That one she doesn’t need to know about.
She swipes her cheeks with the back of one hand. Quick. I would’ve missed it if I wasn’t studying her and those damn eyes.
“You could’ve stuck to MREs tonight, you know,” she says almost like she’s scolding me. “I would’ve been fine.”
“Nature provided.”
That’s all. I don’t have another excuse.
She looks away for a long time, then asks, “What do you feed the chickens?”
That question catches me off guard. “Cracked corn. Feed. There’s a barn further down the property. Where they winter over. You haven’t gotten that far yet.”
“You say that like I’m staying for a while.”
Our eyes lock again. “It’s you who keeps saying that.”
“Just until…”
“I get it. Loud and clear.” I pile a plate with quail breasts and fried eggs, then hand it to her. “More pepper and salt if you need it.”
“Thank you.” She doesn’t complement it. Or try to act more interested than she is. I respect that. But she does eat it, which has me wondering something.
“Been a while since a grocery run. Did you bring any food up with you?”
She sits back a little, assessing me. “Why? You want something.”
I shrug. “Been out of honey for a while. Pretty much anything sweet will do. Just, you know, how you get a craving for something?”
“Would Twinkies work?”
“God, yes.”
She can’t help but smile this time. “I’m a bad influence. Next thing you know, you’ll want civilization again.”
I shake my head. She’s got it all wrong. “But I do. It’s civilization that doesn’t want me.”
She shifts on the rock where she sits, balancing her plate and eating. “You know, sometimes you decide one thing. It makes sense in the moment. Perfectly logical. But then later you decide on something else that’s better.”
Things go silent after that.
Because she’s got me thinking. And hoping. The second I don’t want to do. But I’d be lying if I said wilderness life is all it’s cracked up to be. I would prefer a happy medium.
After dinner, she disappears while I clean up, returning with a paper bag.
“Alright,” she says, peering inside and then looking at me. “I kind of misrepresented the choices earlier because, honestly, I’m a foodie with a sweet tooth, and I always come prepared.”
My stomach rumbles despite the meal we just finished.
“So, we have Twinkies, vanilla and chocolate, and stuff for s’mores. Your pick.”
I sit back on my heels, eyes widening, and she laughs. The first real one I’ve heard from her.
“Damn, that’s too many choices.”
Her face goes sad, like she’s putting something together she didn’t realize before. “You don’t have to decide. You can have them all.”
“The s’mores,” I say without a second thought. “Though those Twinkies are going to be on my mind.”
