“That’s a big promise,” I finally say. My voice sounds funny.
He moves a little closer. “You’re right. How about we see how this goes and how I do with this first camping attempt? Then you can decide what comes next.”
There’s a lot of underlying meaning behind his words. He’s not talking just about camping. He’s saying I get to decide what comes next in general.
But do I? What does he want? Does that mean he wants whatever I do? What if I want something serious and long-term?
He wanted tonight to happen. He could have used the storm as an excuse not to see you.
It really hits me for the first time that he set this night up. And what that means.
He didn’t have to. The storm cancelled the bonfire, and that would have been the perfect excuse to not see each other tonight if he didn’t want to. If he was just humoring me with all of this ‘running into each other casually’. If he wasn’t enjoying it as much as I have been.
He did want to.
He not only wanted to, but he also set the whole thing up. He didn’t just go along with some plan I came up with, like the bar, the deer stand, or the bonfire tonight. He turned his backyard into a cozy, romantic ‘campground’ for just the two of us.
He didn’t have to show up to paint fingernails either.
No. No, he didn’t.
I let that realization really sink in.
David wanted to see me tonight. He wanted to spend time with me. Just the two of us.
I look toward the pickup.
“Are there going to be s’mores?” I finally ask, hoping my voice doesn’t sound too scratchy.
He scoffs. “Please. What kind of camping would it be without s’mores?” He pauses. “I’m almost afraid to tell you…”
“What?” I ask, probably too eagerly.
“I’ve got three kinds.”
My eyes widen. “Three kinds of s’mores?”
He nods.
“Oh my god.”
His smile turns into a full-on smirk. “Yeah, but maybe we should just stick to the classics. Wouldn’t want to ruin you.”
I want you to ruin me.
I can’t say that out loud. But I have to press my lips together to keep it from spilling out. I get myself under control, then say, “Yeah, that might be best.”
Then, much to my delight, he shakes his head. “On second thought, I’m pulling out all three. I don’t want you to ever eat a s’more again without thinking of me.”
And yeah, this isn’t casual, there’s nothing I can do about my feelings, and I might already be ruined.
CHAPTER 16
DAVID
“How have you never had a s’more made with chocolate chip cookies?” I ask as Mia makes a second one with cookies instead of graham crackers. This time, she also slides a peanut butter cup into the middle instead of the classic milk chocolate square.
There are several other variations I’ve tried over the years, and now I can’t wait to show them all to her. She’s like a little kid who just discovered marshmallows.
