Joelle Bellamy crossed the clearing with a clipboard tucked under one arm and a bin of clean aprons balanced on her hip. “Cook stations stay cold until safety check is finished. Sunny said that twice before she let Caprice have coffee.”
That pulled my attention to the camper.
The door opened.
Sunny stepped down into the morning like the whole mountain had been waiting for her cue.
She wasn’t wearing yesterday’s yellow gingham. Today, she wore a cherry-red camp shirt knotted at her waist, dark high-waisted shorts, and a white apron folded over one arm. A red-and-white scarf held back most of her coppery curls, though a few had already escaped around her cheeks. The outfit was safer than yesterday’s, but it still hugged every soft, stubborn curve like the mountain had lost and the woman had won.
Her shoes were white platform sneakers with actual tread.
The mountain had not fully won, but it had forced negotiations.
She caught me looking and lifted one foot. “Mountain-approved glamour.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“No one asked you to go far. Just notice I’m trying.”
“I noticed.”
That came out lower than I meant it to, rough enough that I looked back at the fire ring before I said anything worse.
Sunny’s smile sharpened. The expression wasn’t sweet or camera-ready. It told a man he’d stepped too close to something hot and didn’t have the sense to back up.
Behind her, Caprice Calloway leaned out of the camper with a paper cup in one hand and a phone already pressed to her ear. She wore black utility shorts, a white sleeveless button-up, goldhoops, and a headset around her neck. “Yes, I understand the brand wants the title card to say gourmet. The title card can say gourmet after everyone stops arguing long enough for us to film one usable sentence.”
“I don’t argue with everyone,” Sunny said.
Caprice covered the phone. “You’ve argued with two people, a shoe, and one squeeze bottle since sunrise.”
“The shoe deserved it.”
Caprice pointed toward the clearing. “Safety check, then cameras, then s’mores. I’m begging everyone to save personal commentary for after we get the shot list.”
Ed adjusted the tripod leg. “My personal commentary is that this hill is too tall for marshmallows.”
Caprice uncovered the phone and turned away from him. “No, not you, Greg. We’re thrilled. Everyone is thrilled.”
Sunny came down the camper step and crossed the clearing with her apron over one arm. She smelled like clean soap, vanilla, and the kind of sugar that made a man remember he hadn’t eaten breakfast. I looked back at the fire ring because I had sense, even if Sunny was already making a strong case against it.
Joelle set the apron bin on a table. “Safety check?”
I pointed toward the rings. “Cold stations only until we’re ready. Keep the water buckets here and here. Sand bucket beside each ring. Fire blanket on the center table, not under a stack of napkins. No paper packaging near the coals. Nobody crosses behind a live station with camera cords. If the wind shifts east hard enough to lay smoke flat, we pause.”
Sunny lifted a hand. “Question from the formerly hosed.”
“You get one.”
“How do I know the wind has shifted hard enough to annoy you versus the wind simply existing and hurting your feelings?”
Ed made a choking sound behind the camera.
I looked at Sunny. Her eyes were warm brown in the hard morning light, sharp with challenge and still soft enough at the edges to make a man stupid if he didn’t keep his boots planted.
“When smoke stops rising and starts running sideways,” I said.
She held my stare for a beat too long. “That answer was annoyingly helpful.”
