He’d had a blast with his nephews on Whisper Mountain. They’d stayed up late, camped in the high mountain cabin, fished, ate junk food, told ghost stories and of course, made huge fires—everything the boys wanted to do. Everything he loved to do with them, as well...although Ginger was never far from his mind. He’d checked his home phone and office phone and pager at least a dozen times over the weekend. There were messages. But none from Ginger. He plunked down his gear from the weekend and headed straight for the shower, thinking that a few days of separation had likely been a good idea anyway. If she didn’t think there was an “us”—or any potential of an “us”—after all they’d shared, then just maybe he needed to cool his jets. He wasn’t sixteen anymore. And even when he’d been sixteen, he hadn’t panted or drooled after a girl who didn’t give him a yes signal. Rejection wasn’t fun then, and was even less fun now.
