to scratch the back of his neck. “Ah, well, I just don’t think we run in the same social circles.”

Yeah, okay, Ben knew I wasn’t in the popular crowd. Honestly, it made me feel somewhat better that he must have put two and two together, but he was still over here first thing in the morning to chat.

My cheeks heated at my line of thinking.

Luckily, Dad tilted his head in thought, keeping Ben’s attention on him. “Hmm, now that you mention it, I can’t say we’ve seen you out here before.”

Ben blinked. “At Blue Dunes? Do you own the place?”

Dad paused a beat. “No,” he enunciated slowly, “I don’t.” He nodded in my direction with a look that clearly blared out, Is this kid for real?

Good Lord, take me now.

There was no way Ben would miss such a blatant look.

And no, Ben hadn’t.

He cleared his throat.

Please, I’m begging.

Dad shrugged the whole thing off, stabbing a sausage rather viciously considering his blasé demeanor and light tone. “If it’s okay with Willa, it’s okay with me.”

Dad turned with a single brow arched, which could mean a hundred different things from, “You better turn this down, or I will,” to “My precious baby is too good for this clueless meathead, so let’s let him down gently.” Okay, so his look mostly meant one thing with different variations of, “Tell this punk to take a hike.”

To be honest, my thoughts aligned with his in so much as there was no way on God’s green earth that I would willingly subject my poor, exhausted nerves to a full day of bumbling around on hilly trails like a baby fawn that accidentally stepped on a skateboard while also under the scrutiny of four guys from school.

By contrast, Nick still wore a cat-that-got-the-canary grin, pleased as punch either way this situation turned out, and Ben, when he turned those sculpted cheeks and golden-brown eyes in my direction…

My inner self froze.

No, don’t you dare, Willahelm Maria Walker—

“Uh, s-sure,” my lips stuttered even while mental alarms clamored in a freak-out for the ages. “I don’t have a problem with it.”

My brother snorted, and I shinned him under the table.

Ben nodded as he stood. “Well, alright then. Yeah. I’ll just go let them know. What time are you leaving?”

Dad sighed in resignation before glancing across the camp at our neighbors who were still stumbling from their tents, looking like uncoordinated zombies on a mission for brains as they scented the earthy aroma of the coffee Dad had brewed on the fire. “Probably another half hour.”

Dad whistled, gaining the attention of the caffeine deprived and waving them over, as if it was a good idea to summon a zombie horde to our location.

“Alright, well, we’ll see you then.” Ben stood, paused, turned around, and opened his mouth before changing his mind and taking off down the gravel path to tell his friends—our classmates—the news and seal my doom.

“That’s one awkward kid,” Dad commented as he poured a cup of coffee and handed it to his first freeloading customer, who just so happened to be chatty John.

God, even though Ben couldn’t have possibly overheard, I still flushed in embarrassment at someone describing Ben Pierce as awkward .

Like, the absolute audacity.

“Who?” John mumbled as he took a sip, scratching his belly in a way that only the most comfortable of dads did.

“Willa’s boyfriend ,” Nick teased in a high-pitched voice that would have probably embarrassed him if he wasn’t enjoying my misery so much.

John turned, a frown furrowing his brow. “Him? But I thought… yesterday…” He shook his head and returned to his coffee. “It’s too early for teenage romance drama.”

The second Ben was out of sight, I reached across the table and punched Nick in the arm, my anger ratcheting up a notch when the hit did nothing to diminish his satisfied glee. “You’re dead to me.”

My brother smirked. “You know what? I’m okay with that.”

I hit him one more time for good measure, not that it did much.

He just kept grinning until he licked a finger and scratched an imaginary tally through the air.

Yeah, point for Nick. He’d won that round.

Thirty short minutes later, they all sat in idling vehicles, and Hunter Armstrong’s Jeep eased up the gravel in our direction. Putting the gear on too soon seemed like a bad idea with the heat and the way my nerves kept me on the verge of nausea.

Because of that, I’d been in the process of fastening my helmet, and the sight of their approach had my hands shaking so badly, I worried I was having an attack. Oddly enough, Nick didn’t give me a hard time when I asked him for help.

In fact, he reminded me why siblings who share a room generally get along better than those who don’t when he leaned in and said, “We can ask them to leave if it’s that big of a deal, Willa.”

I weighed the two options in my mind, attempting to predict which situation would be better, but I figured Hunter’s Jeep might not even be near mine. There were fifteen vehicles in our group now since a couple of the other locals had asked Dad to join us. What were the odds they’d even be able to see me as we picked our way through the park, one hill at a time?

“Thanks, Nick,” I murmured, even as I waved his offer off.

He gave me a doubtful look. “If you’re sure?”

I bobbed my head, working on my gloves and doing my best to avoid glancing in their direction.

The communication system came online inside my helmet, flooding with the collective teasing comments. Dad must have noticed me bodily react to something, because he got on the line next and said, “Alright, children. That’s enough. Willa just turned her headset on.”

Scattered apologies rang out, including an especially annoying one that restarted the nickname from hell yesterday when they teased, “Sorry, Wild Willy.”

I sighed.

“Hey, girlie, do your friends have CB?” John asked.

Before I could answer, Ben’s voice sounded through my helmet’s built-in headphones. “Yeah, we do. My dad gave us one from his work in case we needed to reach out for help.”

“Overprotective, huh?”

“You don’t even know the half of it. He’s the chief of police.”

My brain tuned out the rest of the conversation, because it’d landed on the question of how long they’d been tuned into our channel. Most CB radios had scanners to search for activity, so it wouldn’t have taken them long to arrive at our channel.

Had everyone in Hunter’s Jeep heard the others calling me that awful boy’s name?

I’d been stewing in my thoughts for too long, because I heard Dad call my name and jumped into gear, almost quite literally as I mistimed the shift and throttle so the four-wheeler lurched forward as the drive shaft engaged at too high RPMs, like a wily bronco. If my adrenaline hadn’t been so keyed up, it might have bucked me off. As it was, nothing short of a nuclear blast would shake my white-knuckled grip on the handlebars.

I didn’t turn around to see who got in line behind me, not until Ben’s voice sounded in my ear saying, “Nice sticker, princess.”

I whirled, because I highly doubted any of the male out-of-towners had a pink “Offroad Princess” decal on their vehicles.

Sure enough, Hunter’s gray Jeep had pulled in next in line, sending my nerves bouncing all over the Richter scale.

Oh.

Oh no.

So much for getting a fifteen car space bubble.

Fate thought it’d be funnier to give them a front row seat.