Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 101(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 101(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
In fact, I hope she dresses like a bear tonight and scares me half to death, just so I can hear her laugh.
A few minutes later, a few of Margot’s campers come racing into the campfire clearing, skidding to a stop and cringing when they see my boys are already seated on their log. The boys scowl back.
I’m only half paying attention, though, because Margot comes skipping into view with a giggling ten-year-old on her back.
I rise to my feet, my pulse triggered, as if I didn’t see her less than an hour ago in the dining hall. But that pulse becomes a roar in my ears when I see Aiken is following a few feet behind Margot. Smiling. And carrying her camp-issued drawstring bag.
Aiken. Is carrying. Margot’s bag.
“What the hell . . .” I say under my breath.
Margot, seemingly oblivious to the fact that allowing someone else to hold her bag has just launched my blood pressure through the roof, sets the girl down and reaches over to take said bag back from Aiken. “Thanks, A-Man.”
I intercept the bag.
Not sure when I moved, but here I am.
Margot blinks up at me.
Aiken seems to be holding back amusement.
“I was thinking we could mix up the seating arrangements tonight,” I say, slinging the drawstring bag over one shoulder and consulting my clipboard without really seeing it. “Margot, your cabin will be beside mine.”
She does a double take while trying to snag her bag off my shoulder.
I easily evade her reach.
“But Unicorn Cabin always sits in the second row on the camp side of the fire,” she says. “It’s tradition.”
“We can break it for one night. I want you to help me with the story tonight.” I flash back to earlier in the afternoon when she showed off her bear noises. “I’ll tell the story, you act it out.”
I’m making this up as I go along, but my God, does the idea get her attention. Of course it does. I’ve just given her an opportunity to be a ham. “Really?” She shakes out her hands adorably, balancing on the balls of her feet. Why the hell was someone else carrying her stuff? “Oh my gosh, I’m in. What story are you telling?” She backpedals. “Wait! Don’t tell me. It’ll be funnier if I don’t know and have to improvise.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking.” I nod at her milling group of campers. “And it’ll help if you’re sitting near me.”
“Right!” Margot herds the girls to the other side of the campfire and settles them onto the log beside my cabin, causing the Mighty Meerkats to stiffen in alarm and fall completely silent. Now that I’ve singlehandedly thrown the campfire into chaos, it takes an extra ten minutes to rearrange all the cabins into their new spots.
All so I can be near Margot.
It’s worth every second of disorder, too, because she’s smiling at me in that conspiratorial way that makes me feel like a giant. Her cheek is outlined in the golden glow of the campfire, and she’s so excited, she’s squirming around on the log bench.
This is how it should be.
Margot happy. Me making it happen.
“Everyone quiet down,” I bark, turning in a circle to extinguish any excess chatting with a stern look. “Before we roast s’mores tonight, we have a special edition of story time. You know her, you love her. Give a round of applause to Counselor Margot, who will be helping me tell you the story of the purple gorilla.”
Margot hops to her feet and takes a sweeping bow to the tune of a hundred tiny, clapping hands, sidestepping twice until her shoulder is brushing my elbow.
“Once upon a time, a purple gorilla escaped from the zoo . . .”
Margot, pasting on a smug expression, puffs up her chest, eliciting giggles.
“But don’t let the purple fur fool you. This gorilla was fierce. And huge. He could stamp out the campfire with one big stomp.”
As I continue the story about the escaped gorilla who stalks a group of kids through the woods, Margot prowls around the campfire, hiding behind a few lucky kids, peeking out from behind them or loudly sniffing their hair. I’m so distracted, I forget my place in the story five separate times but eventually make it to the end. And if I was wondering whether or not Margot remembers this story from our camp days, I wonder no longer when she play-pounces on one of the girls, tickling her at the exact moment I reach the punchline.
“‘Tag,’ the purple gorilla shouted at the campers. ‘You’re it.’”
Gasps mingle with laughter, the tension ebbing from our audience.
“See? I didn’t want to eat anyone!” Margot says in a voice reminiscent of Tarzan. “I just wanted to play tag!”
I hold out my hand to her, my chest flip-flopping when she takes it.