Bookishly Ever After (33 page)

The clearing in front of the mess hall was filled with hay wagons packed with campers, their voices filling the quickly darkening sky. Even though it wasn’t fall, the night was that perfectly crisp kind that was just right for a hayride. Willing myself not to shake, I tugged the sleeves of my merino sweater over my hands and slipped my fingers into the thumbholes before reaching up to grab Dev’s hand. Even the few seconds of contact though the wool as he helped me up into the wagon were enough to send tingles up my arm and straight down my spine.

“You look…abnormally nice for the woods,” he said before quickly letting go of my hand and turning his attention to locking up the back of the wagon.

I let a tiny smile break through my nerves. I had trolled this Juliet pattern on Ravelry for ages before finally giving in, and knitting it in the Woolbearers rosewood colorway that almost made my hair and eyes look pretty. It was totally a Grace-approved sweater.

“I figured it would be cold out. This is local wool.” An evil little Marissa-like part of me was tempted to stick my arm out and ask him if he wanted to pet the sweater, but
I held back and dropped onto a mound of hay at the back of the wagon across from him. My secret project, slipped up my sleeve, dug into my arm and my stomach started churning again.

One positive: if I threw up, at least I could blame it on the hayride.

The campers were wound up and, just as the wagon started moving, hay began flying.

“Whoa. Hay stays in the wagon!” Dev called out, ducking in an unsuccessful attempt to avoid a bundle of hay thrown his way. At the front of the wagon, Cassie and Mike were also trying to keep their campers—and the hay—from flying out into the dark woods around us.

A few more minutes of chaos and then Dev’s voice carried over the dark night in an old, ridiculous camp-y song. Silly as it was, his singing reached straight to my bones and settled there, my body humming in time with his words. Dev wasn’t one of our musical theatre stars for nothing. As he kept going, the kids started chiming in and the song carried over to the other wagons until the mostly off-key singing took over the quiet of the night. Between verses, Dev looked over at me and gave me a
Why aren’t you singing along?
gesture, but I pressed my lips together tightly and shook my head. Em was the singer. I’d just sound like someone was skinning a cat in the middle of the woods.

By the tenth verse of “Henry the Eighth,” half of the girls from my cabin had dissolved into giggles and the rest were starting to sound hoarse from trying to yell louder
and sound “worse.” The wagons pulled up alongside of the firepit and Dev popped open the wagon door, starting the campers on another song as we helped them down. I noticed how almost all of the girls went over to Dev’s side. He was grabbing them by the waists and lowering them down to the ground, even though most of them didn’t need the help.

Cassie bumped me in the side as she passed me, her free hand glued to Mike’s. “Can you and Dev handle straightening out all the mess in here? Mike and I want to squeeze in some quality time,” she wiggled her eyebrows at me, “before we have to make nice and sing kumbaya around the campfire.”

I glanced over at Dev, who was still busy playing human elevator to all the female campers, and my insides twisted again. No use delaying my deep confession. “Sure.”

“Grace was right, you are the best.” Cassie winked at me before jumping into Mike’s arms in a totally graceful cheerleader move.

When all of the campers were off the wagon, Dev pulled himself back on board and flopped onto a half-destroyed hay bale, rubbing at his arms.

“Who knew almost-sixth graders could be so heavy?” he complained, before looking at me and the empty wagon. “Where are Mike and Cassie?”

“I told them we’d handle clean up.” I couldn’t meet his eyes and instead focused on picking random pieces of hay from between the wagon’s wooden slats. Back in the cabin, I’d gone through my entire notebook one more time to
absorb as much bookishly romantic knowledge as I could to be ready for this moment, but it didn’t stop my stomach from turning somersaults.

“Thanks for volunteering me,” he said dryly, tilting his head back against the side of the wagon. “We really need to work on that selfless impulse of yours. It’s making a lot of work for both of us.”

“It’s just hay. Besides,” I gulped down my nerves and pulled my secret project out of my sleeve, hands shaking
. I was Maeve, ready to defend the gates. I was Marissa, sealing back the demonic spirit.
Sliding next to him in the wagon, I handed him the folded up bundle of papers. Even though we still weren’t sitting that close, I could feel the heat radiating from his body and all the chilled parts of me were so tempted to burrow into his warmth.

He looked from the little book to me like opening it could make laser beams shoot into his eyes. “What’s this?”

Another deep breath.
I was Kaylee, baring her soul on a stage where everyone could see.

“Just read it,” I said as fast as I could, pulling my flashlight out of my back pocket and wiggling it at him.

Dev squinted at the title in the sparse light coming from the clearing and the moon. “The story of the shy knitting girl and the mini sock boy?” He looked up at me, brows furrowed together. “Phoebe—”

“Read it, please?” I whispered, my throat tight. I needed to get this over with so I could dive under the remaining hay and wallow in my mortification.

He stared at me for a few heartbeats before nodding silently and taking the flashlight from me.

While waiting, I grabbed a piece of hay and started splitting it with my fingernail. I reached for another and another until I had a pile of stiff strings in my lap. At least it kept my hands busy so he couldn’t see them shaking. I snuck a glance at him, but his face was shadowed and his lips were in a straight line, neither smiling nor frowning. Ice shot down my spine. Maybe I should start neatening up the wagon. That way, if he rejected me, I’d have an excuse to keep my back to him.

I started to turn, but Dev’s hand on my arm stayed my motion. His eyes were wide and his expression serious. “Is this story about us? You and me?” He gently lay the bound pile of handmade paper on his lap and his thumb traced the rough edges.

My fingers curled around the pile of hay-strings and I nodded, dropping my eyes. This was a stupid, ridiculous idea. He had to think I was some nutty—

“Is it true?” He reached over and gently used two fingers to lift my chin so I had to look him in the eye. It took monumental effort to keep from sucking in my breath. “You like me?”

My brain ran through the possible answers. Marissa would have something snappy and cute. Maeve would say something immensely quotable. I could just quote directly from that part in
Golden
where she confessed her feelings to Aedan. Or—Dev’s thumb just barely grazed my chin and
cleverness flew out of my head as my heart decided to stop.

“Yes,” I breathed. I wasn’t Marissa or Maeve. I was Phoebe. I wrote a silly story about the guy I liked. And I was positive he was about to reject me, let me down easy. I braced myself for his answer.

Dev’s expression remained serious, but his voice seemed to shake. “I was hoping you’d say yes,” he whispered back.

“Really?” Cue pulse running though my whole body, centering on those spots where his fingers touched me.

“Really.”

He leaned forward, but I reached out and stopped him with a hand against his chest, as bold as Maeve. If this was my story, I was going to be the one to decide the ending. “And you like me?”

“I’ve been trying to tell you that for ages, but you kept finding ways to push me away.” At my raised eyebrow, he moved his fingers from my chin to my cheek. His other hand came up to pull a piece of hay out of my formerly perfect curls. He squinted at me for a few long seconds, making me wonder if I had pushed too much. “I’d level cities for one of your smiles.”

I held back a laugh, the tightness in my chest loosening to make room for the same feeling as finding a book I really wanted on shelves a few days before its release date. “That’s from the
Sentinel
series!” Any boy who would quote a romantic line from a bestselling YA novel had me, heart and soul.

“Caught me.” In the dark, his pupils had dilated, making
me feel like I could fall and fall into his eyes forever.

“No,” I said, dropping my hand and leaning forward until my lips were millimeters from his, just as bold and crazy as any of the characters I admired. “You caught me.” We both seemed to move at the same time and I didn’t know or cared who closed the distance between us.

Our lips met and it was like the fire Maeve described running through her veins when kissing Aedan, and the energy Marissa felt with Cyril, hit me all at the same time. Our first kiss was tentative and awkward as we tried to figure out where to put our heads and hands and bodies. It was clumsy and definitely not “perfect” like any of my favorite book kisses, but all I wanted to do was pull him closer and never let go. Dev leaned forward and his hand slipped on a patch of hay in the wagon, sending us both tumbling into a mound of hay. He pulled back, using the side of the wagon to prop himself up slightly.

“Sorry.” But a silly grin spread across his face and he brushed hair and hay out of my face. “Not as smooth as your book crushes, huh?”

“I don’t know. I think I like the real thing better.” That earned me an even wider grin and this time when he bent to kiss me, we lined up perfectly. Hay dug into my back through my sweater and jeans and I didn’t even notice.

After what seemed like a lifetime of kissing, Dev pulled back, his lips a whisper against my cheek. “We need to get this wagon cleaned up and get to the bonfire before Mr. Hamm comes looking for us again and busts us for PDA.”

I groaned, but let him pull me up to sitting with a coaxing kiss…or two or three. “So, what do we do now?” A limp curl hung in front of my nose and I pushed it behind my ear. My hair was probably a rat’s nest of tangles, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Dev seemed to take a lot of pleasure out of helping me wipe the hay off of where it clung to my sweater and hair.

“Considering what just happened now and everything, does that mean I finally get a real pair of socks?” At the look on my face, he flicked a piece of hay at my nose. “I hear that kitchenered toe thing is amazing.”

I tossed a handful of hay in his face, then shrieked as he stuffed a retaliatory bunch down the back of my sweater.

“Goof,” I choked out between laughs.

“But a cute goof, right?”

“Bollywood-worthy cuteness.” In a move that would make Marissa proud, I reached up and pulled him down for a kiss, breaking away after a few seconds to start working on straightening up the wagon. I turned and smiled at his surprised but happy expression.

This was the best camping trip ever.

The camp was quiet at the moment. In a few hours, we’d be loading up the buses, but now, everything was still. I’d felt electrified all night, the haywagon and the bonfire and our ride back running over and over in my mind. So, when the first hints of sunlight tinged the sky, I climbed out of my bunk, grabbed a sweatshirt and my book, and slipped out of the cabin without waking any of the girls. A bit of reading might calm down my all-too-active brain. I touched my lips with my fingertips and stifled the urge to giggle like a little kid.

I set myself up on the dock, dangling my legs over the edge so the toes of my sneakers just barely skimmed the water’s surface. I only had about two chapters left of
Cradled
and I could probably finish them before reveille.

“‘Sometimes you need to leave everything you know to find yourself and to learn that life isn’t a solo,’” I read aloud to the pines.

“Talking to yourself?” A voice said behind me and I nearly fell off the dock. Dev grabbed my shoulder to steady me. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” He joined me on the edge of the dock, letting his hand slide down my arm
to capture mine. Even through my sweatshirt, his touch brought goose bumps up on my skin.

I tilted my head to look at him, smiling but wishing I had thought to put in my contacts. “I’m quoting from great literature while communing with nature, and you just interrupted me.” A part of me wanted to reach up and kiss him, but the still awkward and tentative part of me held back, waiting for him.

Dev didn’t kiss me, just started rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb. His other hand tilted my book so the page faced him, too.

“Is that the book with the whispering lips on the jawline?”

Out came the blush, rushing at warp speed from my roots and down my neck. “No, it’s the book about the violinist. And I’m never going to live that down, am I?” His lips turned up in a wicked little smile in response, and I sighed. “Didn’t think so.”

He bumped me lightly with his arm and squeezed my hand. “You could always take notes…”

Even though laughter was threatening to escape the faux stern set of my lips, I resisted the urge and pretended to go back to my book. It was hard balancing the book and turning pages with just one hand, though, and I resorted to trying to use my nose.

Dev laughed, tapped me on the tip of my nose, and turned my page. “Allow me.”

I smiled up at him and felt like my heart was going to burst through my shirt. His face was a silhouette against the
sun as it rose over the lake.

“‘Oh, keep the world forever at the dawn,’” I said, quoting Kaylie in chapter eight when she quoted Emily quoting Marjorie Pickthall in
Emily’s Quest
, which was totally on my to-be-read list. I had to stifle a giggle at the fact that I was quoting a line from a real poem quoted by a fictional character being quoted by another fictional character. Like book geekishness times three.

“I’m down for that.” Dev’s fingers left my book’s page and he reached up to tug a strand of hair out of the loose crown braid I’d slept in. The curly piece bounced in front of my eyes.

Hands occupied, I twisted my lips and unsuccessfully tried to blow it out of my face. “What did you do that for?”