The Kiss Keeper - Krista Sandor Page 0,60
to leave anything to chance when it came to the Kiss Keeper Curse. And, to be on the safe side, they agreed not to limit their kissing to just the well.
He’d kissed her in the boathouse, in the dining hall, in the art room, in the lodge, behind every cabin, in the garden, along the coast at sunset, along the coast at midday, and at the old crumbling Wiscasset lighthouse. He even kissed her in one of the camp’s Sunfish sailboats. Granted, it was tied to a piling on the waterfront, and her real boyfriend—oh, how she loved the sound of that—had one foot in the boat while the other was firmly planted on the dock. But after learning what had happened to his parents, she knew it was a big step for him.
This new life was a big step for both of them.
The buttoned-up, stone-faced man with his phone blowing up and every hair on his head perfectly in place had disappeared. In its place was her Jake. The Jake, true to his word that set her body on fire every night with his touch and held her close until morning.
“Tell me why I have to wear this get-up?” he asked, coming out of the dressing room and looking like cowboy sex on a stick in snug-fitting jeans, a plaid shirt, and a Stetson hat.
Her heart fluttered at the sight of him. “Did the bazillion tiny paper cowboy hats you hung from the rafters in the barn not clue you in?”
Tonight, her grandparents had planned a good old-fashioned barn dance with fiddles and square dancing to boot. While everyone had gone into town earlier to purchase western wear, she and Jake had offered to stay behind, haul out all the sports equipment stored inside the barn, and set up for the event. It only made sense. The camp was going to be their responsibility soon. A thought that a week ago would have terrified her. But with Jake by her side, it felt right. With her background as an educator and his business and real estate knowledge, everything seemed to be fitting into place.
He came to her side next to a display of belt buckles and looked her up and down.
“What?” she asked, checking her little denim skirt and red plaid cowgirl top.
“You better step into the dressing room so I can fix your shirt,” he replied with a twist of a grin.
“What’s wrong with it?” she asked, darting into the tight space. Had she missed a button? Was her bra showing?
She tied the tails of the shirt into a little bow in the front and thought she’d nailed barn dance casual.
“It’s on,” he said, his gaze darkening as he pressed her back against the dressing room mirror and undid her top button.
“Slow down, cowboy. We have a barn full of people to get back to. And there’s no way I’m missing out on dancing in these,” she added, kicking up her heel to reveal a cowgirl boot.
He turned his attention to her footwear. “Do you remember how I said that your stilettos were my favorite?”
“Yes.”
“Now, I have two favorites,” he answered, then leaned in to kiss her when the brims of their hats bumped.
“That’s a sign,” she said with a chuckle.
“That you need to be wearing nothing but those boots?” he threw back.
She adjusted his hat. “No, that we need to get back to camp. We’ll save the boots for later tonight.”
“I like that plan,” he replied with a wicked grin, then glanced down at his outfit. “Should I change back into my regular clothes?”
They’d driven into town, but they were a good twenty minutes away, and the barn dance was due to start in half an hour.
Natalie glanced at her watch. “No time. We should wear them back and head straight to the barn.”
Jake paid for their outfits, and they stepped out onto the small town’s Main Street, where they got a few odd looks.
“Not too many New England cowboys,” he said, tipping his hat to an elderly couple who hurried past them.
She hooked her arm with his. “Luckily, the one western shop in the area isn’t too far from us, and it is a Camp—”
“Woolwich tradition,” he finished as they strolled back to the camp van.
“It’s not such a stretch that the same place that hosts a lobster bake luau could also put on a western barn dance night,” she countered.
“We could add a pirate night when we take over. Who doesn’t love a pirate? Or