I chuckle. "I'm good, thanks."
He studies me with that intense, little kid assessment, then pats my knee with the muffin hand, leaving a blueberry print on my jeans. "You're coming to my birthday party, right? Mama said next Saturday. There's gonna be cake and Rourke said he'll play the dinosaur song on his guitar."
"There's a dinosaur song?"
"Rourke's making one. For me. Because I asked." He says this with the righteous authority of a child who has never once been told no by the Irishman with a guitar.
"Wouldn't miss it, buddy."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
He grins—gap-toothed, trusting, and completely certain I'll show up since I always make good on my promises. Then he's gone, tearing across the yard toward Brady, who scoops him up and tosses him over his shoulder while Jamie shrieks with delight.
I stay crouched for a second, watching him go.
I think I might want one of those someday.
Connor finds me mid-morning, between my first and second workshop groups. He's got his tablet and his coffee and that easy-going energy that makes you feel like whatever crisis is happening, someone competent is in charge.
"Numbers are in for Q3," he says, leaning against the railing. "Wilderness Skills had the highest guest satisfaction rating of any program on camp."
"You're kidding."
"Ninety-six percent. Graham's at ninety-two and he's been doing this since we opened."
I scratch my jaw. "Oh man, don't tell Graham that."
"I already told him. He grunted and walked away, which I'm sure means he’s proud of his newest colleague."
I laugh and Connor smiles knowingly. He doesn't say I told you so. That's not Connor. He stands there and lets you see the truth on his face, and it means more than any words.
"Thank you," I say. I've said it before. I'll probably say it a hundred more times, and it still won't be enough for what this man did for me.
He claps my shoulder. "You did the work, Dean. All I did was open the door."
After he leaves, I stand in the pavilion and look out at the camp—the cabins tucked along the tree line, the demonstration areas busy with guests, the fire pit where we'll all gather tonight. And the mountains behind all of it, solid and constant, the aspens blazing.
My name is on the program board in the registration cabin.
WILDERNESS SKILLS & SAFETY - DEAN ARCHER, COORDINATOR.
Sky made me pose for a photo next to it my first week, and I looked uncomfortable as hell, and Kaylee framed a print, putting it on the nightstand in our cabin.
Yeah,ourcabin. She moved in two months ago, bringing with her four hundred throw pillows and a suspicious amount of scented candles.
Later that day, I head into the registration cabin to see Kaylee closing out the weekend's check-ins. A few bits of her ponytail have come loose, which tends to happen when she’s working hard, and today, there’s a pen tucked behind her ear that I can tell she's forgotten about. She's smiling at something on her screen—probably a guest review, since she reads every single one as if they're love letters.
I lean in the doorway and just watch her for a second.
She looks up and catches me, and there's that dimple. “Kinda creepy.”
"What? The hottest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on works here?"
"I keep forgetting how charming you can be," she says, grinning. "How'd the afternoon group go?"
"Good. Only lost two guests in the woods," I joke.