Why the tennis courts needed to be between the cabins and the main lodge where her office was was beyond Van. When Nate had been here, it had seemed like good luck: they would walk to breakfast together, and if Van wasn’t urgently needed, she’d head back to the cabin and drop Nate off on the way. If Heather was freaking out about something or there was something better done first thing, then she’d stay in her office doing a report on the efficacy of their online advertising or getting the next round of surveys set up or one of her hundred other small duties until lunch. Then she’d meet Nate and walk him back by the courts for his afternoon lessons. Perfect.

Now the tennis courts seemed like a black hole she only narrowly avoided being sucked into. Because whenever she walked by, who was there but Willa? Either bashing a ball against the self-play wall, teaching some lucky person how to hold a racquet, or playing against her students, doing that funny thing of shouting out instructions on how to beat her. Of course, they rarely did, even with that advantage.

Day after day, Van passed and tried not to stare too hard at her bunkmate and those ridiculously sexy tennis outfits of hers. They showed off Willa’s broad shoulders, her muscular biceps, and her defined forearms. Not to mention her legs. The woman’s legs were…out of control. Strong and shapely, and goddammit, they made her look statuesque even when she was drinking out of a plastic water bottle. And the times Willa was in motion when Van passed by—surreptitiously watching her move lest she be seriously busted for perving on her bunkmate, not to mention Nate’s younger sister—she looked like a lithe jungle cat. A jungle cat with a really fantastic ass.

Today was one of those days when Heather hadn’t needed her first thing, so Van had spent the morning in her cabin trying to get a grant proposal written. After she’d pretended to be asleep while Willa got ready for the day, of course.

Even as she was doing it, she cursed herself. Not only would it be ridiculous and embarrassing if Willa ever realized it, but it was also inefficient. Van could’ve been doing so many things, and the knowledge chafed as surely as a wool sweater. But her fear overwhelmed even the practical part of her.

Being around women she found attractive had a way of making her stupid, which was pretty much the only reason she was thankful her profession was still male-dominated. It was easy to work around dudes, because no matter how intelligent, how objectively attractive, how charming or funny, they did absolutely squat for her libido.

Willa, on the other hand, did just about everything for her. Even before she’d said she was getting a PhD, Van had been gone on her looks. She’d never thought much about how smart Willa was, partly because Willa had seemed to care more about her tennis game. But apparently, she was hot and had brains, which was an enormous problem.

So Van had been handling it how she usually did—by avoiding Willa like the plague. Which was awkward since they lived together, but she would much rather Willa think she was a dick than ruin her friendship with Nate over what would likely be a fling, if anything at all, with his beloved baby sister. Since she hadn’t kept up with Willa, she really had no idea if she was even Willa’s type.

Van was aware she wasn’t super-hot, which was fine. She was relatively pleased by the way she looked, and honestly, being attractive seemed to be far more trouble than it was worth. She also didn’t have a ton of money because academia wasn’t particularly lucrative, especially in the early years. The response of women she’d been to bed with seemed to indicate she was a decent lover, but given the sample size, she could only call the evidence anecdotal. Which left brains as her most attractive feature.

Van’s Chucks crunched down the path; she’d timed her trip to the dining lodge very carefully. After lunch had begun—so she’d be unlikely to catch Willa on the court and have to endure the torture of seeing her crush at Willa’s most attractive—but also not so late that she would miss out on the best selections. Over the past week or so, she’d perfected her timing.

Unfortunately, Willa’s behavior was far more erratic than Van’s own and the cursed woman had foiled her plans once again. There she was, bouncing on the balls of her feet, waiting to receive her opponent’s serve. And when it came, there she went, moving at some crazy speed that should’ve been beyond a human. It jolted something inside Van and she nearly tripped over her own feet.

Really, what else was she supposed to do when a sudden fantasy of her biggest crush cosplaying as Wonder Woman seized her as effectively as the golden lasso? Dammit. Of course Willa’s opponent—who it seemed was actually Heather—couldn’t get to her return because Willa was insane, so she wasn’t distracted enough by playing not to notice Van.

No, instead, she stood there, gold tendrils of hair that had escaped from her high ponytail curling around her exertion-pinked face, and waved. “Hey, Van.”

Not even trusting her own voice, Van waved in what she hoped was a perfectly normal way and then looked down at her feet so she wouldn’t trip on a rock and face-plant in front of Willa. Also, she didn’t want to be too late to lunch because there were lobster rolls today, and Meg made killer lobster rolls. A balm made out of arthropod, mayo, celery, and a buttered roll. If anything could soothe the rawness from her plan not working and having to interact with Willa unexpectedly, it would be that.

* * *

Willa wiped the sweat from her hairline and stared after Van. Stared until the person on the other side of the court cleared her throat.

“Uh, Willa?”

She shook her head and turned back to the net where Heather was standing, racquet and ball in her hands. “Yeah, sorry.”

Willa jogged back to the baseline and Heather headed to her own. Once there, Willa reminded Heather of the basics: stand between the center mark and the singles line, but behind the baseline, and aim for the opposite service box. That was plenty for now; she’d convey more strategy when Heather was able to get it over the net and into the service box consistently. Which didn’t seem like it was in danger of happening today.

They played for a while longer, and Willa enjoyed herself. Not that Heather was a true adversary, but she was easy to talk to, and given that she was living with the Queen of the Monosyllables, the change was welcome. Heather told her about how she’d come to resurrect Camp Firefly Falls and, in the process of doing so, had resurrected her marriage. The story had Willa so swoony she actually failed to return one of Heather’s serves.

After about twenty minutes more, though, Heather excused herself because she was supposed to meet Michael for lunch and didn’t want to miss out on the lobster rolls. As delicious as that sounded, it wasn’t comfort food. That’s what Willa needed right now: comfort. She wasn’t used to doubting herself, but Van’s behavior had her off her game.

Once she and Heather had parted ways, Willa drew her cell out of her bag and pressed one of her speed dial buttons.

“Please don’t tell me you’re calling from the Briarsted drunk tank.”

“Oh my god, Nate. A) It’s not even one in the afternoon—”

“Yeah, but it’s always five o’clock somewhere.” It sounded like it might be five o’clock in Fairfield actually—had her mother been spiking the lemonade again? That’s just what Nate needed.

“B) I have a lesson in half an hour; and C) Why do you know there’s a drunk tank in Briarsted?”

Nate laughed, and yeah, she was pretty sure he’d been drowning his sorrows in their mom’s grown-up lemonade or a pitcher of Tipsy Arnies—her mother’s take on the Arnold Palmer, which included limoncello and elderflower liqueur for good measure, because Georgina Carter was basically the WASPiest person on the planet.

“I’m just joshing you, Wills. Because I am bored as fuck.”

“So you’re getting plastered to entertain yourself?”

“I’ve been with Mom and Dad for almost two weeks. You’d be hitting the bottle too.”

So true. She loved her parents to death, but they could be a bit much. Especially when they were still so happy after being married since dinosaurs roamed the Earth. It was nice and adorable, yes, but also a reminder that neither she nor Nate had found someone. Though he’d never admit it, she suspected it hit Nate harder since he was thirty to her twenty-three.

“Fair.”

“So if you’re not calling for me to bail you out, what’s up? How’s camp? Are you and Heather besties yet?”

“I wouldn’t say besties, but yeah, Heather’s pretty cool. My students are good, the activities have been fun, and I like our cabin.”

“But?”

Yeah, but. Nate could always suss out when she was unhappy, and it wasn’t worth trying to wriggle out of it. Even drunk off his gourd, he’d know and he’d hunt her down when he was sober and demand she tell him what was up. Better to do it now while she had some privacy on the walk back to her cabin.

“I think Van hates me.”

“Van doesn’t hate you.”

Willa felt the strong urge to stick her tongue out at the phone. “Would you even tell me if she did? I don’t think so.”

“Mmm, probably not in so many words because I’ve been told that’s rude…” That earned an eye roll. Classic Nate. Only realizing something was an issue when he’d been smacked upside the head with it. At least once he had been, he wouldn’t do it again, which was more than she could say for some people. “But there’s no way Van hates you. You guys are my two best girls. Don’t tell Van I said that because she’ll punch me the next time I see her, but it’s true. So she can’t hate you.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Just because you think something is true doesn’t mean it’s so.”

Nate made a disgruntled noise, followed by a crude slurping sound and then him bellowing in her ear. “Mom! I’m out!”

“Yeah, because you clearly need another,” Willa muttered. “It’s fine. Forget I mentioned it. But she barely says a word to me, and I feel like she avoids me whenever possible, and I don’t think I did anything, but I also don’t know that Van and I occupy the same plane of reality, so maybe I did something unacceptable and I don’t even know it?”

“Look. Geeks are a different subculture, but they’re not a different species. I know you. I know Van. There’s nothing between you that would make you neme…nemesesses? Nemeses?”

Okay, so even though he was drunk, calling Nate had been a good idea. He might not be able to give her advice, but at least he’d made her laugh. “Nemeses. I’m probably overreacting. Van’s not one for chatter. I thought maybe we could be friends, that’s all. I don’t want to poach her from you—not that I could—but it should be nice having someone I know here, and instead, it’s weird.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Wills. Just keep enjoying the enjoyable stuff and tell Van to jump in the lake. That’s what I would do.”

He wasn’t kidding. Knowing Nate, he’d probably take it further and bodily deposit Van in said lake. “You’re smarter than you look, Nate Carter.”

“Thanks. Hey, wait a second, that was a—”

Willa hung up, giggling, before Nate could get in another word and gave herself a high-five, wondering how long it would take him to figure out she’d hung up.