His stomach growls the moment the words leave his mouth. I pull away with a chuckle.
“Let’s get you fed.”
“Yeah, let’s,” he agrees as he moves towards the food bag. He reaches in an outside pocket and gets what looks like liquid soap and starts to lather up over a container. I follow suit once he’s done and he starts to unpack the bag. “Since I didn’t want to carry a cooler, I made sure to get food items that don’t feed the refrigerator. I have fresh eggs for the morning.”
“Fresh eggs?” I ask, since I need further explanation.
“When eggs are laid, they are covered by something called the bloom. It protects them from bacteria. The eggs in the grocery stores have that layer washed away and need to be refrigerated.”
“Huh, I never knew that. We really do learn something new every day.”
“I’m glad to be of service. We have a lot of water. I had them cook the meat last night so all we have to do is warm it up.” He pulls another bag out with what looks like discs of dough. “I know how Texans feel about tacos.”
I laugh again at the unexpected seriousness of his statement. “I appreciate you knowing that the worst thing you can do for a taco is fuck up the tortilla. Corn or Flour?”
Cole smiles at me like he knows everything. “I have both.”
“Ooh, that’s sexy,” I tease.
Cole chuckles as he sets aside the food and works on the firepit. “I try my best.”
We work together to warm up the beef fajita meat and the tortillas. He has a little container of cilantro and onions plus little baggies of salsa.
I moan after my first bite. “Who made the salsa?”
“Clementine,” he supplies.
“I could just kiss her.”
“Me. I made the salsa,” he lies with a smirk.
I lean over and drop a peck on his nose and go back to eating. I hope he stays this adorable forever.
“I’ll take it.”
It’s the last thing he says before he kills four tacos.
“All better,” I ask once he releases a content sigh.
“Much better.” He starts to reseal everything and puts it all back in the bag. “Oh and I have stuff for us to make smores later.”
“Sounds like a good plan to me. Are we telling campfire stories?”
“Only if they’re erotic.”
“THE Cole Heywood talks dirty?”
He looks through a different bag and pulls out two tumbler cups and a bottle of wine.
“I can but you know, variables.”
He stands after moving the items to a small bag.
“Variables?” I prompt.
He holds out a hand for me. “Come on, let's watch the sunset.”
I accept his hand and fall into step with him. I feel almost giddy when he laces his fingers with mine. My brain becomes so fixated with romantic notions that I forgot I asked him a question.
