Page 33 of Past Tents

“What kind of promise?”

“That I’d become self-sufficient and independent. Face my fears. As a woman or a single parent someday or whatever, I need to be prepared for any eventuality. I used to have this romantic idea of the perfect man, the knight on the horse, riding into my future.” She laughed. “I read a lot of Regency romance. I guess it rubbed off. But my point is that I get the difference between fantasy and reality. And I choose reality.”

“Why can’t you have both? You seem like the kind of person who will meet a knight and still remain fiercely independent. Ride your own horse next to his.”

She smiled. “If only.” The words lacked conviction. I couldn’t understand why Ally didn’t see herself the way I did.

Tipping back in my camp chair, I decided to fish out the beers I’d stashed at the bottom of the cooler. “Not going to be doing this on the retreat, obviously,” I noted, using the handle of the cooler to pop the tops off of two bottles of cold amber beer.

“Obviously,” she agreed, taking the open bottle I handed to her and clinking it against mine. “But I appreciate you bending the rules, Scout Master. Glad to see you’re not all work and no play.”

“Your brother and I used to carry a six-pack each on camping trips back in the day.” I shook my head. “So stupid to carry all that weight. But we didn’t care. Here, we might as well enjoy the comforts of home.”

“But no sleeping inside the house?”

“No sleeping inside the house,” I confirmed. “So backing up, you’ve given up on the knight?”

Her eyes went wide, and she choked on her beer. “I mean, not in theory. But in practice, maybe. Knights haven’t exactly shown up for me. I may be better off on my own.”

I hadn’t noticed the thundering of my heart in my chest until the beating started to subside. Now it just felt like a hyper snare drum. Or a hummingbird flitting inside my chest, trying to escape. Why did the idea of Ally not wanting a relationship amp me up so much?

Because that means she doesn’t want one with you.

She shook her head, correcting, “Anyway, I need to know what I’m doing out in the world. I can’t be googling what to do for a snake bite if that ever happens. I need toknow.” Clearing her throat, she attempted another sip of her beer, eyes glued to me to ensure I wouldn’t say something else to make her choke on it.

My brain continued to swirl with questions she hadn’t answered and new ones popping up by the second. “Okay, so you’re a control freak, is that what you’re telling me? Because lots of people are proficient at adulting without knowing what to do about a snake bite.”

On a long blink, she bit her bottom lip. When she opened her eyes, they looked blank. Ally unwound the scarf from her neck, revealing the pale skin of her throat. My hands twitched with the need to feel her skin beneath my fingers. I wanted to wrap one hand around the column of her throat and tip her jaw up so our mouths were aligned.

All my years of dashing around campus had served me well. I’d never been in one place with her long enough to give these physical urges any room to take root. But now...shit. Now, there was no reining them in.

I ground my teeth and clenched my fists in an effort to stop myself from reaching for her. This camping practice run had been a terrible idea.

“True,” she said. She’d been silent for so long, I’d almost forgotten where we’d left off. “Maybe I am a control freak. I have an earthquake kit in my kitchen cupboard, and we don’t even get earthquakes here.”

“Are you preparing for the zombie apocalypse too?”

Turning her eyes down, she took the last bite of her s’more and chewed it slowly. I watched her throat move as she swallowed and ached to touch her skin there. I wondered if it would feel as smooth and soft as it looked under my carpentry-roughened hands.

“Not yet. But one never can be too prepared, I suppose,” she said gravely, leveling me with her blue-eyed stare. Then her lips quirked to the side and she laughed. That quiet sound that reminded me of tiny glass wind chimes.

I wanted to know more, but I sensed that if I pushed too hard, she might retreat. So I’d tread carefully.

The faint burning smell of seared peppers redirected my thoughts. I stirred the red and green slivers in the pan, noting the blackened backsides and trying to mix them in with the grilled onions so the burned edges seemed less evident.

“Mmm, smells amazing,” Ally said, setting up our plates on top of the cooler, which was tall enough to be a perfect table between the camp chairs and the firepit.

As I watched her now, so comfortable out here in the woods just a couple hours after saying she was deathly afraid, it stirred something in me.

“Hey,” I said, tucking a finger under her jaw and turning her face to look at me.

“Yeah?”

“I love that you want to be self-sufficient. It’s awesome.” I met her eyes because this part was important. “But don’t forget to let someone in.”

I felt her jaw go slack in my hand. Then she swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”

I shrugged. “I think...it’s amazing to be so independent. To not lose yourself. But there’s something magical about being vulnerable enough to trust another person to find you if you get lost. The point is to be vulnerable around the right person. To need that person enough to feel something.”

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