Chapter 23

The thing about almost-kissing someone at camp is—

it doesn’t go away.

It just sits there.

Under everything.

The next day is worse.

Not in a dramatic way.

Just… constant.

Every time I see Quinn, it’s there.

That moment on the dock.

The almost.

The almost is somehow worse than if it had just happened.

Because now I know exactly what it would feel like.

And I didn’t get it.

“Okay, why do you look like you’re about to commit a crime?” Annabelle asks as we walk to morning activities.

“I’m not,” I say.

“You are.”

“I’m literally just walking.”

“You’re pacing.”

“…Shut up.”

Waterfront again.

Of course.

Because the universe hates me.

I’m on the dock, setting up for Bronze Med, trying to focus on rope throws and spinal holds and anything that is not Quinn.

It doesn’t work.

Because she’s there.

Already.

This time, no chaos entrance.

No yelling.

No tackling campers into the lake.

She’s just… sitting on the edge of the dock, feet in the water, hoodie beside her, sunglasses on, hair still damp.

Too calm.

It’s suspicious.

“You’re quiet today,” I say as I walk past.

She doesn’t look at me.

“…You’re loud enough for both of us.”

“…Rude.”

That gets a small smile.

I hesitate.

Then sit down next to her.

Not touching.

Close enough.

“…You avoiding me?” I ask.

She glances at me now.

“…No.”

“…Feels like it.”

She shrugs. “…I’ve been busy.”

“…With Olivia?”

I don’t even try to hide it this time.

She sighs.

Pulls her sunglasses off.

Looks at me properly.

“…We’re still on that?”

“…We never got off that.”

A beat.

Then—

“…You’re exhausting.”

I blink. “…Excuse me?”

She smirks slightly. “…In a good way.”

“…That’s not a real thing.”

“…It is when it’s you.”

I roll my eyes, but it lands.

Of course it does.

“…You were going to kiss me last night,” I say.

Straight. No buildup.

She doesn’t react right away.

Just looks at me.

Then—

“…Yeah.”

“…And then you didn’t.”

“…We got interrupted.”

“…You didn’t try again.”

That does it.

That finally gets a reaction.

She shifts, turning more toward me.

“…You wanted me to chase you down in front of half the staff?”

“…Maybe,” I shrug.

“…You’re insane.”

“…You knew that.”

A pause.

Then—

“…Do you still want that?” she asks.

My stomach flips.

Hard.

“…What do you think?”

She stares at me for a second.

Then stands up.

“…Come on.”

“…Where?”

“…Somewhere we won’t get interrupted.”

I hesitate.

Just for a second.

Then follow.

We cut behind the waterfront.

Past the canoe racks.

Up the trail that leads toward the old climbing wall that barely gets used anymore.

It’s quiet there.

Too far from main camp for random staff to wander through.

“…You’ve done this before,” I say.

She glances back, smirking. “…What, sneak away?”

“…Yeah.”

“…Relax. You’re my first illegal activity of the week.”

“…Wow. I feel special.”

“…You should.”

We stop near the climbing wall.

Shade.

Quiet.

No voices.

No footsteps.

Just wind through trees and the distant sound of the lake.

And suddenly—

there’s nothing to hide behind.

“…So?” I say.

She leans against one of the wooden beams.

Arms crossed.

Watching me.

“…You’re impatient.”

“…You’re stalling.”

“…I’m thinking.”

“…About?”

She pushes off the beam.

Steps closer.

“…About how you’re going to react.”

“…To what?”

I know.

I just want to hear her say it.

She doesn’t answer.

Not with words.

She steps closer.

Close enough that I have to tilt my head slightly to look at her.

Close enough that the space from last night is gone.

“…You’re still not running,” she says quietly.

“…Told you I wouldn’t.”

“…Good.”

Her hand comes up.

Not dramatic.

Not slow-motion.

Just… there.

Fingers brushing my jaw lightly.

Testing.

I don’t move.

“…Say something,” she mutters.

“…Why?”

“…Because you’re just standing there looking at me.”

“…And?”

“…And it’s distracting.”

I smirk slightly.

“…You’re the one who dragged me out here.”

“…Yeah,” she says. “…I know.”

A beat.

“…If you’re not going to do anything—” I start.

She kisses me.

Not soft.

Not hesitant.

Not some slow, careful build.

It’s immediate.

Like she’s been holding it back too long.

Like she’s done waiting.

My brain doesn’t catch up right away.

But my body does.

I grab her hoodie instinctively, pulling her closer.

She makes a quiet sound against my mouth—half laugh, half something else.

“…There it is,” she murmurs against my lips.

“…Shut up,” I breathe.

Then kiss her again.

This time it’s less messy.

Still intense.

Still a little reckless.

But more… intentional.

Her hand slides from my jaw to the back of my neck.

Not pushing.

Just holding.

I can feel my heart in my throat.

My chest.

Everywhere.

When we pull back, it’s not far.

Still close.

Still in it.

“…Okay,” I say, slightly breathless. “…That was—”

“…Yeah,” she cuts in.

We both pause.

Processing.

“…So that’s happening now,” I add.

“…Seems like it.”

I let out a small laugh.

“…Cool.”

“…Cool,” she echos, but she’s smiling.

Then—

footsteps.

Distant.

But close enough.

We both freeze.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me,” I whisper.

She looks toward the trail.

Then back at me.

“…We should go.”

“…Yeah.”

But neither of us move right away.

“…Later?” she says.

Not teasing this time.

Just… real.

“…Yeah,” I nod.

She steps back first.

Resetting.

Putting space between us again.

But it’s different now.

Because we crossed it.

Finally.

And as we walk back toward camp—

still not touching—

but way too aware of each other—

I realize something.

This isn’t going to stay simple.

Not at camp.

Not with 60 staff.

Not with campers everywhere.

Not with us.

And honestly?

Good.