“Howcivilizedof you.”
As I pulled the tarp from my bag, I prepared to launch into a defensive rage. He didn’t just judge me, he insulted everything Pops had taught me. Who was he to— He grinned. I had to remind myself that he wasn’t like the people in Firefly. There wasn’t an underlying meaning behind his words.
“You’re a conundrum,” he said.
His tone was flat enough that I couldn’t tell if he was joking or just stating a fact. With Nick, I wasn’t sure there was a difference. I had been called a lot of things in my life, but a conundrum wasn’t one of them. Asshole? Sure. Stubborn? All the time.
“Is that your professional diagnosis?” My voice came out sharper than I meant.
Nick paused before shrugging it off. He didn’t say anything more, letting me stew.
I realized my arms had crossed over my chest, the tarp hanging from one hand like a shield. With a muttered curse under my breath, I forced myself to unfold it again. He wasn’t from Firefly. He wasn’t one of them. No hidden meaning. No knife waiting to twist. Just curiosity.
He moved closer as I unrolled it. “What’s this for?”
“Shelter.”
We spent the next few minutes finding a position near the clearing to spread it out. Pitched to one side, if it rained, it’droll off, leaving us dry. Mostly. While he worked, Nick continued giving me curious glances. Even as I showed him how to tie a clove hitch knot, he focused more on me and less on the careful loops. There was no point in being frustrated; not everybody got excited by a solid knot. I imagined when I showed it to the gremlins, they’d been even less impressed.
Had this been how Pops felt when he taught it to his unenthused son?
I couldn’t handle staring any longer. “What?”
“You don’t like Firefly very much, do you?”
He came in hot. Nick didn’t beat around the bush; instead, setting it ablaze with kerosene. How could I respond? His question invoked years of baggage I once thought stored away for good. Now that I had returned, it seemed as if there were still unresolved issues. The word “complicated” might be an understatement.
I wouldn’t lie. “I haven’t decided.”
It surprised me. A week ago, I would have said nope, pushed it out of my head, and gone about my day. Since returning, it had opened an old wound. With age came clarity, and I needed to examine the situation before I came up with a verdict. I finished securing my corner of the tarp to a tree.
Did I have an obvious scowl on my face as I walked around Firefly? “What makes you ask?”
I watched as he tied a perfect clove hitch. I had a survivalist in the training. With a final tug, we had cover if it rained in the middle of the night. Now came hunting for kindling and setting up the fire.
“I watched your eyes light up as we reached the woods. You’re in your element. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you preferred the wilderness over civilization.”
“I do.” On the edge of our campsite, I lifted a withered brown leaf. “You’re in charge of the tinder. Make sure it’s dry.”
He picked up brown leaves, inspecting each one as if assessing its burning potential. I froze, thrust into a memory of Pops gathering kindling before stacking it in the fireplace. He’d hold his breath as he ran his knife along the flint. I’d try to predict how many tries it’d take before we’d see the glow and puff of smoke.
I remembered the first trip he handed me the flint and said, “Your turn.” Twenty minutes of failed effort. He’d demonstrate and hand it back. When I told him to do it, he’d smile and add a gentle, “Failing is how we learn.”
“Will these do?”
It took a moment for my brain to step into the present. Nick had a collection of dried leaves, using his shirt as a basket. I took note of the treasure trail. At this rate, I might invite him to be my second-in-command of the scouts. I snatched a maple leaf, narrowing my eyes.
“Perfect. If you can find stones for the pit, I’ll go chop some wood.”
“You’re chopping down a tree?”
I flexed. “Maybe.” The grin gave away the fib.
“Then what, wrestling bears to the—” He stopped himself, cheeks coloring. His mouth had outrun his brain.
I walked over to the rucksack and grabbed Pop’s hatchet. Nick didn’t say another word as he dropped the leaves in the center of our soon-to-be fire pit.
I rested a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe.” I gave him a quick squeeze before pulling my hand away. Too much? Maybe. Walking away, I started my search for dead tree branches.
