“Then what is it?Help me understand.”He was genuinely puzzled, and her anger, or was it disappointment, sat heavily on his shoulders.
“You grabbed that board and didn’t even ask me before you answered most of the questions.So much for being a team.Then, you totally blew the monstera question, and I knew the answer.”
“It was a game,” he repeated, not understanding what she was driving at.
“A team game.”She sighed and held her skewered marshmallow near the coals of the dying fire.
Silence landed heavily between them.Frogs croaked and chirped, filling the night with soft sounds that did nothing to cut the silence between them.
She slid the toasted marshmallow onto a graham cracker, topped it with a chunk of chocolate and another cracker, then squished them together until the chocolate began oozing out.She held it out to him, silently offering to share.
“No, thanks.The apple cider I had was sugar enough for one night.I’m not much for sweets.I’m more of a salty guy.”He didn’t mention that she was being pretty salty right now.His cousin’s teenage daughter would have called Wanda’s attitude crunchy.She was all bristles and pouts.
But it wasn’t pouts, not exactly.
It hit him with a slam to the solar plexus.
She was disappointed in him.
He rubbed at the ache.
“I’m sorry, Wanda.I played to win.I thought I knew the answers.I should have played as a team player.”
She nodded her acceptance of his apology as she licked melted chocolate off her fingers.
“Let me make it up to you.I’ll roast the next marshmallow.I love roasting them.I just don’t eat them.”
“Thanks,” she mumbled around the bite, her hand hiding her mouth.
He picked up the stick, loaded a marshmallow onto it, squatted down, and held the treat close to the coals.He rotated it slowly.Maybe a perfectly toasted treat would brighten her mood.
“I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s hike.I’ll be glad for less time on the lake.I’m surprised how sore my arms and shoulders are.I work out, but this is different.”
“True.I lift a lot of plants and bags of dirt, but paddling uses different muscles.”
Still squatting, he pivoted and offered her the marshmallow.“Here you go.It should be perfect.”
She reached out with her crackers in hand, ready to squeeze the golden morsel between them.She sandwiched it atop the chocolate, just as he lost his balance.He jerked right, over-corrected, shifted left, and fell onto his backside, just outside the ring of stones surrounding the dying fire.
The marshmallow went up, high into the air, like it was shot out of a slingshot.Up.And up.And up.It arced over and dropped down, picking up speed, and popped with a soft, squishy sound.
Right on top of Wanda’s head.
“Oh no,” he blurted and reached out for it, just as she did.
Hands collided, and the marshmallow squished into her hair.
“You did not,” she muttered, pulling at the sticky strands.
“Hold still.I’ll grab napkins.”
Slowly, methodically, he pulled sticky bits from her hair.“You’re going to have to wash it.I am sorry.”She looked awful with bits of white strung through her light brown hair.The bits of paper napkin made it worse.He tried his best not to laugh.
A chuckle slipped out.
“Sorry.I didn’t mean to laugh.”Another chuckle.
She glared.Her eyebrows pinched together, and the corner of her lips turned down.
