He shrugs, happily chewing on my churro. ‘Well, I do have a reputation for “stealing” from you,’ he says with air quotes. ‘I thought that was just our thing?’
‘Seems to be. Honestly, I long for the days when I didn’t have a thief attached to my person.’
‘Well, you shouldn’t have such valuable goods,’ he says lightly with a cocked brow.
There’s a small fire in my belly as he studies me, with what looks like a challenge in his piercing eyes. I lick the sugary residue off my lips and narrow my eyes back at him.
‘YouknewI caught it first, didn’t you?’
He shakes his head resolutely. ‘I never said that.’ He dips his head to snatch another churro from his own wrapper with a grin.
His smile is infuriatingly infectious. For some reason I can’t stop my own smile from growing as our eyes remain fixed on each other.
‘I think you know it to be true.’
He shrugs again. ‘I don’t claim to know anything.’
‘Your story would never hold up in a court of law,’ I say.
‘I really shouldn’t be talking about this without my lawyer present,’ he replies through a mouthful of churro.
‘You’re soannoying,’ I spit back, wrestling the drumstick from his grip to quickly shove it under my arm for safe keeping. I immediately pick up a fresh churro and dip it proudly into his salted caramel sauce.
‘Hey!’ he objects, but doesn’t pull it away.
‘Yeah, I know,’ I tease, biting off a mouthful. ‘Hurts, doesn’t it?’
‘Hmm. Feels fine, actually,’ he says. ‘We’re just sharing, after all.’
‘I just stole precious caramel from you. Stealing is not the same assharing.’
‘No, of course not. And yet, it feels like it is with us,’ he notes thoughtfully, pointing the end of a churro at me.
He is baffling, and this leaves me no choice but to throw the last bite of my churro at his head.
20
We make it to Route 16 without any panics, hold ups or stalkers (to my relief.) Clutching the drumstick amiably between us, we find ourselves under a cluster of old, rusty road signs moulded together that have the wordsRoute 16painted over them in white in a perfect, swirly hand.
We walk past a cluster of hammocks encircling a patch of perfect green grass and a small fountain made out of tyres in the centre. I just about pick up the tinkle of a guitar coming from a large, wooden hut with dark-red curtains in the windows. The neon sign readingVacancyon the outside makes me think it must be the Mumble Motel – not actually a functioning hotel, but a venue intended for 24/7 comfort and relaxation: filled with sofas and cushions and quiet spots to unwind in. Having done my research before arriving, I knew it would be a spot I could spend a lot of time in.
‘Like the look of the Mumble Motel?’ Elliot asks, noticing my interest.
‘Just adding it to the list of places I’d like to see if this treasure hunt ever ends.’
‘At least we’re ticking off a lot of the sights here thanks to this hunt. It isn’t exactly how I envisioned exploring Firecrest but I mean… we’ve seen a lot.’
I can’t disagree with him. I just hope it isn’t all for nothing.
We step inside a tent made up of a few large white tipis attached together, which according to our map, is Pitstop 8. The sounds of quiet conversation and crackling fire are refreshing for a Firecrest venue: there are no speakers, no bass, and there isn’t even a bar. Since the air has cooled considerably in the early evening, people are lounging on worn rugs surrounding a fire pit, and the only member of staff sits next to a glass water canister and two wobbly towers of glasses.
Compared to the rest of the festival, it feels almost eerily quiet. I let the lack of sound wash over me, happily soaking up the peace while I can. It’s a genuine relief to not have constant thundering bass beneath my feet.
The heat of the fire quickly reaches me and I slide my jacket off my shoulders to tie it around my waist again. We take it in turns to hold claim to the stick whilst we fulfil quick tasks like this, which I’m grateful for.
My eyes scan around the fire pit area, trying not to infringe on the guests’ privacy as they continue their muffled discussions.
We decide to split and let go of the stick when Elliot gestures at the water tank. After filling one glass up, he immediately fills another and returns to offer it to me without a word. I take it gratefully and drain the contents in seconds.
