Page 50 of Holding Ground

I know one of Tanya’s cousins. It’s been years since I’ve spoken to her, but I can reach out and pass your information along.

My emotions whirl like a tornado inside me. Until this moment, I didn’t know I even had any other blood relations on my mother’s side. I’m not sure how to feel about having a second cousin—or what their connection to Tanya might be called.

I didn’t disclose my relationship to Tanya when I emailed this woman, which I’m happy about. I have no idea what the situation is, so there’s a chance that if she told this cousin I’m Tanya’s daughter, they may not want to hear from me.

My fingers hover over the keys for several long minutes before I respond, telling her I’d appreciate that and giving her my cell phone number in case the cousin in question isn’t on Facebook.

Hopeful excitement mixes with anxiety in the pit of my stomach. I need to speak with my parents. I’ve come far enough that I can’t hide it from them anymore. I’m just not sure how to explain to them why I feel the need to see this through. Why having them raise me and love me isn’t enough.

“I need to get out of here.”

I shut my laptop, grab my keys, and head down to my car. I don’t even know where I’m going. I just need to do something to get my mind off everything going on.

I could drive into town, maybe console myself with a treat from Deacon’s bakery, but instead I find myself driving around the lake and pulling onto a dirt road, passing a sign that reads, ANCHOR POINT CAMP. I’m not going to examine why I aimlessly ended up at Elliott’s camp.

When I reach the end of the drive, I come to a stop, turn off my car, and get out. I don’t see Elliott anywhere, but his truck is here. In the distance, I hear the distinct sound of hammering, so I decide to follow it, presuming it’s Elliott.

I abruptly halt when Elliott comes into view. He’s on the roof of a cabin, hammering shingles, shirtless. Once he’s done with the one he’s working on, he straightens and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. That’s when I get my first look at what’s under the T-shirts, the flannels, and the hoodies he wears.

A dusting of hair spreads over his pecs and forms a line down to his belly button and past to regions I’m best not to imagine. He’s muscular, yes, but it’s the kind of muscular that comes from daily physical activity, like what he’s doing now, not spending hours in a gym every week.

If I weren’t already attracted to him, this image would do it.

He turns in my direction and startles at first, but then smiles, which throws me off-kilter. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

I shrug. “Procrastinating. I realized I hadn’t checked out your camp yet and thought I’d take a break from work and pop over.”

He narrows his eyes, probably wondering if I’m here to get the lay of the land for my job, if I had to guess. But then the suspicion melts off his face, and he nods, almost as though he’s decided something for himself. “All right. Let me climb down from here, and I’ll show you around.”

He makes his way to a ladder that’s leaning against the side of the building. He pivots to move his body so that he can put his foot on the ladder, and nerves make me jittery. The vision of him falling to the ground floats through my mind.

“Be careful. Maybe I should hold the ladder.” I step forward, but he’s already halfway down by the time I reach it.

When he makes it to the ground, he turns and gives me a soft smile. “Careful there. I might actually think you like me.” He winks.

I still, every muscle going rigid.

What is happening here? Is Elliott…flirting with me?

That’s not possible, right? I mean, I know we’ve been getting on better since I moved into his house, but being cordial and friendly is different from flirting. Right?

Unsure how to take his niceness, I give him an awkward laugh and step back so I’m not all up in his space. I do my absolute best not to let my gaze slide down to his chest, but I’m not sure I succeed because he clears his throat, then pulls his shirt out of the waistband of his jeans and slides it on.

He gestures for me to walk along with him, so I do, coming up beside him while he leads us down the path that weaves through all the dark brown cabins. Tall pine trees are lined up like soldiers between each cabin, and their scent drifts toward me.

“This is where all the overnight campers sleep, six to a cabin. Keys are in the truck, but you can look in through the window if you want.” He takes the steps two at a time until he’s standing on the deck.

I follow, cupping my hands around my face and leaning in to look through the window. It’s a basic setup—three sets of built-in bunk beds, wood flooring, and a small dresser set to the side of each bed.

“Communal bathrooms are that way.” Elliott points farther down the path.

“Is the camp just for sleep-away kids?” I turn to face him.

“No, there’s an allotted amount for kids who will stay here for the week and for local kids who will go home at night.”

We walk back down the steps and continue in the opposite direction from before.

“The kids must have so much fun. I bet it’s the highlight of the summer for most of them.”