“Could we not talk about my sores?” she whispers.
“It's an excellent opportunity for learning survival skills.”
“That may be, but I prefer not to make a public spectacle of my feet, certainly not when they're inthiscondition.”
I tilt my head. “You have really lovely feet. Those are world-class cute toes.”
Feeling silly, I toss two more pieces of dead bamboo on the fire to keep it going. “You relax and let the heat dry your skin. I'll be right back.”
* * *
Once the sap has melted, I take the pot off the fire. “You can see the consistency of the salve is a nice thick liquid so it’ll glide on smoothly. We’ll let it cool for a while before I apply it, but in the interest of allowing my co-host some privacy, I shall now bid you good night and turn off the cameras until morning so the batteries can charge up while we charge our own batteries.” I shut off the camera, then mutter, “That was cheesy.”
“Just a bit.” Arabella removes the holster her GoPro is attached to and hands it, along with the camera to me. “There. Much better.”
“Yes, we’re alone now.”
She nods. “Children behave, that's what they'll say when we're together.”
I narrow my eyes in confusion.
“We should probably watch how we play,” she adds. “But they don’t understand.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come on, Will,” she says with a grin. “You know the words.”
“Oh, this is asong?” I shake my head even though I know exactly what song it is. “I have absolutely no idea what song that is.”
“You aresucha liar. Everybody knows Tiffany.”
“Not me.” I scratch my chin thoughtfully. “But I do have one question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“Are we running just as fast as we can? Holding onto one another's hands?”
Arabella bursts out laughing, then sings, “Trying to get away into the night...”
I join in, unable to resist. We belt out the song together, and I interrupt, only to say things like, “I should put the camera back on. Dylan would call this solid gold television.”
Arabella shakes her head while she sings, “…the beating of our hearts is the only sound.”
I pick up the camera and she grabs for it, her delicate skin waking me up. “Don't you dare. I'll stop singing.”
“Then I won’t.”
We glance at each other for a moment, then at the exact same time, we both sing out, “I think we’re alone now.”
Soon, we’re both laughing too hard to finish the song. And when the moment ends, I stare at her longer than I should, but find myself unable to tear my eyes away. A happy version of this pain-in-the-arse princess is sort of irresistible. “You're fun.”
“And you’re surprised by that,” she says. “Of course I can be fun. Well, under the right circumstances, and in the appropriate setting.”
“Ah, yes.” I put on a posh accent. “The hallmark of uninhibited fun—under the right circumstances and in the appropriate setting.”
“Quite,” she says, lifting an imaginary tea cup with her pinky out.
I laugh again, then give her an inquisitive look. “By any chance, did you lick one of the yellow frogs earlier when you went to the loo?”
