Page 17 of If the Summer Lasted Forever

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A man walks into the office wearing pressed khakis, a butter-colored polo shirt, and tan loafers. My first instinct is to ask him if he’s lost.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

He spots my mother’s sculpture near the front counter. “As a matter of fact, I believe you can. I’m looking for Cassie Morrison.”

For one terrifying moment, I wonder if this man is from the bank. But then I remember the campground’s paid and clear, and I’m left with no clue who he might be or why he’s asking for my mother.

“She’s not in right now. Do you want me to give her a call?”

“Would you mind?”

I’m about to ask him for his info when he beats me to it by flipping a sharp and glossy business card on the counter between us.

“All right, Mr. …” I peer at the card. “Albert. Let me see if I can reach her. Cell service is a little spotty around here.”

He gives me an amused, closed-mouth smile. “I’ve noticed.”

Instead of calling, I text. There’s a fussy-looking man here asking about you. Do you want me to tell him you’re in your studio?

I set the phone aside, smiling pleasantly. I’m not entirely sure she’ll answer—after all, I wasn’t lying when I said the cell service stinks.

But a few moments later, my phone chimes. Who is he?

I glance at the card and type, Fredrick Albert, Head Curator at the Denver ?—

Whoa. Hold up.

Who is this guy?

“I buy art,” the man says, his eyes scrunched in the corners. He’s obviously amused by my reaction. “I saw Cassie’s work on a YouTube video.”

“Right,” I say, giving him a curious smile, growing excited. Mrs. Tillman gushed about a few of Mom’s pieces a few weeks ago. Somehow, this man must have found the video.

I finish the text, and two seconds later, Mom responds, Send him over.

“She’s in her studio,” I tell him, setting the phone aside. It’s the first cabin after you pass the house—the little one in the trees.”

Send Mark over just in case he’s a serial killer, Mom texts as an afterthought.

I glance at Mr. Albert, worried he might have seen what she wrote, but he’s already headed for the door.

After I send Uncle Mark a text, I try to focus on my work, a task that’s not so easy when Landon comes walking in the door.

“You busy?” he asks.

“Nope.” I bite back a grin. “I just like to sit in front of the computer and work on spreadsheets for the fun of it.”

He chuckles and rests his tall self against the counter. “With anyone else, that might be sarcasm, but with you, I’m not sure.”

“Do you need something?”

“You,” he says lightly, but the words make me flush.

“Oh yeah?”

“I have been instructed to invite my girlfriend over for dinner. Dad’s smoking ribs, and Mom and McKenna are putting the finishing touches on a three-layer Black Forest cake.”

“Both of those are impressive feats to undertake in a camper,” I say lightly, trying to hide the fact that hearing him call me his girlfriend does funny things to my pulse. “Black Forest…that means chocolate, right?”

“Indeed.” He leans down lower, meeting my eyes. “So what do you say? Want to brave my family for the evening?”

I give him a one-shouldered shrug. “Maybe. Because there’s cake.”

His answering grin is fast, and it does nothing to settle my humming nerves. “I’ll meet you when you’re finished, and we’ll walk together.”

“Okay.” I realize I’ve typed the same number twice. “Now go away. You’re distracting me.”

“Oh, yeah?” He raises his eyebrows, openly flirting. “Like a good distraction?”

“ Go. ”

Done for the day, I lock the office. As Landon walks with me to his site, he tells me how Hunter dropped their dad’s expensive camera this afternoon. It seems to be in working order, but Hunter’s still pouting, so I’ve been warned that he might not be in the best mood.

Though, with Hunter, how can you tell the difference between a good mood and a bad one?

“You okay?” Landon asks when we’re close to the campsite.

I’ve been around the Tillmans dozens of times now, but for some reason, I’m incredibly nervous this evening.

I almost jump at the question. “Hmm? Oh, I’m just preparing myself. I’m still new at this fake girlfriend stuff.”

He gives me a funny look, like he wants to say something but changes his mind.

“I’m a little nervous,” I admit.

“It will be fine,” he answers, looking ahead. “Just pretend it’s real.”

Because that will help.

Then, for the sake of the ruse, Landon takes my hand. I swallow back a surprised giggle.

McKenna runs toward us as soon as she spots us walking up the road. Tethered to her leash, which is attached to the picnic table, Candy yelps, trying to follow. To her dismay, she realizes she can go no farther than the trailer door.

George lifts his head to see what the racket is all about. He wags his tail a few times when he sees us and then yawns and goes back to napping.

The most delicious-smelling campfire smoke wafts our way, making my stomach growl. Judging from the spicy, sweet aroma, Mr. Tillman’s ribs are going to be amazing. All the nearby campers must be jealous.

“Hey, Lacey.” Landon’s dad raises a pair of tongs in greeting. “Glad to have you.”

“Thanks,” I say, though I’m hit with another bout of nerves.

Landon lightly touches my shoulder after he lets go of my hand. “Want something to drink?”

I nod.

“Did you throw extra drinks in the cooler?” he asks his Dad.

“Yeah, there’s all kinds of stuff in there. I think William and Barbara are going to stop by in a bit, so I wanted to make sure we had plenty.”

Landon digs through the ice in the cooler and pulls several options to the top.

“William and Barbara from Site Fifteen?” I choose a bottle of lemon-lime soda, hoping sipping it will ease my nerves.

Mr. Tillman opens the tabletop smoker, letting out a billowing cloud of barbecue-scented heaven. “That’s right. Barbara has been helping Sarah piece together the quilt she’s been working on down at the community center.”

So that’s where Mrs. Tillman has been sewing that quilt. I wondered how she managed it in the RV. Gray Jay’s community center is tiny—just a restored Victorian house on Main Street, but it’s a favorite hangout for crafty ladies much older than Landon’s mother.

“Hi there, Lacey,” Landon’s mom says, walking through the camper door with a massive bowl of potato salad in one hand and a tossed salad in the other.

Caleb comes running out behind his mother. “I got a geode!” he tells me.

“You did? From where?”

“The rock and mineral shop in town, like you suggested the other day,” Hunter says, coming down the steps behind his brother, looking about as chipper as always.

Caleb scowls at him. “It’s my story.”

Hunter rolls his eyes, sits at the picnic table, and pulls out his phone.

“Landon broke it open earlier,” Caleb continues, turning back to me. “Do you want to see it?”

I nod, and he scurries back into the camper, off to retrieve his treasure.

“Is he over his gold fascination?” I ask Landon quietly.

He shakes his head. “No. He talked to the man at the shop for thirty minutes about the history of mining in the area.”

Colorado is perhaps known more for its silver and uranium than gold, but we had a short rush of our own in the eighteen hundreds.

“Are the ribs done?” Mrs. Tillman asks her husband as she places the bowls in the middle of the picnic table.

She’s already set it with a brightly striped tablecloth and lit several jar candles.

In the middle of the table, there’s a bowl of hot pink flowers, something she must have planted since they’re going to be here all summer.

The Tillmans are better at this camping thing than most.

“Yep, we’re ready to eat,” Landon’s dad confirms.

You don’t have to tell the younger boys twice. Caleb and Hunter leap in, though Landon holds back with me. After we fill our plates, we sit in camp chairs scattered around the site. It’s all very casual, and it sets me at ease—even if Landon is right next to me.

But no matter how many times I tell myself this isn’t real, I catch myself feeling like maybe it is. That’s crazy though. I’d know if something had shifted between us…

Wouldn’t I?

“Can I bring out the cake?” McKenna asks her mom after the last of the leftovers have been spirited away.

“Yes, but be careful,” Mrs. Tillman instructs.

Nodding solemnly, McKenna walks into the camper. Several moments later, she appears at the door with a gorgeous cake precariously teetering in her hands. She pauses at the top of the stairs, frowning in concentration.

“Don’t trip,” Mr. Tillman says.

She’s just coming down the last step when Candy spots a dog walking with his owners on the road. The little cotton puff runs in front of McKenna, tripping the girl with her sparkly pink leash. McKenna tumbles forward, shrieking.

Landon leaps up, grabbing McKenna before she can fall face first on the ground, and he ends up with a shirt-full of chocolate cherry cake. Everyone is silent for several moments, and then Caleb glares at Candy and loudly proclaims, “Stupid mutt!”

“ Caleb ,” Mrs. Tillman reprimands, standing to relieve McKenna of the empty plate. McKenna’s lower jaw trembles as she surveys the mess.

“Don’t cry,” her mom says, though she looks as heartbroken about the loss of perfectly good chocolate as the next person. “It was just an accident. No one’s mad at you.”

Hunter watches silently, looking conflicted. It’s obvious he’s amused that his older brother got caked…but at the same time, he’s irked that now there’s no cake. It’s quite a predicament. I’m not sure which emotion is winning.

Mrs. Tillman turns to Landon and frowns. “We’ll take your shirt to the laundry room when it opens in the morning.”

I eye the fudge chocolate and thick cherry pie filling as it goops down the front of Landon’s stomach.

“You can use our washer,” I volunteer.

Landon turns to me, and I get a full view of the mess. A jagged piece of cake falls to his feet, followed by a gob of frosting. I try not to laugh…but I fail.

He cracks a smile, and soon we’re all laughing to the point that our stomachs hurt, and we can’t breathe.