Once Upon a Campfire (Meet Cute Romance 6)

Taylor beat him by two strokes. Beckett could hear her crow of victory as she slapped the dock.

“You are a freaking mermaid,” he gasped.

She slicked her hair back and beamed. “Yes, I am. God, that felt good!”

A shadow fell over the two of them. Michael. “You realize we have no prizes, right?”

“Maybe you should,” Beckett suggested. “Because that was damned impressive.”

“Maybe we’ll just move things around so she’s on lifeguard duty instead of paired up with you for rock climbing.”

“Looks like tomorrow we get to go to my playground.” Beckett grinned, turning to the mermaid. Something had wiped the smile clear off her face. In fact, she looked a little sick. What was that about?

~*~

The lodge was buzzing with conversation, when Sarah stumbled in at 7:15 the next morning. She didn’t make eye contact with anyone, didn’t talk. Her entire attention was focused on finding the coffee. As long as she got some in the next two minutes, no one would get maimed, and she’d probably manage to maintain her cover.

“Good morning.”

Sarah held in a whimper. How dare anyone expect her to converse before caffeine? Homicide on her mind, she turned to find a mug held out to her.

“Oh, thank Jesus.” She snatched it from the big, masculine hand, and took a hefty swallow, not caring that the coffee scalded her mouth. The heat from the mug soaked through her hands, taming the beast and melting away her habitual foul greeting of the day.

Lifting her gaze, she found her competition from the swim test yesterday. He was grinning at her, clearly amused. Sarah didn’t even care. He’d brought her coffee. As far as she was concerned, that was a life debt. “You, my friend, have just performed an act of the greatest public service. No one will die today.”

“Glad to hear it. Since there was no official prize for winning yesterday, I figured not having to fix your first official cup of camp coffee would have to do.”

“Better than any trophy. Come to me, my sweet, sweet nectar of the gods.” She took another sip, slower this time, and rolled it around in her mouth, savoring with a contented sigh. It was excellent coffee—rich and bold and black as midnight.

He laughed. “Not a morning person, I take it.”

“Not even a little bit.”

As the fog of sleep began to lift, Sarah took a moment to study her benefactor. He looked annoyingly bright-eyed, his Camp Firefly Falls t-shirt stretched across the broad shoulders that she now knew could execute a perfect butterfly. That was almost sexier than the sculpted chest she could still picture with rivulets of water running down to the board shorts that hung, dripping, low on his lean hips.

And why are you cataloging his finer features? You won’t be here to enjoy them after this week.

Perhaps her man-drought was taking its toll, but there was no harm in admiring the view. He’d done the same to her on the dock. And hadn’t that been a nice boost to her ego? After all the time sitting on her ass in classrooms and labs or camped out in study carrels, she still had something worth admiring. She lifted her gaze to his face. Not classically handsome or the vaguely geek-chic she’d become accustomed to in academia, but his was an appealing face. All sharp angles and scruff. He’d be next to the picture of rugged in the dictionary. Who knew that worked for her?

Sarah lifted the mug. “And to whom do I owe this beneficence? I didn’t catch your name yesterday.”

“Beckett Hayes. And you’re Taylor the Mermaid.”

Sadly, for this week, yes.

Since he’d brought her coffee, she graced him with a smile. “Meadows. Taylor Meadows. Nice to meet you.” Taking another sip, Sarah glanced around. “You seem to know the lay of the land. Where are our schedules?”

“Right this way.” Beckett led her across the room to a table set up at the tail end of the buffet.

The schedules had been alphabetized by last name. Sarah found hers and skimmed it.

“According to Heather, the staff has been split into four groups for orientation.” As Beckett continued to talk, Sarah skimmed the list. “We’ll all be rotating through the assorted classes—first aid, CPR—”

“Bartending? Really?”

“So I’m told.” He shrugged. “Anyway, between all that, we’ll be doing overall prep of the facilities and checking equipment.”

That didn’t sound so bad. When Michael Tully had mentioned she’d been assigned to rock climbing, she’d nearly panicked. But Taylor was entirely qualified to deal with that, and she’d be here to take her rightful place by the end of the week. Sarah had eyes in her head. Surely she could look at the equipment to check it for frays or weak spots or any other sign that it was worn out. There wouldn’t be time to actually climb anything with everything else going on. Taylor had promised there’d be no human pyramid equivalent at this orientation.