I lick my lips, suddenly desperate for some lip gloss. “Like who?”
Instead of responding, he presses a slow kiss onto thetattoo, my body tensing in response. It lasts for only a half second, but I sense the memory of it burning into my mind.
“Even this looks good on you,” he says, his voice deeper than before. He presses another kiss to the spot, then another on my shoulder until it’s a line of kisses to the sensitive spot in the crook of my neck.
With a squeal, I spin away. “You, sir, are trouble,” I say with a laugh.
“I was just following the trail of freckles. Can you blame me?”
I smack his shoulder as I pass him. “Yes, I can. I can’t just make out with you all day.”
“Says who?” He leans to capture my lips, and I throw up a stiff arm to stop him.
“Me. I have to go inspect the transmission leak, and you said you were going to take a shower.”
He pouts dramatically, giving me the saddest puppy dog eyes that I almost relent. But before I give in, I zip out the door, breathing in the fresh air not coated in his scent.
The rain finally stopped, leaving massive puddles around the campsite. A little dirt won’t kill me, but Lewis might if I don’t get my butt back to Rocosa soon. After I fill up the transmission fluid again, I wait outside a little longer, letting Tristen enjoy his five-minute hot shower while I check my emails.
A few more not-so-friendly hospital bill reminders from my time at rehab and my ER visit last year. Sighing, I make a note to send them another payment when an email from Maya dings in my inbox.
She sent a detailed wedding day schedule, almost down to the minute. Manicures, hairstylist, makeup sittings, and another luncheon—and there are still two more hours of bullet points before we get to the ceremony. I close my phonewith a click of the button. I’m stressed and it’s not even my wedding.
Cautiously, I knock on the camper door as I enter, the living room steamy enough to fog the windows. Tristen hollers that he’s changing in the bathroom, and I follow the delicious aroma to the full cup of coffee waiting for me on the counter.
The first sip of the day is always the best, and I savor it, closing my eyes as the last cobwebs of sleep break loose. Perhaps I should return the favor and make him breakfast.
After a few minutes of scouring the cabinets, I find the frying pan and set the eggs and butter on the counter. I’m not much of a cook... but I’ve seen Des make eggs a hundred times. He cracks and mixes them in the pan until they are fluffy. Easy.
Now the stove? This doesn’t look like what I’m used to. I turn the knob on and immediately turn it off when the smell of propane floods the small space.
“The bathroom is all yours—what’s that smell?”
Fresh and clean, Tristen comes barreling out of the bathroom sniffing around the kitchen.
“I think it’s the stove. I was trying to turn it on and nothing happened.”
He whips his head toward me. “You... were cooking?”
“Hey.I cook.”
“Since when?”
I cross my arms. “For the record, I’ve helped Des make jam.”
“Uh huh.”
“But this stove isn’t like Des’s.”
“Gary said you have to light it with a match or lighter before you can use it.”
Like, should I be adding an open flame to gas?
“Uh . . .”
Shaking his head, he laughs at me. “I do it with mycamping stove all the time. Here, let me light it. It’s nice to feel useful with you doing most of the maintenance around here.”
While I fish eggshells out of the pan, Tristen practices his excerpt, repeating trouble words over and over again. “There aren’t enough words to say how much I will miss you. How does one say goodbye to food, water, or air? I need all these things to live... just like I need you. I’ll have to learn how to survive somehow.”
