Page 36 of Grumpy Bear

When he’d said that word, it felt like when he called me by my first name, only times a thousand. Uncomfortable but… really fucking nice.

My mom used to say it when I was little and brought home crafts and drawings from school. Her face would light up, and she’d call me an artist.

And my dad would mock both of us, repeating artist with a disgusted sneer.

I was grateful for the excuse to leave Luke to go check the pool. It was easier to remember all that—feel all that—walking by myself.

When I got to the pool, I found the concrete on the north end near the cabana bar heaped with brown sopping wet towels.

It looked like the holler had shit itself.

“No, no, no. Do not tell me—”

Ryan came rushing over, holding out his hands like he might have to stop me from throwing myself to my death.

Austin made universal calming gestures. “It didn’t get in. We stopped it.”

They had used every towel in the cabana’s laundry room to basically sandbag the overflow from the creek. But after last night’s storm, it was creeping higher than we’d initially thought it would. Sometimes there was a delayed reaction as all that rainwater seeped down through the hills. The creek came straight down the holler, then hung a sharp turn west behind the cabana bar to bypass the pool complex.

At least there were no snakes. At the moment. Copperheads were a constant concern.

The white pool bottom was so clean it was hard to look at in the sun, but the brown water from the swollen creek was about two millimeters higher than the concrete. It gave the extensive wooden decking the appearance of a giant raft.

If we could start filling the pool immediately—and I mean, like, technically an hour ago—we’d barely get this water ready for guests by this time tomorrow. But, another half inch of water and we’d have to start over. Even a spoonful of creek water made getting the chemicals right a total fucking headache. We already had our work cut out for us keeping it crystal clear with spilled cocktails, sunscreen, sweat, pee… I held back thinking about the rest.

Luke’s eyes went wide when I filled him in on the drive. “Are you serious?”

“Fuck my life serious. We get another storm tonight like the one last night and we’re fucked.”

“What the hell can you do?”

“There’s a dam at the top of the holler. I spent most of the day yesterday shoring it up. And I should’ve gone up another foot.”

I assured him the task wasn’t difficult, and it wouldn’t take long, especially with two of us, but it needed to be done quickly.

I didn’t tell Luke I’d also stopped by the main storage locker. He hadn’t mentioned sleeping arrangements for the remainder of the weekend. I couldn’t think of a way to bring it up.

The truth was, I kinda wanted him to sleep in my bed again, but I didn’t want him to feel forced to.

For both our sakes, the right thing to do was to give him an option.

I did the opposite.

I watched myself like I was outside my body, finding a pole that might work—there was no way to know for sure without trying it—and then shoving it to the back of the highest shelf I could reach where it couldn’t be seen from below.

And then I fucking lied to him about it.

“I checked lost and found again to see if we had another pole for your tent.”

“Oh. Yeah. Of course. Did you find one?”

“Uh, sorry. There was one, but not the right length for the size tent you have.” It might have been true.

“Okay. Well, I appreciate you checking.”

“I forgot to look at the damage this morning, but when a pole splinters like that, the fabric sleeve usually gets torn too. You’re looking at some serious duct tape work, or…” Now I was babbling. My face grew hot. If he knew me better, he’d know I was bullshitting him.

That or hung between us—him staying with me again tonight. Which would imply spending the rest of the weekend in my cabin, unless some other option presented itself. There was one really obvious possibility. “You might get an invitation to spend the night elsewhere, you know.”