Page 8 of Summer Camp with the Mountain Man

Now my mythical dragon of a man, equal parts rugged and sensitive, is looking at me like I just kicked his puppy. I would never kick a puppy. Even that mangy one that enjoys peeing on my shoes.

Oh my god, he’s the villainous cousin I’ve been secretly rooting for, the one who fired my faux fiancé.

My heart can’t decide if it’s rubbing my belly or patting my head. I’m all kinds of discombobulated. Can everybody tell I’m staring? Hurry, help me pop the cartoon hearts floating around my head. If Georgie Boo Bear doesn’t get his inheritance, I don’t get to keep my family’s campground.

What do I do then? How do I pay my student loans? I can’t turn to a life of prostitution, I giggle every time I see a guy’s tallywhacker. I’d probably have to stop calling them tallywhackers.

Would I have to stand on a street corner in high heels? Because I’d be better off drinking moonshine and line-dancing on stilts. I don’t even know how to line-dance. Or where I’d find moonshine. I am surprisingly good on a pair of stilts though. Don’t ask.

“Hi, Cade, is it? I’m Rayne. Your cousin’s… fiancée.”

That was convincing. I just choked on my saliva when trying to say fiancée. That’s it, my cover’s blown. Hello life as a street walker on stilts. Gentlemen suitors will find it weird at first but they’ll get used to it. I’ll just glue a pair of high heels to the bottom and no one will notice the difference, trust me, I’m better off on those than stripper shoes.

Welp, now that the façade is over I don’t see any reason not to make out with Cade right here on the spot.

“Hi,” he whispers, clearly bewildered and wondering why I didn’t mention my… fiancé yesterday on the pier. Darn it, I did it again. “George is a lucky man.”

“He is?”

“He is.”

Cade reaches out his hand for me to shake, as if we didn’t meet yesterday and share a connection that’s had my heartbeat hammering against my panties ever since. I’ve had to check no less than six times to make sure I didn’t accidentally put on my mom’s special underwear with the remote control. The only reason I knew I wasn’t is because she was wearing them at dinner yesterday, despite me requesting they please refrain while we eat. Her chair sounded like a helicopter launchpad. And now I think I’m going to be sick.

Until I take Cade’s hand in mine and I turn into a launchpad myself. I’m not used to this kind of sensation. When me and my teacher friends go out, the only guys who hit on me look like they live in their parents’ attics. They don’t have the raw magnetism of a half man/half dragon that could recite poetry while felling trees with his bare hands.

His hands, good golly Miss Molly. How can they be so soft yet firm? Why can I suddenly think about nothing but all the places they aren’t currently touching? Would it be weird if I asked him for a massage with everyone watching?

Does he know what I’m thinking? Does his family? I feel like my mouth being stuck in its current agape position might be a dead giveaway.

A loud smacking sound snaps me out of his dragon trance.

What just happened? Did a middle aged woman wallop him in the back of the head?

“What are you doing? Cade, don’t make eyes at your cousin’s fiancée.”

“Oww, Mom, what the hell? I was just saying hi.”

“That’s how you say hi to a new cellmate who smells awful purty. You’re looking at this poor girl like you want to nibble the corns off her toes.”

“He really wasn’t,” I try to interject but she’s having none of it, and now people are shouting over each other from surrounding campsites. “I don’t actually have corns. I use a foot mask every Friday after being on my feet all week… Nobody’s listening.”

Oy vay, what am I marrying into?

What am I saying? It’s not like this is a real marriage. I just have to pretend for a few days.

“I’m listening,” Cade mouths silently, his eyes not leaving mine, even as his family argue around him and two more women slap the back of his head. At least I hope they’re his family, if random campers are assaulting him maybe I don’t want to take over the business after all.

Why couldn’t it be him I’m fake engaged to? I wouldn’t even have to fake it.

He looks so confused, none of this can possibly make any sense to him. Yesterday I was flirting with him, or at least my skewed version of flirting, telling him about living here and having to get back to work to help my parents. Today I’m wearing his cousin’s engagement ring.

None of it adds up and I’d know, I teach addition every year.

“JP, you just gonna let him eye your girl like that?”

I don’t even know who said it, there’s family members coming out of the woodwork. Did all of them check in? I didn’t know the campground could fit this many people.

“Really, it’s fine,” I try to reason with what appear to be more cousins. “I don’t think he was eyeing me.”