Page 29 of Past Tents

“Nah.” She ushered me toward one of the two camp chairs and gestured to it with a gameshow host’s flourish. “Take a load off and watch your teaching skills at work.”

The well-mannered, hat-tipping gentleman in me wanted to argue some more, insist on helping. But the enthusiastic little devil on my shoulder overrode my desire to fight her on it when she unwrapped the fleece pullover she’d had tied around her waist and bent over to pick up the first beige tent. My eyes stayed riveted to her curves under a snug long-sleeved shirt. Then they roamed lower, appreciating the nip of her waist, the sway of her hips, and the seductive roundness of her ass, which was in full, perfect view and clad only in yoga pants.

My mind spun wild, a kaleidoscope of thoughts that coalesced into a line from Shakespeare: “And this our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.”

Her movements halted, and she looked over her shoulder at me. “What?”

Her sparkling blue eyes seemed to see right through me, caressing even the most shadowed corners I kept locked down tight. A long, curling strand of blond had escaped her hair tie, catching the light of the afternoon sun. Springy, golden, and so soft. I swore I could feel the strands falling through my hands. She was the perfect contrast of light to all the dark I held inside.

“Um, Shakespeare. FromAs You Like It.We’re reading it now in my honors seminar. It’s nothing. Just the ramblings of a guy with his head in a book,” I stammered, my brain still fixated on her physical form, which only became more beautiful when her eyes caressed my face with inquisitive delight.

She stared at me a moment too long for it to feel comfortable, and I felt the prickle of heat on the back of my neck. Here was where it would begin, the realization that the odd products of my brain didn’t match my packaging.

Then she nodded. “It’s perfect. And . . . so true.”

Exhaling a shaky breath, I realized she wasn’t repelled by where my mind naturally drifted. Most people accepted my propensity to quote novels or poetry as a quaint personality quirk, something to be endured or ignored. Not appreciated.

Did Ally actually find my Shakespearean blunder acceptable? Even . . . endearing?

I didn’t get more time to ponder because Ally had moved on to tent assembly in earnest. She shook the nylon fabric into a billowing cloud of beige and placed it on the ground, then began unfolding the sticks and snapping them into full size. So far, so good.

But I wasn’t lying when I said it was a two-person job. As soon as she slipped the pole into one side of the tent and went aroundto insert the other, the first side popped out. She tried it several times, moving back and forth as her frustration mounted.

A few more strands of hair slipped from her tangle of a bun and fell into her eyes. My muscles fired and I bounced on my toes, wanting to step closer so I could tuck the wayward curls behind her ear and free up her line of sight. Before I could move, she shoved a lock of hair out of her face and glared at the tent.

Cheeks flushed, eyes like shipwrecking seas, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. I couldn’t stop staring. But she remained oblivious, refusing to give up without a fight.

“This infernal thing...,” she muttered, devising a weight from a rock she found beneath the deck and using it to anchor the pole on one side. But as soon as she started bending the other side to fit the end into the pocket, the first side popped out and the rock rolled away. “Seriously?” she spat at the tent.

“Two-person tent, two-person job. I’m here to help. Why fight it?”

“Guess I wanted to prove something.”

“You already did.”

Her eyes closed for a beat longer than necessary, enough to tell me she appreciated the compliment. She gestured to the loose end of the tent pole, and I held it in place while she anchored the other side.

In under a minute, we had the second tent pitched, and in under five, the third stood next to its brethren.

Ally and I stood shoulder to shoulder and observed the little family of tents like proud parents.

“Good work,” I told her. “Now let’s cook dinner.”

CHAPTER

TEN

ALLY

The sun had dropped behind the mountain and the sky took on a dusky blue. I returned from the kiddie pool Clay had filled by his side door to serve as our fake lake and proudly held up the pot of water I’d filtered with a hand pump. It was practice for filtering mountain lake water so we could drink it without needing to boil it first. “Ta-da. Water.”

“Nicely done,” Clay said, taking the pot from me and pouring off some of the water into a bottle for drinking.

What I did not tell him was that I’d gotten into a wrestling match with his portable pump and almost ended up taking a bath in the kiddie pool. As it was, my shirt sleeves were soaked and my hands wet.

“So, tell me about the wilderness thing,” Clay said, poking at the fire with a stick. Tiny sparks danced into the air as the logs slid into a slightly different position, making the flames climb a bit higher. As I sat next to Clay, I immediately felt the increase in heat warm my face and hands, which I had fanned out over the fire.

“What wilderness thing?”

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