Wildfire: A Novel (The Maple Hills Series)

“Why do you look like the golden retriever that got the bacon?” Xander says suspiciously, scrutinizing every inch of me.

“The what?” I watch Salmon and Trout’s ears twitch at the mention of bacon and it immediately becomes clear why Xander is their favorite this morning.

“It’s like the cat that got the cream, but relatable, y’know?”

“It’s just my face.” And the relief of not having to avoid someone I don’t want to avoid. “Grab that paintbrush for me?”

My roommate does not look convinced as he hands me the brush. “You were gone a long time taking Aurora breakfast this morning.” I hear the and now you’re in a good mood and, even though he doesn’t say it, the smug look on his face is enough to assume that’s what he’s thinking.

“I don’t think I was that long.”

“She’s so hot. I might see if she wants to pair up at the swimming training later,” he says carefully, in a way that tells me he’s baiting me. “What do you think about that?”

Not looking at him, I concentrate on making sure I have enough paint and paintbrushes, knowing I’ll immediately give myself away. “I think that’s a great idea.”

“You’re such a fucking liar, Callaghan,” he laughs. “Fine. Have your secret summer of fun. I’ll just be lonely in our cabin with my dogs.”

“Our dogs.”

He leans against the wall beside me. “It’s always the quiet ones.”

“I haven’t even done anything.” Don’t look at him. “It’s all in your imagination.”

“Oh cool, my bad. I’ll let Clay know he’s got a shot with her then.”

The words almost refuse to come out of my mouth. “Yeah, you should.”

Xander snorts, punching me in the shoulder gently. “Your secret is safe with me. They don’t call me an unproblematic king for nothing.”

This time I can’t help but look at him as my eyebrows pinch together. I take the bait. “Who calls you an unproblematic king?”

“I do.”

“Okay, unproblematic king. I’ll be near the tennis court if you want me.” Collecting my equipment, I head to my project for the rest of the morning. One of our responsibilities this week is getting the camp ready for the campers and this chill morning activity is a nice change of pace from the constant training and icebreakers.

Nobody has asked me to share about myself, I don’t have to remember which order to tie something together, or what to do if someone stops breathing. I’m painting fence panels and dragging furniture and wiping stuff down and, other than Xander, nobody has been bothering me.

I feel good after my talk with Aurora earlier and I’m less worried about how I’m going to get through the summer with her.

“Birds are gross.” Turning toward the voice, I lower the hose I’m using to wash down a picnic table some birds have made their personal toilet. Aurora looks more alive than she did earlier, carrying a thermos in each hand, with a shy smile on her lips. “I brought you coffee. If you want it, obviously.”

I’ve watched her do sweet gestures for people since we got here. Filling up everyone’s water bottles, being the first to help people struggling during training, distracting Maya from her homesickness. Now I’ve earned the same treatment. “Coffee is good, thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, handing it over. “I thought you might need it. I saw you running super early this morning; I forgot to mention it earlier. You don’t sleep much, huh?”

Running is something I hate but it’s one of the only things I can do to clear my head. Like Xander said when we arrived, occasionally your phone comes to life and messages come through. This morning, my mind was already working overtime after dealing with drunk Aurora, so when it started buzzing in the early hours I checked it.

The first thing I saw was a picture of my parents out for dinner, smiling into the camera like nothing’s wrong. That triggered my curiosity and I started to scroll up, eventually piecing together that Dad had won big somewhere and they were celebrating.

Dad’s addiction issue has never been with alcohol; it’s gambling. The alcohol consoles him after losing and like most gambling addicts, he loses a lot. It’s the alcohol that turns him nasty and that’s when the texts he sends me start to change into something harsher. When he’s on a winning streak, he’s a different man, but streaks are what gamblers say is happening to make it seem like some kind of skill and not purely a series of lucky occurrences.

Aurora is still waiting for me to answer.

Talking about my parents feels like opening pandora’s box. I sometimes wonder if the load would feel as heavy if I had someone to confide in, but I can’t bring myself to tell anyone. Even though Henry knows my history, I still find it difficult to tell him as stuff happens. It’s embarrassing to admit that my own dad doesn’t care about me as much as he cares about betting slips.

I settle for my default vague answer. “Not much, no. I’m used to it though, don’t worry. I can’t believe you were up early enough to see me.”

She takes the flask back, her hand brushing mine ever so slightly, just enough to send sparks up my arms and places them on the now clean table. I watch her as she methodically unscrews and presses buttons until she’s poured me a cup. “Would you believe me if I told you I was meditating?”

“No.” I accept the coffee cup back, watching her over the rim as I take a sip.

“I was sick. That’s why I was awake so early.” she says, laughing awkwardly. “I like to think it was food poisoning and not the excessive amount of tequila I drank last night. You may remember it; I was the one making a fool of myself in front of you.”

“I do vaguely remember having to decline your skinny-dipping offer.”

Her cheeks flush pink, eyes widen. God, it feels good to not be the one blushing for once. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to find a hungry raccoon and feed myself to it. Bye.”

I grab her hand as she tries to turn to leave. “It was funny, in a very stressful I-don’t-want-to-be-alone-with-this-drunk-girl-wanting-to-get-naked way.”

When I realize she’s not leaving, I let go of her hand. She clears her throat and sips from her cup, watching me carefully over the cup as it lowers. “Do you need any help today? Emilia banished me from the dance area.”

“Why?”

She kicks out her leg, the darkening purple indicator of bruising spreading across her shin. “I was bored because she’s a control freak and I tried to hurdle the freestanding ballet barres.”

The laugh that rips out of me is so loud I don’t realize it’s me until she starts laughing too. Dragging a hand down my face, I shake it off. “If I let you help me, can you be good?”

“Usually, with the right motivation.”

I sense I shouldn’t ask further, but I can’t help myself. At this point, as much as I don’t want to be, I’m the moth and Aurora is the brightest flame. “What’s enough motivation for you?”

Her teeth sink into her lip again and my brain flashes back to a very different scenario where I watched her do that. “You thinking I’m good.”

I’m going to get burned. “Alright then, grab a paintbrush.”

Aurora has her legs over my shoulders. Again.

This time she’s sitting on them to paint the highest point of the storage shed, but the same inappropriate thoughts remain. My hands cling to her thighs, which are warming my ears, and her hand is intwined in my hair while her other swishes the paintbrush against the wood.

“Have you ever seen Ratatouille?” she asks, running her fingers through my hair again.

It’s hard not to physically react to goosebumps spreading down my body. “Of course I have, why?”

“I feel like the rat.” She tugs on my hair gently. “Should we see if I can make you cook?”

“Excuse you,” I squeeze her thighs playfully and her hand tightens in my hair. “His name is Remy.”

“My apologies, I didn’t realize I was in the presence of a Ratatouille expert. You guys just be out here hiding in plain sight. Okay, I think we’re done up here.”

The shed looks ten times better than it did when we started and, while it probably wasn’t necessary to spend so long working on a random structure, the lack of interruptions has been nice.

“Russ?”

“Yeah?”

“Which bit of your hair do I need to pull for you to let me down?”

“Oh shit, sorry.” I crouch low enough for her to climb off and it’s pathetic that my first instinct is to work out if there’s anything else we can paint together. “You did a great job.”

Her eyes brighten at the praise and, slowly, the tiny pieces of what I know about her are beginning to thread together. “I couldn’t have done it without you. Literally.”

There’s a smudge of brown paint decorating her jawline; I instinctively reach out, thumb rubbing against it, but it doesn’t budge. “You’re so messy.”

“You have no idea,” she says quietly.

Now we’re alone, I want to ask about what she said this morning. I’m curious about why she thinks she needs to work on herself. From the snippets of information she’s shared during the icebreakers we’ve done and our first interaction at the party, it’s hard to believe she’s anything but the confident woman she comes across as. Yeah, she can be a little awkward occasionally, but so can I. The problem I have is that asking questions tends to invite questions back—and that’s something I’d selfishly rather avoid.

Aurora takes my silence for what it is, a closed door, and we both stand on the outside of this thing hanging between us. She drops the paintbrush into the tray and reaches for the hose I was using earlier, pressing the lever down as she points it directly at my chest.

My jaw drops as the cold water drenches me and a surprised laugh bubbles out. The look in her eyes is the exact same as the one she gave me when I found her in our kitchen: mischief.

“Au—” The spray hits me again. “Okay, you asked for it . . .”

It’s more of a squeal than a scream as I close the gap between us with a couple of strides. She tries to cling to the hose, turning her back to me to protect it. Her body is flush against my wet t-shirt, vibrating as she laughs, attempting to fight me off. It’s not hard to grab it from her and point it downward over the top of her head.

“It’s freezing!” she cries, fighting to redirect it at me. “Okay, truce! Truce!”

I let it fall to the floor and step back. The wet material is clinging to my body and she’s right; it is freezing. Grabbing the back of my t-shirt, I pull it over my head, wringing out the worst of it. “We didn’t think this through.”

She squeezes out the water from her hair, watching me. Her clothes are relatively dry. “I dunno, doesn’t feel like a bad choice to me.”

I don’t have the chance to ask what she means before I hear the signature jingle of dog collars—Xander must have run out of bacon. Fish, Salmon and Trout find me no matter where I am, but this time, they’ve brought a friend.

“Do I want to know why you have no t-shirt on?” Emilia asks as she approaches us. She turns to Aurora. “You look like a drowned rat.”

“Rude,” she mumbles. “His name is Remy.”

“I—wait, what?” Emilia says. I’m still trying to make my t-shirt dry enough to put back on and Aurora seems to still be trying to concentrate on Emilia, not me. “I’ve come to free you from your exile. Jenna asked me to take the truck and pick up the egg order from the farm near the mini golf? It wasn’t delivered or something and everyone else is too busy.”

“Why can’t Jenna go?” Aurora asks, squeezing out water from the ends of her hair. I sit on the ground cross legged and both puppies immediately settle in the gap between my thighs while I stroke Fish.

“She said the farmer is a dick and she hates him with the fire of a thousand suns. I think they had a fight when she called him about the delivery. The truck’s a stick, so I need you.”

“You know how to drive stick?” I ask, quietly impressed.

She nods, double taking when she spots me with my furry fan club. “My dad owns a car company, well kinda, and I’ve spent a lot of time in Europe. Are you going to be okay on your own?”

I don’t ask any follow up questions about the “car company” because then I would have to admit I’ve talked about her with my friends and I know her dad owns a Formula One team. I want to offer to go with her instead of Emilia, but I think that’d be weird. “I’ll be fine. Go get the eggs.”

“See you at the lake later,” she says, walking toward Emilia.

Emilia waves as she turns, wrapping an arm around Aurora’s shoulders before heading back the way she came. “That looked cozy,” I hear her say.

Just when I start to think co-existing will be easy, Aurora takes two tiny shreds of material decorated with daisies and calls it a bikini.

“It’s so cute,” Maya praises her. “I love the cut.”

The cut? How can Maya concentrate on the cut when most of Aurora’s ass is out?

“Stay strong, brother,” Xander whispers beside me. I ignore him, still attempting to not feed into his suspicions. There’s nothing to be suspicious about, but I still don’t need to tell him about what happened before we got here.

“Rory,” Jenna sighs as she approaches the six of us waiting at the end of the dock. “Where’s your one-piece?”

“It’s drying in my cabin because butterfingers over there spilled orange juice on it,” she responds, gesturing to Emilia with her head. Jenna folds her arms across her chest and Aurora mirrors her. “Nobody is going to die if they see my stomach for an hour. I know not to wear it when the kids arrive.”

Jenna pinches the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, shaking her head. If I didn’t already know otherwise, I’d assume Jenna and Aurora were sisters. They don’t look alike, Aurora is tall and blond while Jenna is short with black hair, but the way they bicker and love each other reminds me of siblings. “I only came to share that your instructor is running late. He won’t be long.”

The camp has multiple fully trained and properly qualified lifeguards, but for additional safety, counselors are also given basic water safety training to keep ourselves and each other safe, as well as any campers.

Emilia waits until Jenna is heading back to the shore before pushing an unsuspecting Xander into the water, instantly triggering a power struggle between the rest of us. Small hands dig into the base of my spine, but the force is only enough to move me an inch. I can hear Aurora huffing and puffing behind me as she tries to push me, which is why it’s so easy to grab her hands and pull her in with me as I jump from the dock.

The water is colder than I was expecting, but it’s a welcome change from the heat and, when I kick myself back to the surface, I’m greeted with pouty lips and bright eyes. “That was cruel,” Aurora says, splashing me with her hand as she treads water beside me. “I wasn’t ready!”

I push back the wet hair stuck to my forehead, laughing at how pissed she looks, which doubles when I send a wave of water in her direction with my hand. The laugh that erupts out of her is goddamn magical. Unfiltered, loud, raw. Her eyes pierce me as she smiles, droplets of water clinging to her eyelashes, freckles dusting the bridge of her nose.

She’s so fucking beautiful it hurts.

Oh, man. I’m not supposed to be this attracted to her.

Why do I love to make myself miserable?

Her hand rises out of the water and I preemptively brace, waiting for her to drench me again with water, until the horrified squeal she lets out has me grabbing her hand and pulling her toward me.

“Something touched my foot!” Her legs wrap around my waist and her chest presses flush to mine as she clings to me. “I’m going to cry.”

I’m pretty sure this isn’t the survival training anyone had in mind.

I’m pretty sure I’m not going to survive having her wrapped around me.

“It’ll be a plant or something, don’t worry.”

Aurora leans back, putting some distance between our bodies so she can look at my face, but keeping her feet crossed at the bottom of my back. “It could be a shark.”

I can’t help but snort. “It’s not a shark. We’re in freshwater. We’re also in California.”

“Bull sharks are diadromous, they can survive in freshwater.” My eyebrow quirks. “What? I watch shark week.”

“If it’s a bull shark, sorry to be the one to tell you, but you’re screwed.”

She grins as her hands link at the nape of my neck. “If it’s a bull shark, we’re both screwed because I’m dragging you with me. You’re bigger, you’ll taste better.”

“Trust me, you taste incredible.”

I stun us both. I didn’t mean to say it out loud. Her eyes flick to my lips, then back to my eyes and her breathing slows. “Oh,” is the only thing she says and that response is enough to pray it is a shark and it’s about to save me from myself.