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He rises and slaps me on the back. “Good talk, man. See ya. Later, Beth.”

“Bye, Wallace.” As soon as he’s out of earshot, she spins toward me. “What are we going to do? A theme?! Why didn’t I even consider that?”

“Maybe because you have, like, seventeen balls in the air, and I’m pretty sure no one but Wallace cares about a theme.”

“If Wallace cares, so do other people,” she says staunchly. “We need to come up with something.”

“Fine. We will. But first, check your marshmallow before it burns. You hate that.”

Beth gasps and yanks on her stick, extracting a perfectly toasted marshmallow from the fire.

“Here.” I motion for her plate, and she hands it over to me.

“Hurry,” she squeals, her marshmallows sagging.

I grab the two graham crackers, adding the mint chocolate pieces she’s selected for her topping and holding them out for her.

“Here. Lay it on me.”

We execute the transfer, and I hand her the s’more sandwich.

She takes a bite and closes her eyes. “Just as good as I remembered it.”

A couple crumbs and a strand of melted marshmallow escape her mouth. It’s hanging from the corner of her lip, and it’s all I can look at. I’m dying to press my mouth to the corner of her smile and taste the minty marshmallowy goodness.

Whipped cream this morning, marshmallow tonight—these are just two instances in a series of (I’m embarrassed to admit how many) thoughts I’ve had about Beth’s lips over the years, remembering and reliving our two chaste kisses. Longing for more of them.

“Gabe.”

I blink. “What? Sorry.”

She smiles, her tongue flitting out to remove the addictive marshmallow piece.

So long, sweet friend.

“You looked like you were a million miles away. We need to figure out a theme, and then you need to tell me what you wanted to talk to me about.”

“Right.” I clear my throat. “I was going to suggest we have people come here.”

“Here?” Beth tips her head to the side, considering. “To the town green?”

“Look around. It’s stunning. What better way to get into the Christmas spirit than to spend some time out here?”

“You don’t think it’s too blasé? People can come to the town green anytime.”

“But not as part of the Dash,” I counter. “And when they pass through every day, do they actually take the chance to savor this spot? Or are they rushing on to the next thing? Like you were doing tonight.”

“You’re right,” she says slowly. “So we have them come here and be intentional about stopping to smell the roses, or the pine needles, as it happens.”

“Exactly.” I lean back, pleased with myself.

Beth’s eyes widen. “That’s it! That’s the theme.”

“Pine needles?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “Slowing down to actually enjoy the moments, memories, and scenes of the season.” She starts talking fast and flailing her hands. “It’s sort of a play off the concept of the Dash, which implies a fast-paced race, you know? But we’re inviting people to do the opposite! To take a minute amid the hustle to slow down and enjoy it all.”

“That’s actually a really good idea.”