He'd noticed her earlier when he'd been at the pool. She'd been cleaning some tables, and he'd pretended like he was watching the other kids climb the diving board. But he'd really been sneaking glances her way.
Something about her had captured his attention. Her looks, sure. But it was more than that. She had a sweetness about her. A purity. But he couldn't help thinking that her wholesomeness was marred by a few rough edges. As if she were a little girl in a pristine white Easter dress who couldn't wait to slosh through the mud.
In other words, she was a contradiction. Someone different from the girls he usually met. And he made up his mind right there on the sun bleached pool deck that he was going to ask her out.
So when he'd literally bumped into her as she rounded the corner of the rec center, it was like he'd been handed a gift. Not that it had worked out the way he'd hoped. The bad news was that she'd flat out turned down his offer to buy her some french fries.
The good news was that she seemed to genuinely regret having to leave to go get her brother.
Which meant he had a shot. And considering he was stuck there for the summer, and all the other girls looked like clones of the girls he knew from LA, he figured that was a good thing.
He spent the next few days trying to get her attention, but he never seemed to manage. He'd see her wiping a table and try to talk, and she'd blush and mumble that she was on the clock. He'd fall into step beside her and ask where she was headed, and she'd reply easily enough. But then she'd duck her head, tell him she was in a hurry, and take off in a jog to wherever she was supposedly going.
Mostly, he thought she was just trying to get away from him.
The thought bothered him. He was seventeen years old and about to move to New England to enroll in one of the most prestigious private photography programs in the country. And he'd gotten in on a merit scholarship. Not because his parents had written the Trustees a check.
He could talk about pop culture, but also liked sports. He knew his way around any art museum, modern or classic. And he was well-versed enough about ballet and the opera to impress girls who were into that kind of thing. He was a halfway decent surfer. He'd had a string of girlfriends from the time he was eleven, mostly because they'd pursued him, and the female attention made him cool in the eyes of his friends.
And even though he suspected that some of that attention had been directed more at his family name than at him, he also knew that he wasn't a complete dud.
So why the hell was Kelsey running from him?
"Her," he said one day, pointing her out to his friend Patrick, whose father was the general manager of the country club. "What's her story?"
They sat at a table by the pool, eating burgers and fries. Directly across from them, Kelsey was working the cordoned off adult section, delivering dry towels and magazines to a cadre of women who showed up daily at the club to sun themselves, drink fruity cocktails, and gossip. She moved with an enchanting grace, and her lips were perpetually curved up at the corners, like she had a delicious secret that she wasn't telling.
"I don't know much," Patrick admitted, as Wyatt's thumb stroked the edge of the Ricoh camera that was his constant companion. He itched to pick it up and capture her on film, and it was taking all of his effort not to be the kind of invasive ass who started snapping pictures of people without their permission. He saw enough of that breed around his grandmother and sister, and his mom to a lesser extent. He really didn't need to join their ranks.
That didn't change the desire, though, and so instead of capturing her in his camera, he tried to burn her image into his mind. A mental picture of beauty and grace that he could keep with him always.
"--this summer."
Wyatt shook his head, realizing he'd zoned out. "Sorry. What?"
Patrick shot him a look that was both irritated and amused. "I said, her dad's heading up the landscaping crew this summer."
"Just the summer?"
"Our old guy quit, and the new guy they hired can't start until September. And Draper was available. My dad said something about how he's between jobs. I guess he has a gig starting in LA in the fall."
"Yeah, but what about her?"
"She's shy. I met her at one of the staff meetings. I said hello, and she stared at her shoes. Probably because I'm so intimidating."
"Probably," Wyatt agreed ironically. Patrick was pretty much the least intimidating guy on the planet, which was why he worked the member relations desk three times a week even though he was barely eighteen. "But why's she working at all? What are her hours? Do you know what she likes?"
"Because her father insisted that my uncle give her a job, too," Patrick began, counting his answer out on his fingers.
"Pretty much eight to five. And I really don't know." He cocked his head as he considered something. "I know she watches her brother play tennis sometimes when she has free time. So she either likes him or she likes tennis."
"Tennis," Wyatt muttered, nodding thoughtfully. "Okay. That's good to know."
"Good?" Patrick said. "I don't know about that. Because if good means you're thinking about asking her out, I think you should just back away slowly and find someone else. She's not worth the trouble."
"Yeah? Why?"
Patrick shrugged. "You've seen her. The girl's too shy. It's the summer, dude. You'll barely get to first base before she moves back home and you head to Boston."