Chapter 49

Nothing happens the next day.

That’s the problem.

No arguments.

No big moments.

No scenes.

Just… space.

The kind that stretches between people who should say something—but don’t.

Morning is normal.

Too normal.

I wake up early, before my campers, before Annabelle even moves in her bunk. The air is cool, quiet, and for a second I just lie there staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft breathing around me.

No noise in my head.

No replaying yesterday.

No Quinn.

That doesn’t last long.

By flagpole, everything feels… off.

Not tense in a loud way.

Just quieter.

Quinn’s there, of course.

Standing with Kallie, laughing at something, head tipped back slightly, hoodie sleeves pushed up. She looks completely fine.

Like nothing happened.

Like last night didn’t exist.

I hate that a little.

I don’t go over.

I don’t look too long.

But I feel it anyway—the awareness.

Like a thread pulled tight between us, even across a crowd.

“…You’re staring,” Emily mutters beside me.

“…I’m not.”

“…You are.”

I roll my eyes. “…Shut up.”

Activity periods are… functional.

We don’t get paired much, which helps.

Or maybe it makes it worse.

Because now every time we do cross paths, it’s quick.

Brief.

Almost nothing.

A glance.

A half-second too long.

Then gone.

At the waterfront, I’m resetting ropes when I feel it—someone behind me.

I don’t turn right away.

I already know.

“…You tied that wrong.”

Quinn’s voice.

Low. Casual.

I huff, not looking at her. “…It’s literally fine.”

“…It’ll slip.”

“…It won’t.”

A pause.

Then—

her hand reaches past mine.

Not touching.

Just close enough.

She adjusts the knot in one quick motion.

Efficient.

Correct.

“…There,” she says.

I swallow.

“…Thanks.”

Her arm is still there.

Close.

Too close.

For a second, neither of us moves.

Then she steps back.

Just like that.

“…No problem.”

And she’s gone.

It shouldn’t feel like anything.

It’s nothing.

Just a knot.

So why does my chest feel tight?

Lunch is loud.

Normal.

I sit with my usual group, laughing at something Tanner says, leaning back in my chair, letting myself relax.

For a minute, it works.

Then—

“…You’re doing that thing again,” Annabelle says quietly.

“…What thing?”

“…Pretending you’re not thinking about her.”

I glance up before I can stop myself.

Across the dining hall—

Quinn.

She’s not looking at me.

She’s talking, smiling, completely fine.

“…I’m not,” I say.

Annabelle doesn’t argue.

Which somehow makes it worse.

Afternoon drags.

Not in a bad way.

Just… slow.

At one point, during free swim, I’m sitting at the edge of the dock, feet in the water, watching the campers.

The lake’s calm.

The air’s warm.

Everything should feel easy.

“…Move.”

I blink.

Quinn drops down beside me without waiting, shoulder bumping mine lightly.

“…You just told me to move and then sat anyway?”

“…Yeah.”

I snort despite myself.

Silence settles.

Not awkward.

Not comfortable.

Just… there.

“…She okay?” she asks after a minute.

I know who she means.

“…Yeah. Way better today.”

She nods. “…Good.”

Another pause.

“…You were good with her,” I say quietly.

It comes out before I can stop it.

She glances at me.

“…You were too.”

“…I mean it,” I add. “…You handled it really well.”

She looks back at the water.

“…I’ve seen it before.”

That’s all she says.

But it feels like more.

“…Still,” I murmur. “…You’re good at it.”

Her shoulder shifts slightly against mine.

Barely noticeable.

Still—

I notice.

“…You’re good at your job too,” she says after a second.

It shouldn’t matter.

It does.

“…Even if I’m ‘in a mood’?” I mutter.

She huffs a quiet breath.

“…I didn’t mean that like—”

“…It’s fine.”

“…It’s not,” she says.

I don’t respond.

The air shifts again.

Heavier now.

“…Kennedy,” she starts—

“Counselors! Free swim rotation!”

Saved by the whistle.

I stand immediately.

“…Duty calls.”

She nods once.

“…Yeah.”

And just like that—

it’s over.

Again.

Later that night

I’m brushing my teeth outside the cabin when I see her again.

Leaning against the railing.

Same spot as before.

“…You always stand there?” I ask.

She shrugs. “…Good view.”

“…Of what?”

Her eyes flick to me.

Just for a second.

“…Depends.”

I roll my eyes, but there’s no bite to it.

We stand there for a minute.

Side by side.

Not touching.

“…You going to the break?” she asks.

“…Yeah,” I say. “…Everyone is.”

She nod slowly.

“…Right.”

A pause.

“…You?”

“…Yeah.”

Another pause.

“…Cool.”

“…Cool.”

God, we’re bad at this.

I shake my head, laughing softly to myself.

“…This is stupid.”

“…Yeah,” she agrees.

But neither of us fixes it.

Not yet.

And maybe that’s the worst part—

Because underneath all of it—

the tension, the distance, the almost—

it still feels like

we’re just waiting

for something

to finally break.