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CALLIE

T he thing about glitter is, it never really goes away. Like, ever. You think you’ve washed it off, and bam there it is again. In your eyebrow. In your ear. On your date. Probably on your obituary.

Also, paddleboards are not built for speed, especially when you’re hauling a duffel, a unicorn floatie, and what might be the last functioning boombox in the known universe. But I’m nothing if not committed to a dramatic entrance.

“C’mon, baby, one more push!” I huff, digging my paddle into the lake water like I’m a very disorganized Viking.

The camp docks finally come into view. Camp Lightring looks like something out of a fantasy Pinterest board: pine trees tall enough to gossip with the clouds, rustic wooden cabins dotting the shore, a floating platform shaped like a clamshell, and uh oh.

Oh no.

Uniformed figures lined up at attention on the beach. A whistle blows, sharp and judgmental. I slow my stroke and squint.

It’s a drill. Like an actual, timed, synchronized swimming drill, complete with rigid straight lines and identical red safety vests. I see someone pacing at the water’s edge with a clipboard like a military general. Tall. Broad. Blue shimmer catching the light like

Oh, hell. That’s him.

The lifeguard. The merman.

I’ve heard whispers about him from the other new hires on the group chat. “Scary hot, emotionally constipated.” “Makes the lake sign-in sheet look like the ten commandments.” Someone even said he yelled at a butterfly for violating swimming protocols.

I’m not about to sneak past this guy unnoticed. Especially not when my paddleboard scrapes against the dock with a sound like a wet fart.

“Shit whoops!” My duffel tips. My unicorn floatie bounces once, twice, and then flops dramatically into the water.

The man with the clipboard stops pacing. Turns slowly. Looks directly at me.

Oh no, he’s even hotter than the rumors said.

And even more pissed.

“YOU’RE LATE,” he booms, voice like thunder dunked in espresso. “And you’re interrupting a water safety drill.”

“Well, good morning to you too, sunshine,” I chirp, hopping off the board and into shin-deep water. Glitter sprays from my swim shorts like a sparkle bomb. I hoist the unicorn floatie up like it’s a trophy. “I brought reinforcements.”

A beat of stunned silence from the trainees. Then someone giggles. Another kid applauds. I wink at them.

Clipboard Guy is not amused. He strides toward me, and wow, up close, he’s… intense. Silver eyes, slicked back dark hair, water beading on his blue-scaled shoulders like he just rose out of some fantasy novel. The guy looks like Poseidon’s grumpy nephew.

“You’re Callie O’Shea.”

Guilty. “Yup. Swim instructor extraordinaire. Reporting for semi-duty.”

“You were supposed to be here at seven a.m. for orientation. It’s currently” he checks his watch, of course he wears a watch in the lake, “eight twenty-three.”

I squint at him through wet lashes. “Isn’t being fashionably late part of the camp charm?”

“It’s not charming. It’s irresponsible. These kids rely on structure and timing. You can’t just float in here like it’s a vacation.”

“Ouch,” I say, pressing a hand to my chest. “That floatie and I have feelings, you know.”

He doesn’t smile. Not even a twitch.

“You’re disrupting training.”

“Right,” I say, hopping up onto the dock and dragging my gear after me. “Sorry. Next time I’ll schedule my glitter explosion for later.”

“Leave your floatation devices out of drills unless approved by the head counselor.”

“Can I wear my flamingo hat, or is that also a federal offense?”

Another ripple of laughter from the kids onshore. Ryder, I assume that’s his name, because if he’s not Ryder then someone’s worse , grits his teeth so hard I think I hear enamel crack.

“Let me make one thing clear,” he says, stepping forward, eyes narrowing. “I don’t care how many jokes you crack or how many inflatable sea animals you own. You will follow my rules, or you will not last here.”

“And you’re just a walking party pinata, huh?” I ask sweetly. “Bet you kill at karaoke.”

“I don’t sing.”

“Obviously.”

There’s a weird moment where our gazes lock. Not in a swoony, rom-com way more like I’ve accidentally challenged a sea god to a duel. His jaw flexes. My breath catches, which is so inconvenient.

But instead of yelling again, he just snorts. “Dry off. Report to Julie. And stay out of my training zone.”

“Oh, I’m gonna be in so many zones,” I murmur, dragging my dripping duffel toward the main path. “You don’t even know.”

As I stomp up the hill, soggy and victorious, I hear him call out one last thing behind me:

“Next time you arrive on a stolen paddleboard, leave the glitter behind.”

“Next time bring some snacks and a sense of humor!” I yell back.

The kids cheer.

Julie finds me ten minutes later outside the mess hall, trying to wring the lake out of my socks and debating if my unicorn floatie can double as a bean bag chair. She’s petite, perky, and very mom-vibes-in-sneakers.

“You made quite the splash,” she says, sitting beside me.

“Please tell me the merman isn’t going to try and ban me from water entirely. Because I kinda need it to live.”

Julie laughs. “Ryder’s a little…intense. But he’s a good guy. Rescues three kids a summer, hasn’t missed a single training drill in three years, and makes the best campfire chili you’ve ever had.”

“Wow. The man contains multitudes.”

She side-eyes my dripping glitter trail. “You’re gonna test every one of ‘em, huh?”

“Look, I like structure in theory. But chaos has way better floaties.”

Julie grins. “Just don’t drown him in sparkles.”

“No promises,” I say, grinning back.

Later, after I’ve been handed a dry shirt and a camp schedule, I wander back down to the lake. The water is calm now, sparkling in the late morning sun. Ryder is still down there, clipboard back in hand, his expression unreadable.

I watch him for a moment, the way he moves sharp, focused, like every muscle is on alert.

I know his type.

The rule guy. The don’t-touch-my-soul guy.

I also know how to unspool them. Not on purpose. Not to be mean. Just by being me.

And he already looks rattled.

Oh, this is going to be fun.