Never Meant You to Know

The first morning of camp smelled like bug spray and maple syrup. Not exactly the dreamy start of a summer romance novel, but Millie figured that’s what you get when you combine a dining hall full of waffles and 200 teenagers.

Across from her, Sara was already halfway through her plate of waffles and halfway through convincing Millie that the “zip-line of doom” was going to be the highlight of their week.

“You’re coming, Mills,” Sara said, pointing her fork like a judge’s gavel. “No excuses. No fake injuries. And if you cry at the top, I’m taking pictures.”

Millie smirked. “Wow. Thanks for your emotional support. Really feeling the love.”

Sara grinned, eyes sparkling. She always had this energy about her—like she was born for adventures. Risk taker. Confident. The kind of girl who made friends standing in the food line. And beautiful, too, in a way that seemed unfair: sun-streaked hair, easy smile, the kind of laugh that made people want to stay close. Everything Millie wasn’t. Or at least, everything she thought she wasn’t.

Millie was… different. Quieter. A little sarcastic, but only when she felt safe. She was more comfortable filling up her journal than a room.

Still, she’d promised herself she’d try this summer. Try to be braver.

She had barely poked at her questionable soggy waffle when she noticed him.

Landon.

He leaned forward at the counselor table, listening more than talking. His smile tugged at the corner of his mouth like he knew something funny but wasn’t going to say it out loud. He had this calm confidence—like he didn’t need to be the loudest one to be noticed. And, clearly, he was noticed.

Sara followed her gaze and smirked. “Oh boy. Don’t even tell me you’re staring at Counselor Cutie over there.”

Millie straightened in her seat. “I wasn’t staring. I was… glancing.”

“Sure you were.” Sara took a slow sip of her juice, dramatic. “You wouldn’t talk to him if he walked right over here and asked for your waffle.”

“Yes, I would,” Millie said, a little too quickly.

Sara leaned in. “No, you wouldn’t. You’d turn the color of a tomato and stutter your way into an apology for existing.”

Millie opened her mouth, then closed it, because—annoyingly—Sara wasn’t wrong.

She pressed her lips together, determined not to give her best friend the satisfaction of admitting it. Instead, she stabbed her waffle with a fork and muttered, “I’d at least save the waffle.”

Sara was still lecturing her on the “art of confidence” when the counselor table scraped back their chairs. Millie tried not to look, but she felt it anyway—the shift in the room as they stood, taller, older, cooler.

Landon slung his backpack over one shoulder, casual like it weighed nothing. He followed the group toward the doors, and Millie, against all logic, let her eyes flick up just as he passed.

And then—he looked back.

For half a second, their eyes met. His were a warm, steady brown, the kind that held you in place even though you wanted to look away. His expression didn’t change much, just the smallest tug of a smile before he followed the others out.

Millie blinked hard, snapping her attention to her tray like it had suddenly become fascinating.

Sara nearly choked on her juice. “Millie. He looked at you. Like, full-on eye contact. With both eyes. That’s basically a proposal in camp terms.”

Millie groaned. “Stop it. Please. He was probably just looking past me. Or... or... maybe I had syrup on my face.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Syrup.” Sara grinned, leaning back smug. “You keep telling yourself that.”

“Wait, do I have syrup on my face?” Millie’s face filled with panic. Sara rolled her eyes and shook her head.

***

The trail to the zip-line wound through the tall pines, sunlight flickering through the branches. The air held the fading cool of night dew as the ground took its first sun kissed breath. Sara walked ahead, chatting with a couple of girls from their cabin, but Millie hung back, nerves buzzing.

When they reached the clearing, the zip-line tower stretched above them like something out of a daredevil’s daydream. At the base, counselors were handing out helmets and clipping harnesses.

And there he was again. Landon.

He was all business now, crouched low to double-check buckles and straps, tugging harnesses snug before sending kids up the ladder. His voice carried—calm, steady, the kind of voice you’d trust not to let you fall.

Millie’s stomach knotted. Of course she had to line up right in his lane. Of course Sara noticed and smirked like the universe had planned this just for her entertainment.

“Deep breaths, Mills,” Sara teased. “Try not to combust when he touches the straps.”

“Shut up,” Millie hissed, cheeks flaming.

But when Landon finally looked up from adjusting someone’s harness, his eyes flicked over the line—and for just a second, landed on her02 again.

The line inched forward, each kid stepping into a harness, clipping on, and then disappearing up the ladder. Every zip of the pulley sent Millie’s stomach into a freefall of its own.

By the time Sara went, she barely glanced back. “See you at the bottom!” she called, already halfway up the ladder like she was born for this.

Millie wasn’t born for this. Millie was born for staying firmly on the ground, preferably with snacks.

“Next,” a voice said.

Her heart jumped. Landon.

He was standing there, harness in hand, looking completely unbothered by the fact that the ground was fifty feet below the platform. His shirt sleeves were pushed up, his forearms tanned, and his expression calm like he did this a thousand times a day.

Millie shuffled forward. “That’s me.” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “Yep. Me.”

He gave the faintest smirk—like he’d noticed but wasn’t going to make a big deal about it. “Alright. Arms up.”

Millie obeyed, trying not to think about how close he was as he slipped the straps over her shoulders and tugged them into place. She stared very hard at the trees. Tree bark is so interesting. Look at all those lines. Wow. Nature.

“Too loose?” he asked, giving one strap a firm tug.

“Nope,” she squeaked. Then, realizing how ridiculous that sounded: “I mean—it’s fine. Totally secure. You could probably drop me off a cliff and I’d still be… fine.”

He raised an eyebrow, fighting a smile. “Good to know. But let’s just stick with the zip-line for today.”

Her cheeks burned. “Right. Of course.”

He crouched to tighten the leg straps, double-checking the clips. “Alright, you’re set. Just take it one step at a time up the ladder. The view’s worth it.”

Millie nodded quickly, clutching her helmet like it was a life raft.

She gripped the ladder, heart pounding, palms sweaty, her stomach in knots. It could’ve been the height. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t only that.

***Thanks for hanging out with Millie’s story! This is one piece of a short series, “Never Meant You to Know,” where each character gets their own POV. If you enjoyed this, hit subscribe so you don’t miss the next chapter.***

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