Page 80 of Fight

I hum in agreement and continue stirring. After a couple minutes, I divide it between our two mugs and pass one to him, toasting, “To toothbrushes and water pressure.”

“Toothbrushes and water pressure,” he echoes, and we clink our mugs in cheers. He blows on a steaming spoonful. “Oh, I have some good news too.”

“What’s that?” I stir the soup in my mug, waiting for it to cool.

“I found some length of chain with the tools out there, with a bit of paracord, I think I can put together some crampons for your boots.”

“Really?” That would be fantastic! It’ll improve my mobility in the snow, especially in any icy sections.

“Yeah, when we finish eating, I’ll get you rigged up. For once, those stupid emergency paracord bracelets are coming in handy.”

I chuckle.

“I’m also looking forward to eating anything but soup,” he says, taking a bite.

“Same.” But the wild rice soup was good, a lot better than the same Ramen noodles or instant potatoes I’ve been living off of back home.

“Do I still get to take you out to eat?”

“Yeah.” I smile, imagining what I’d order. A salad—something crisp, crunchy, and fresh… and a mean-ass cheeseburger stacked with pickles. My mouth waters thinking about it. I’m sick of soft food.

“It’ll be nice to be back.”

I hum in agreement. “I bet you’re excited to sleep in your own bed again.”

He shrugs. Silence stretches between us. “Do you think it’ll be weird to not sleep next to each other?”

Tilting my head, I purse my lips, giving the illusion I’m considering the question even though I already know the answer.Yes, it will be weird. Yes, I’ll miss it.

“Yeah.”

“I noticed, that, uh…” He stirs his soup a few times and clears his throat. I examine his apprehensive expression, curious where he’s going with this. “I notice that I sleep better here.”

I nod. “I once read an article that explained how sleeping outdoors can improve quality and length of sleep. Plus, the fresh air had a bunch of other benefits like increased concentration, more creativity?—”

He gives a headshake. “It’s not the outdoors.”

We exchange a glance briefly before we return to eating.

Yeah, I’m gonna miss this.

Fire flickers on the wall. We’ve spent most of tonight wrapped up in each other and talking about our pasts and presents. Mostly simple things. Favorite foods, TV shows, et cetera. But deeper stuff too: her thoughts about religion and politics and how she’s been navigating her feelings since leaving. We’ve discussed our families. Both of our parents have passed. I told her all about Teddy and my brother-in-law, Logan, and my niece, Penny, and nephew, Dalton.

I’ve never experienced conversation flow so easily before. Molly and I never had anything like this. We kept things from each other. Some of those things were big, but it was smaller shit too: what we wanted to eat for dinner or gossip about friends. It was all surface-level communication, perhaps for fear of judgment or opinion from the other.

I told her all about Molly and Dave. How walking in on them may have been what prompted our split, but our relationship died a lukewarm death long before the affair. Once we became engaged, things changed. We sacrificed the passion we shared for things that were stable and more mature. It was what we were supposed to do. We were growing up, but we were also growingapart. I wasn’t thrilled with the way things were going, but it didn’t seem like there was anything I could do about it, so I made the best of the situation. I settled.

With Scottie, everything is richer. We say what we think. We share deeper ideas. I’ve never had conversations like this with another woman. Maybe it’s the honeymoon phase, but our connection feels…different.

With our clothes scattered all around us, we lie naked under the covers. On our sides, we chat face-to-face with our heads propped up. I’ve learned so much about her already, and my attraction grows with each joke, laugh, and story. She’s the furthest thing from selfish, and it angers me that anyone could make her feel otherwise.

I drape her thigh over mine and move my leg between hers, drawing us closer. She snakes her free hand behind me, lightly scratching my back, and damn, it feels good. I love the physical touch. The way she links our fingers when my mind spins out of control, that she’s not afraid to be the big spoon, how she runs her nails down my back and arms. The way she shows affection is beautiful.

“You mentioned you have a group chat with Xander and King—I met King at the poker game in Oregon. I don’t think I met Xander though?”

“No, Xander is the superintendent. He tends to keep a low profile when we decide to act like delinquents. You’ve probably seen him though, bright-blue eyes, can’t miss him.”

“I think I remember seeing you with him a few times.”

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