Page 43 of The Naughty Elf

“I’ll prep the fire.”

“Can I light it?” Gracie asks.

“If you’re not covered in fish guts when it’s time, sure. But if you’re fishy, I’m lighting it.” I tap my chest. I’m mostly teasing her, but it’s important to set boundaries and not give her everything she asks for.

She’s pretty good about it.

“Then, what do you think…s’mores afterward, Shakespeare? Do marshmallows and fish mix?”

Sawyer sends me that same smile, and I smile back. Gracie tugs on my hand.

“Why do you call him Shakespeare?”

I can’t help my laughter. “Because he talks so much.”

Gracie’s features screw up in confusion. “But he almost doesn’t talk at all.”

“Exactly.”

Back at camp, well, off to the side of camp where there’s a stream, Sawyer shows Gracie how to prepare the fish for cooking, and I collect sticks for the fire.

Cooking and eating take nearly no time at all, so we hike for part of the afternoon before dinner. Gracie has had so much sugar that she’s talking a mile a minute. I let her. That’s what being out here is for.

Sawyer pulls his camping chair close to mine and holds my hand as he sips a beer and watches the sun set. It’s been a pretty perfect day. I’m glad he was there to step in yesterday. I’m glad he’s the one to make this happen.

We munch on our hotdogs and some more marshmallows. I watch Gracie starting to flag. It’ll be time to send her to bed soon, and I’m honestly not far off with the lack of sleep I got last night.

The moment I make moves to get her in the tent, I realize how small it is. Pressing my lips together, I gather Gracie up and coerce her inside.

Sawyer in leaning forward on his knees, eyes focused on the flames when I return. Instead of slipping into my chair, I nudge him back and sit in his lap. His arms come around me immediately.

I feel safe in his embrace. Warm. Wanted. His strong hands knead the back of my neck, up into my hair as I relax into him.

“We should think of getting some sleep, too.”

“Mm.” His voice vibrates in a rich tone with my ear to his chest.

The thought of curling up with him in that tiny tent all night has my body ultra-aware of the cold air, his heat, how solid he is under me—how I want him to be under me in a bed where I can spread him out and have my fill of him.

I barely got a taste before.

Sharing the tent with my daughter doesn’t dampen my desire, even if it will curb my behavior. I still want to cuddle. At least a little bit.

My mouth forms around the underside of his jaw, and the rumble in his throat is delightful.

I force myself to climb off of him. We put out the fire and pack things away before I crawl into the tent first. Gracie is curled up and easy to make slide to the far end of the tent, but when Sawyer comes in after me, it’s pretty clear we’re going to be very close all night.

My daughter fits easily alongside me, and then Sawyer surrounds me, big hand on my hip as he covers us before he tucks me back against him. I don’t think I’ll fall asleep as fast asI do, but before I know it, it’s morning, and I’m wrapped around Sawyer’s front.

Head on his chest, leg draping over his hips, hand twisting in his shirt, I’ve half-tossed the sleeping bag off of us because he was hot beneath me.

I flatten my hand out on his chest as I wake. He’s wide, but full of lean muscle as I caress his side and press my hand against his stomach.

Sawyer’s hand tangles in my hair, his mouth pressing against my forehead. His chest shakes from silent laughter, and I catch the glow in his features before he looks down at me. “She spreads out.”

I laugh quietly against his shoulder. “Yeah, she does.”

I take a peek, and she’s sprawled out like a starfish while we’re cuddled up in a third of the tent. No complaints here.

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