Winning Back His Wife (Camp Firefly Falls Book 1) Read online

  Winning Back His Wife

  Camp Firefly Falls Book 1

  Gwen Hayes

  Zoe York

  Camp Firefly Falls Books

  Contents

  Welcome to Camp Firefly Falls

  About This Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  What to Read Next

  Welcome to Camp Firefly Falls

  Are you ready for the summer? Camp Firefly Falls, a sexy sleepaway summer camp for grownups is ready for you...

  We are thrilled to announce a connected series of seven “escape from real life” stories set at Camp Firefly Falls, a fictional sleepaway camp for grownups, set in the Berkshires.

  Visit our website at www.campfireflyfalls.com to see the latest releases and sign up for our special new release alert—we’ll send you an email from camp every time there’s a new book out!

  This summer’s season kicks off with Camp Firefly Falls’ origin story—and the marriage-in-trouble romance of camp director Heather Tully. Turn the page for more information about this book!

  And at the end of this book, you’ll find a list of upcoming camp romances. The summer’s going to be hot, fun, and incredibly romantic!

  About This Book

  Twenty years ago, Michael Tully fell hard and fast at summer camp. Now his soon-to-be ex-wife has quit her job and invested every last penny into re-inventing Camp Firefly Falls. It’s a crazy, ridiculous plan–which he ignores, right up until he’s served with divorce papers.

  Chapter 1

  1993

  Lake Waawaatesi

  Camp Firefly Falls

  Michael Tully seethed silently at his canoeing partner. If he yelled at the poor, uncoordinated jerk, he’d get stuck with kitchen prep, and he wouldn’t be able to meet Heather at the afternoon craft session she was running.

  His cheeks turned a little pink at what it meant that he was excited about crafts. The warmth crawled down his neck as he admitted to himself that he didn’t really care about a hemp bracelet workshop.

  And if anyone found out how excited he got about spending time with Heather Hawn, kitchen prep would seem like a heaven compared to what he’d face as punishment for violating rule #1 of Camp Firefly Falls.

  Well, technically rule #1 was Be Kind to One Another.

  No Fraternization was rule #7, but it was the only one clanging in fourteen-year-old Michael’s head, because for the last twelve-and-a-half days, he’d been looking for Heather everywhere he went and feeling a little funny when he finally found her.

  Which was weird, because this was their fourth summer together at Camp Firefly Falls, and until he stepped off the bus and saw her across the parking lot, pulling her long, blonde hair into a ponytail, her t-shirt pulling snug across a chest he was pretty sure she hadn’t had the year before…well, until that moment, she’d just been a girl he knew at summer camp.

  Now she was a girl he wouldn’t see again, maybe ever, which was terrifying because she made his stomach twist inside out and…other things.

  Kind of embarrassing things, but at the end of the day, the way he felt about Heather—like he wanted to brush his arm against her when they walked and feel her shoulder bump back; like his entire summer would be made, well and truly, if she’d just give him a sign that maybe he could kiss her; and like if he got to kiss her, he’d probably explode from happiness—no, none of that felt wrong.

  It felt totally awesome.

  And for the last nine-and-a-half days, when he looked around for her, he’d found her looking right back.

  Six days ago, they sat next to each other at the evening bonfire.

  The next day, and each day since, they’d found a way to sit next to each other at the long tables in the mess hall. Yesterday he’d given her his JELL-O. It seemed like the right move, and she’d given him a new kind of smile, one where her eyes crinkled up at the corners and the tip of her tongue danced against her white, even teeth.

  And today at lunch, she’d suggested he drop in on her craft session.

  But they were both LITs—leaders-in-training—and Michael had signed up to demonstrate canoeing with Ronald.

  Poor Ronald.

  He had no idea he was about to be decapitated by an oar simply because he’d forgotten how to paddle.

  Finally, Michael gave up being polite. “Hey, man. Do you mind if I just get us back to shore?”

  Ronald’s shoulders sagged. “Okay,” he said quietly, not looking back. If Lake Waawaatesi hadn’t been completely still, without any wind blowing down from the mountains, Michael might not have heard him. But he did, and he’d worry about his friend’s self-esteem later.

  Right now he had a girl to see.

  In secret. So he had to play it cool. Taking a deep breath, he did a low J-stroke and turned them toward the dock. Another one got them pointed right at it, and then it was just a matter of powering on, correcting each stroke as needed to keep the canoe straight.

  There was one good thing to be said for having parents too busy to have you around in the summer—by the age of fourteen, you knew how to solo-paddle a canoe like a pro. Michael reminded Ronald to ease them against the dock, and then they were both clambering out of the canoe in eager relief.

  “One, two, and three…” Together they knelt, hoisting the canoe out of the water and then with another count, up onto their shoulders. Michael waved to the counselor in charge, muttering something about needing to go see a guy about a thing, and then as soon as they had the canoe into the boat house, he took off out the back door.

  His legs burned as he raced up the hill, away from the lake and toward the cluster of main buildings. He passed the trail to the boys’ cabins, then the cookhouse, the lodge, and finally, the arts and crafts building.

  Skidding to a stop, he ran a hand through his hair, let out a ragged breath, and pretended he hadn’t just sprinted like his life depended on it.

  He pulled open the door and stepped inside.

  Ten eight-year-old heads turned and looked at him. Ten pairs of eight-year-old eyes gave him a slow blink. At the front of the room, Heather was holding a hot glue gun in one hand and a bag of beads in the other.

  "Hey," he said, holding up his hand. "I hear this is the place to be to make wicked friendship bracelets."

  * * *

  Heather had been crushing on Michael Tully for a year, since a bonfire the previous summer when he'd shared that he wanted to go to Dartmouth, the same university she had every intention of getting into.

  She thought of them the same way, really, Michael and Dartmouth. All preppy and proper. Needing someone just like Heather to come along and mess them up.

  Although the way she was thinking about messing them up was totally different. She imagined going to university and working on the student paper. Protesting injustices and challenging old-fashioned ideas.

  When it came to Michael, she just imagined kissing him.

  Some things were pretty simple. In theory. In reality, thirteen days had come and gone and all she'd gotten from Michael was a lot of long looks.

  She'd underestimated how good a long look could be. It was pretty good. But when Michael asked her to sneak away from the campfire the night after he came to her craft session, she was ready for something more.

  She wasn't expecting it to b
e quite so sweet.

  “Heather,” he said as they finally came to a stop at their stump in the woods, where they'd sat a few times already. “I want you to have this.”

  If anyone had told her at the beginning of camp that Michael Tully had a sweet, gooey center, she would have laughed. Sure, he’d always been nice, but never what she’d have called sweet. He was serious, always so serious. And she’d never met anyone more interested in following the rules in her entire life.

  But her rule-abiding friend was breaking several tonight—ones he probably could recite by number from their camper’s guide.

  And now, he shined a flashlight on the hemp bracelet he’d made yesterday at crafts as he held it out to her. As a gift? A token?

  A promise?

  She took it gingerly, willing her fingers not to shake. “You don’t want it?”

  “Nah. I thought it would look better on you. Plus maybe a reminder. Of camp.”

  “Like…a souvenir?” Because she had to know. Were they out here in the middle of the woods in the dark as friends or was there more? Did he feel it too? The tingle in his tummy?

  “Kind of, yeah.” He didn’t seem to know what to do with the hand not holding the flashlight, but he finally settled it into the pocket of his camp hoodie. “Maybe more like…I don’t know. It’s our last night.”

  She had to work to suppress the groan. She wanted to shake him and make him tell her what was happening. What was he feeling? Was she alone in this? What did he mean “kind of” and “I don’t know”?

  Were all boys so hard to figure out or just this one? Because not all boys made her feel tingly. Not all boys had dark floppy hair that made her itch to push it out of their eyes. Not all boys had flecks of gold in their deep brown eyes. Not all boys made her blush when they looked at her lips.

  Heather’s mom had spent a lot of Heather’s childhood talking to her about instincts. That you should follow them, pay attention to them. She’d meant those conversations to be a stranger danger warning to Heather—that when something didn’t feel right, it wasn’t. That when someone gave you a bad feeling in your tummy, you should pay attention. But not too long before she died, her mom changed it up. She’d told Heather that sometimes, your gut and your heart send you different messages than your head does. And if your gut and your heart were in agreement—screw your brain. Life was meant to be lived not overthought.

  Right now, the messages were scrambling from all three places. But Heather took a deep breath and listened, really listened, just like her mom had said to do.

  He likes you.

  She squeezed the bracelet in her hand and tried to swallow, but her mouth was suddenly parched.

  “Michael, close your eyes.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  She didn’t wait. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she grabbed his shoulder and leaned in, kissing him right on the mouth. His lips were hard, yet soft. Softer than she imagined.

  And his eyes were wide open in surprise.

  Heather pulled back, but kept her hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t close your eyes.”

  “You didn’t either.” And then he smiled. The whole world stopped when that boy smiled. “Let’s try again.”

  Chapter 2

  2013

  Baltimore

  Michael Tully stared at his wife across the coffee shop table. “What is this?”

  Heather’s gaze flicked from left to right, somehow completely missing his eyes.

  Look at me as you do this, he wanted to yell at her. But this was why she’d picked a public place. She knew he wouldn’t make a scene. Tullys didn’t do that sort of thing. It would be unseemly.

  “I cleaned out the spare room closet,” she said, purposefully mis-answering him. “We had some old photos from camp, stuff like that. I tried to divide it all up equally. If there’s something that I’ve missed, just let me know and—”

  “I’m not talking about the stuff, Heather. I don’t care about some stupid photos.” He lifted the envelope sitting on top of everything else. Divorce papers. Hell no. “I thought we weren’t going to rush through this separation.”

  “Is there any point in prolonging the inevitable?” Her voice cracked, and he wanted to yell that of course there was, they just needed more time, but the words died in his mouth.

  They’d had six months. Every attempt to talk had ended in a fight.

  Heather had thrown away her marriage and her career here in Baltimore for a pipe dream, and nothing Michael could say or do would convince her to reconsider. She’d spent the summer five hours away, where there wasn’t even any reliable cell reception, and rebuffed all attempts on his part to bring her back home.

  “Anyway, I need to get going.” This time her voice was stronger, but sharper. And her eyes were suspiciously bright.

  His heart squeezed. He didn’t want to make her cry. He nodded numbly. “Heading back up there?”

  “It’s where I live now.” The Berkshires. That camp.

  “You haven’t sold the condo yet.”

  She glanced down at the table between them. “I’ll probably be back in the winter.”

  “Then let’s shelve this discussion until you get back.”

  Her cheeks flamed bright red and she froze for a second, then pulled her head up.

  Nothing could have prepared him for the fathomless look in her eyes. “When I get back—if I come back—I’ll want to move on with my life. I’ve waited long enough for you to realize that I’m done pretending to be someone I’m not. And clearly, the person I really am isn’t someone you love anymore.”

  Coffee sloshed onto his hand as she shoved her chair back and stood, twisting away and heading for the door before he could say a word. When he looked down, he realized the spill hadn’t been caused by her at all.

  He’d crushed the paper cup.

  A vague warning in the back of his mind reminded him that the steamed milk would probably stain his suit if it didn’t go to the cleaners immediately. The rest of his brain raged back. What the hell did it matter if a suit got stained? He had a dozen more just like it in his closet. He even had a spare at the office.

  And that’s why she thinks you don’t love her. Because you watch her walk out the door while you worry about a damn stain.

  With a strangled cry, he leapt to his feet and followed her out the door, but it was too late. Her little hatchback was long gone.

  His wife was leaving the city.

  Leaving him.

  And he had a board meeting in twenty minutes.

  “Excuse me,” a voice called out behind him. He turned to see one of the baristas holding that blasted box. “Is this yours?”

  He wanted to tell her no. But avoiding the divorce papers wasn’t an option. He nodded tersely and took the box, then headed across the street.

  The headquarters of Tully & Sons Trading occupied the top four floors of the TST building in downtown Baltimore. His responsibility literally loomed above him and it was all Michael could do to keep himself from snarling at the innocent receptionist and security guard who smiled at him as he crossed the lobby.

  * * *

  Heather wrapped her arms around herself and snuggled deeper into the neck of Michael’s college sweatshirt, imagining she could still smell him. Still feel him.

  It had been so long since she’d really felt him.

  She missed the boy with the gooey center. He’d been replaced by the man who worked too hard. So hard he forgot what he was working for. She’d tried to remind him; time and again she’d tried. Sometimes she’d been rewarded with a fleeting glimpse of the man she loved. And then he’d hide away while the rule-follower took over once again.

  The wind howled down the chimney, echoing the whistle of her fears and doubts as they circled the place in her heart that felt empty without him. The rain pelted angrily on the roof as the storm started really coming into its own out there.

  The electricity had gone out hours
ago, and with it, her chance to charge her phone. There was still a landline at the main house, but she preferred Serenity House, her small cabin. It was cozy and the antithesis of their condo in the city with its clean lines and neutral colors—well no more. She was done living life in neutral.

  It was time to bring back the kaleidoscope of what could be.

  And she would make Camp Firefly Falls a bastion of what could be again. It might be sagging a little here and there—okay, it was falling down around her—but she had vision. She had hope.

  She had the trust fund her mother had set up before she died and the IRA she cashed out six months ago.

  And she was going to need every penny of them.

  “But I’ll do it, Mama,” Heather said out loud. “Because my heart and my gut tell me it’s the right thing to do.”

  She bought the camp with cash six months ago, but chances were that she’d have to finance some of the repairs. Because there were a lot. And she’d already been told the insurance expense for having kids here again would be astronomical. Too astronomical to realistically consider revitalizing the camp of her childhood. Not with all the other expenses as well.

  Which was fine. She had another plan.

  Camp Firefly Falls had made up some of the best parts of her childhood. The fun, the comradery, the crafts…her first and only love. And when things got really bad later, when she could barely manage a civil word to her husband anymore, her time at camp had seemed like a fantasy out of reach. Like Dorothy dreaming about the other side of the rainbow.

  She couldn’t be the only grown up on the planet who needed that part of childhood back. So Camp Firefly Falls would be reborn. This time reaching out to men and women who needed a break—not just a vacation—but a real break from being responsible and reasonable and …neutral. Camp Firefly Falls would bring back the magic of possibilities. Of fun and mayhem and the stickiness of s’mores and the cold of mountain lakes. She was going to cater to the people who really needed to get out and play…people who have grown up and forgotten how to experience immaturity at its finest. People who needed a break from adulting.