Page 32 of Past Tents

“Yeah,” I mumbled. “It’s definitely the fire.”

Oblivious to the heat he was creating, Clay popped up and strode over to the cooler. He carried it back and opened it in front of us. The inside was well-stocked and organized. A frying pan tilted against the side, tongs upright next to it. A butcher-wrapped white package. A bowl of pre-sliced peppers and onions covered in plastic wrap. A blue cannister I couldn’t identify. Marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate.

“Ooh, are we making s’mores?” Even without spending time in the wilderness, I had experience with the melted campfire treat. I started unwrapping a chocolate bar and held up the bag of marshmallows.

At Clay’s head tilt, I explained, “I know it’s dessert, but I actually know how to do this part of camping. Can I make you a little dessert before dinner?”

I scooted my camp chair closer to his and bumped him with my shoulder. At this new proximity, I could feel enough heat emanating from Clay’s body to melt my s’mores ingredients. And I’d happily lick them from his bare skin.

A muscle in his jaw flexed. I could tell that doing things out of order didn’t sit right with him, but I waited patiently as he reasoned with himself.

“Fine. One. Just one.”

“Deal. Don’t want to spoil our appetites.” I unwrapped the chocolate and broke off two squares. Clay handed me a long stickwith a two-pronged tip that looked expertly chosen for double marshmallow roasting. It was then that I realized how hard he’d worked to make everything go smoothly for my sake. So I’d get through my first wilderness experience in one piece. So I’d love it.

“Clay, thank you so much for taking time to do this with me.” My hand went to my chest gratefully. It touched me that the rugged, stoic, super sexy man I crossed paths with daily had such a soft heart. And it astounded me that I’d never given him the chance to show it until now.

When I met his eyes, I caught a glimpse of something I couldn’t identify—confusion, gratitude, appreciation? He was looking at me as though I was a stranger, even though we’d known each other for half our lives.

Maybe we were strangers. The version of Clay he’d shown me over the past couple hours was one I didn’t know at all. And here I was, trying to figure out what had changed in a matter of hours. Part of me wanted to change it back because the lusty urges I was having toward Clay were unnerving.

But part of me—the part that couldn’t believe how wrong I’d been about him and how much better I liked him for it—that part of me wanted him even more.

CHAPTER

ELEVEN

CLAY

“So, explain it to me. Why did you take a wilderness first aid course if you never wanted to be in the actual wilderness?”

“Always be prepared,” she quipped.

A week ago, maybe I’d have let her banter me into letting it go, but not now. We were making progress—not just in the “wilderness” but in something I couldn’t yet define. Something I wanted to define. I was learning things about her, how she thought, what lay beneath the surface. And I wanted to know more. She owed me a better answer.

“Try again.”

Her eyes shot to mine with a look of surprise and maybe a bit of annoyance. “Really?”

“Alexandra, I won’t judge. Was it some guy’s poor idea for a surprise date? He got you to spend the day with him by promising a hands-on educational experience and then sprung it on you that you’d be relearning CPR? Come on, you can tell me.”

She laughed quietly, but her lips didn’t form a smile. I wondered if I’d veered too close to the truth. Well, to hell with it. I braced myself for the tales of love affairs and perfect dates.

“Not exactly that.” She stabbed the gooey end of her stick at the plate of fresh marshmallows until she’d speared one. Moving it to the firepit, her eyes followed, going glassy as she stared into the flames.

“What, then?” I asked.

I could have let it go. Normally, I’d let it go. What difference did it make? Ally and I were colleagues on a dry run for an extended field trip. Even if a part of me urged this night in my yard to mean something else, my rational side knew it didn’t. But maybe I needed her to tell me about the men in her life. Maybe it would make my feelings toward her stand down once and for all.

Maybe bears would dance on my rooftop.

Ally shrugged and continued staring into the fire.

I reached for the frying pan, which now held roasting peppers and onions. I gave them a stir while Ally warmed tortillas on the rocks surrounding the flames. “We make a good team,” she observed.

I nudged her under the chin with my knuckle. “Don’t try and divert me with niceties. Why’d you take wilderness first aid?” I asked, like a masochist, begging her to tell me about a date with some adventurer.

“It was a promise I’d made to myself.” She spat out the words on an exhale like the idea disappointed her.

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