Synopsis

Is thirty-nine too old to get your first sleepaway camp kiss?

Lori Kramer, a stay-at-home mom, would go to any length to give her two daughters the summer experience of their lives—even getting a job at their camp and tagging along with them. At Camp Woodlands, Lori finds herself overseeing the chaos of four bunks filled with rambunctious kids and their counselors, not to mention having to outwit her boss and outrun a bear—and that’s just during the first half of the summer! But those escapades are child’s play compared to her growing friendship and attraction to Teddy, the camp’s British soccer coach. Their clandestine meetings late at night behind the laundry shack, breaking the no-smoking rule, soon turn hot and steamy like a lazy August afternoon.

Camp may be for kids, but Lori’s the one having the most fun. She never imagined that stepping outside of her conventional, underappreciated, New York City existence would turn her world upside down and change her life forever.

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Praise

“A connection based on mutual respect, affirmation, and help allows a neglected wife and mother to blossom at summer camp in the breezy romance novel Summer Husband.” —Foreword Clarion Reviews

Excerpt

The evening activity was Campfire Karaoke. When we arrived at the clearing, there was a fire blazing in the stone pit. The karaoke equipment was set up and people were milling about.

Maggie and Roger waved us over to where they sat on benches facing the campfire.

Roger thumbed through a list of songs. When he found what he was looking for, he put in his request.

“Roger used to be the lead singer for a band when we were in college. I was his biggest groupie. Still am,” Maggie said.

Jack picked up the microphone and welcomed everyone to the annual orientation, Campfire Karaoke.

“I like to start off each summer singing that funny camp song . . .”

I yelled out, “‘Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh’!”

“Yes! Come sing it with me.”

Abby squeezed my arm. “Teacher’s pet.”

I needed to learn to keep my mouth shut. I turned to the other DLs, “Who’s with me?”

Sam, who was half my age and would be Zelda’s DL, said, “And commit social suicide?”

Jack spoke into the microphone. “Come on, Lori, can’t keep our audience waiting.”

I shrugged. “Time to face the music.”

The song was cued. “‘Don’t leave me out in the forest where I might get eaten by a bear.’”

It was fine at first, but then Jack draped his arm around my shoulders, making me uncomfortable. When I maneuvered away, he grabbed my hand. His palms were sweaty, but I managed to keep a smile on my face the entire time.

“‘Muddah, Fadduh, kindly disregard this letter.’”

I shook myself free and gave Jack a high five to avoid the possibility of a hug and quickly handed the microphone to Di, who was waiting with the next group up, the Aussie contingent who thundered to “Down Under.”

Gilda patted me on the back. “You handled that like a pro.”

A few songs later it was Roger’s turn. It was incongruous to see this oversized man not only belt out “It’s Not Unusual” in a deep, sexy Tom Jones voice, but he swiveled his large frame around like a professional dancer.

The entire staff were on their feet dancing, singing, and cheering Roger on. I was bopping between Maggie and Abby when Abby said, “Remember how women used to throw their undies at Tom Jones?”

I was caught up in the moment and without another thought, I reached under my T-shirt, unhooked my sports bra, pulled my arms through the straps, and tugged it out of my sleeve. I stood on the bleachers, swinging it above my head.

“‘It’s not unusual to find out I’m in love with you . . .’”

The crowd went into a frenzy when I tossed it, and it landed on Roger’s belly. Astonished, he picked it up. The look on his face was priceless. He had a huge grin and he gamely twirled it above his head and flung it back into the crowd.

I surprised myself—I hadn’t done anything that spontaneous and silly since I’d taken my bra off while studying for finals in one of the carrels in the science library, and my roommate grabbed it and slingshot it over the cubicle.

Maggie and Abby had tears streaming down their faces from laughing so hard.

I watched the trajectory of the bra as it spiraled into the crowd. People were tripping over each other to catch it as if it were the home run–winning ball at a World Series. I couldn’t tell who nabbed it and wondered if I’d ever see it again. At least it was clean.

Abby handed me her hoodie. “Here, put this on. It’s apparent that you’re cold.”

Gilda found me once again. “I hate making a fool of myself even though I always manage to. But you, you don’t seem to mind.”

“Thanks. I think.”

“What I mean is that you’re good at it—you intentionally make people laugh.”

I excused myself. I wanted to tell Roger how great he was, but then Ted appeared in front of me, my bra dangling from his finger. “I believe this belongs to you.”

I took it, balling it in my fist. “Did you catch it?”

“No, but I made sure to retrieve it before it ended up flying from the flagpole tomorrow morning.”

I hoped it was too dark for him to see me blush. “How very gallant of you.”

He had a playful smile, “I’m glad you took my advice seriously.”

“And that was?”

“Have fun and be campy.”

About the Author

Amy Lorowitz is a lifelong New Yorker. She grew up in Brooklyn, attended University at SUNY Binghamton, and ultimately made her home in Manhattan with her husband and two daughters, only leaving New York for a three-year stint living in Tokyo, Japan. Summer Husband is her debut novel.

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