“Totally worth it.” Dax grins, then bends down to add another log to the campfire. He stirs things around with a stick, giving me another chance to appreciate those deliciously broad shoulders, which are visible even through his lumberjack flannel.
He sits back, and I try to pretend I wasn’t staring. I focus instead on arranging the perfect layers of chocolate on my graham cracker, while he reaches into the Tupperware container for another marshmallow. “I still can’t believe you made marshmallows from scratch.”
“And graham crackers,” I point out. “And the Guittard Ambanja chocolate is way better than that Hershey’s crap you wanted to bring.”
“Bonus points on the food,” he says. “Does that make us even?”
“Maybe. You haven’t tried the wine yet.”
He laughs and reaches for the decanter. “For future reference, most people bring cans of beer and Dinty Moore stew when they camp,” he says. “Not an entire Riedel stemware set and an eighty-dollar bottle of port.”
“Taste it.”
Dax pours us each a glass and takes a sip. “Damn,” he says, eyes wide. “What is that?”
“It’s a 2007 Ferreira vintage port dessert wine from Portugal.” I beam, pleased to have nailed it, even if I did overdo things just a little. “I polled my wine club on the best possible wine pairing to go with s’mores, and that was the winner.”
He shakes his head and threads another marshmallow onto his roasting stick. “That is fucking amazing,” he says. “So are you, by the way. You’ve made the best camping meal I’ve ever had in my life. Maybe the best meal I’ve had, period.”
“Thank you.” I try not to beam too wide. I know it should rankle my inner feminist to have a man praise my culinary prowess, but you know what? I’m a damn fine chef, and a kickass domestic goddess all around. It feels good to be acknowledged for it.
It also feels good to have Dax slide his arm around my shoulder as he extends his roasting stick into the fire. We’re quiet, which is pleasant, too. Crickets chirp in the distance, and the smell of wood smoke and pine needles swirls around us in a fragrant cloud. Darkness is falling, bringing with it vast swaths of stars strung across the sky like twinkle lights. It’s as though we’re the only two people on the planet. I shift in my camp chair—another thing I had no idea existed—and lean into the warmth of Dax’s body.
“Do you want to know about the wolf?”
His voice is so low that I almost don’t understand the question at first. I glance up to see him staring into the fire. His jaw is set, and I’m not quite sure how to read him.
“The one in your studio, you mean?” I ask. “Your sculpture?”
“Right. But I meant the story behind it.”
“Oh. You said it was your high school mascot?”
“Yes, but that’s not the whole story.”
He takes a deep breath, and I wait. Something tells me the words he’s about to say don’t come easily. That there’s a reason he wants to share this story. The hairs on my arm prickle, and I know I can’t blame the chill blowing off the lake.
“My mom ran off when I was ten, so it was just my brother, my sister, my dad, and me living by ourselves in this tiny little trailer at the scrapyard.”
I rest a hand on his knee. “That must have been hard.”
Losing his mother, I mean, but all of it. The trailer, the scrapyard, the sort of poverty he’s alluded to. I don’t get the sense Dax had the best childhood.
He nods and continues. “We’d had a rash of thefts at the junkyard. Sounds stupid, but it’s actually pretty common— junkies stealing scrap metal to sell it. Anyway, my old man decided we needed a guard dog, so he went out and got the meanest sounding dog he could find. Some sort of cross between a pit bull and a wolf.”
“Is that even legal?”
“Probably not, but that never stopped my old man.” Dax clears his throat. “Anyway, the dog looked all wolf to me. Killer was his name.”
“Killer?”
“Yeah. Unfortunately, he didn’t live up to that name.”
“How do you mean?”
A log rolls over in the fire, and he takes his time rearranging it. My s’more sits forgotten on a napkin in my lap, and I find myself holding my breath as I wait for the rest of the story.
“Killer turned out to be a total teddy bear,” Dax says. “Loved belly rubs and dog biscuits and wrestling with kids. Sweetest dog you ever met in your life.”
