Chapter 3
840 Words
3
Caterina
As I hoisted a box to my hip and walked through the parking lot, I swore I saw Marcus Kent standing by a pickup truck, slack-jawed and staring. A frisson of embarrassment, anger and I’ll begrudgingly admit, heat, zipped through my body.
It wasn’t until after I decided to take the job at Camp Tall Pines and was searching for an apartment that I realized the nearest small town was c****x Cove. I knew then that there was a slight chance I might run into the man I had titled “biggest douchebag ever” in my mind. His shop is still the place to go and my dad still makes an annual trip up here to have Marcus check out his yacht.
After he humiliated me six years ago, I never much cared to see him again. Okay, that’s a lie. The man had made a lasting impression on me that few since have been able to. But after I threw myself at him and he not only shut me down but did it in front of a kitchen full of people? There was a fat chance you’d find me pining away for him.
I didn’t think he’d remember me. I’m more woman than girl now and I’m not that innocent adolescent who wanted him to take her virginity. That said virginity is long gone now. I can confidently say that I know what I want in a man and what I need in the bedroom. Six years is a long time and I’ve had enough experience to know.
“Marcus Kent,” I say to myself, watching him trek up the hill.
Camp Tall Pines is for single parents only, hence another reason I thought I’d be safe from seeing him this summer. But he has a daughter.
Where is the mother?
My gaze shoots over to where the cutest little blonde haired girl chats it up with the other kids. I walk around the cabin to make sure my assistants aren’t having any trouble helping the kids make their bird feeders. My eyes focus in on Lily who’s doing more talking than working on her project.
“You doing okay, Lily?” I ask.
She looks over at me and smiles. “Yep,” she says, turning to Ben across from her while at the same time her small fingers brush the bracelet on her right wrist.
The two continue talking about sports and I lean against the counter, listening to her go on and on about the Giants and how much better they are than the Dodgers. Being that I’m from San Francisco and my dad has box seats at AT&T Park I agree with her, but I can’t help but wonder what this little girl knows about baseball.
Lily and Ben continue to argue as Marcus’ eyes swim in my mind. They’re still that sparkling blue—as bright and sparkling as the Mediterranean Sea with the sun glistening above. And it seems, they still bear the capacity to make me lose my train of thought for a second or two.
He’s grown his hair out a little longer on top and I wonder what it would feel like to have my hands thread through the silky dark brown strands. To grip it, as his head’s buried between my legs.
Shit. No. Nope. I’m not going there again.
You can humiliate me once, but not twice. Marcus Kent might be as appealing as a Popsicle on a scorching hot day, but he’s on my s**t list, if not at the very top. If only my va-jay-jay would get the message my mind is trying to send it.
“Cat,” a small voice says next to me.
I bend down to meet Lily’s gaze. Who of course, shares her daddy’s blue eyes, just to make this summer even tougher.
“Yes, Lily,” I say.
“I’m done,” she says proudly, lifting her paper plate with the birdseed attached to all the Crisco.
“Oh, great. Let’s lay it over here to dry and you can take it home tonight.”
She follows me over to the table I placed in the corner for all the art projects to dry.
“Where do you think you’ll hang it?” I ask her, and tap on the table where she should lay it out.
“In a tree.” She lays it down gently and then arranges the plate exactly how she wants it.
I chuckle. “Yeah, is there a special tree you have in mind?”
She shrugs her shoulders. “My dad let me put up a bird feeder last year and then too many birds came and daddy said they were pooping too much. So, I’m gonna sneak it in the small one outside my bedroom window.” She whispers the last part as though Marcus is right next to us.
“So, you live with your dad?” I ask, knowing I’m a terrible person for trying to dig information out of a five-year-old.
Her small eyes crinkle, contemplating my question. “I can’t live by myself,” she says in a tone that implies ‘duh’ and walks away.
So, she does live with him. He’s not just playing summer time dad. The question remains, where is the mother?
The bigger question is why do I care?
- Writer
