Page 47 of The Falcon and the Foe

I kept an eye on the larger fire. The temperature dropped once the sun went down. Once we’d set up tents earlier, I had the Falcons scour our campsite for twigs and large branches, which I used to build a base under the larger logs I’d brought from my home collection. (Bringing an axe on the trip would’ve brought up too many safety concerns.) I lit the twigs alight, then blew on them to grow and spread the fire until it caught on the logs.

“Guys, don’t get too close to the fire,” I warned Quentin and Josh. The glow of the flames illuminated their animated faces as they gabbed about their favorite Pokémon. They put a smile on my face, and I was grateful they’d found each other. Josh made friends with his fellow Falcons, too, which I knew was a relief to his father.

“Tables are set. A few of the kids are moments away from cannibalism. Got an ETA?” Cal crouched down beside me.

I pulled the chicken off the grill. The breasts had charred black lines across their flesh. I cut into them and found no sign of pink. “We are good to go.”

“Good, because I’m one of the people who’s on the verge of going full Donner Party. This smells a-freaking-mazing.” Cal leaned in and smelled, letting out a moan of approval.

“I like to cook.”

“Of course, you do.”

I stabbed the chicken and put them on a serving plate. “What does that mean?”

“You seem like one of those guys who loves to cook as a way to calm your nerves. Or have more control in your case. I remember the hot minute I tried online dating and all the guys on there who boasted about how they loved cooking. What’s wrong with takeout?”

I laughed to myself, the only possible reaction. “Do you ever hear yourself sometimes?”

“Sometimes, but I usually tune myself out.” The flames lit up Cal’s goofy, warm smile, and I had to remind myself to turn away.

“Quentin! I’m not going to warn you again!”

One gust of wind could have the fire overtake his little body. The worst-case scenarios piled in my head.

“I’m not that close!”

Cal jumped up before I could tell my son not to talk back. “Hey Falcons, time to eat! Get to the picnic table, or else I’m going to eat your food.”

Quentin flipped to his happy face. He was like the mayor with the two faces inThe Nightmare Before Christmas, which we watched a billion times every Halloween. Cal chantedFOODand led the scouts to the tables, Pied Piper style.

We dug in like we hadn’t eaten in a month. In addition to the chicken, vegetables, and beans, I opened a pack of dinner rolls and butter. In minutes, serving plates rattled empty like something out of a cartoon. The kids ate grilled vegetables willingly. Even by my own high bar for cooking, my chicken was damn good, the cajun spices giving it just enough of a kick. Being in the wilderness kicked up quite an appetite. I made a note to cook more food for tomorrow when we’d be even hungrier after a long day of activities.

Cal raised his plastic cup at the far end of the table. “Everyone, raise your cup to our fabulous cook and leader.”

“Co-leader,” I said.

“To Scout Leader Russ for this incredible meal.”

“To Scout Leader Russ!” the Falcons repeated. All, I noticed, except for Quentin.

Cal reached over the table to clink as many cups as possible.

“Uh, Scout Leader Cal?” Chase pointed at the stain on his shirt from bending forward into his plate.

Cal laughed it off. “One of the unexpected problems of having a gut. The bonus is that I’ll have a snack for later.”

That gut was nothing to be embarrassed about, I thought. There was something manly about it, especially combined with his broad shoulders and thick arms.

I stood up. “Well, we have a busy day tomorrow. We should get ready for bed and get a good night’s sleep.”

“We could,” Cal said, a mischievous glint in his eye. “But it’s still early.”

I had a feeling Cal was a night owl, which did not bode well for sharing a tent.

“We’re going to wake up early.”

“But...we have this wonderful campfire still going. The stars are out. And we need some dessert to wash down all this dinner.”

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