She looked up, her grin lazy and unrepentant. “I’ll never tell.”
And the thing was, whether she did or not, I didn’t care.
Because the thought of being here, out in the quiet with her, under the stars, and without the rest of the world barging in?
It sounded a hell of a lot like peace.
Like exactly what I didn’t know I needed.
Like exactly who I didn’t expect to want.
And it scared me, but it also made me feel alive again.
We stood near the truck, both of us staring at it like it might transform into a five-star glamping tent if we wished hard enough.
“So,” I said, arms crossed. “Maybe with the angry beaver running around, we should sleep somewhere elevated?”
“Is that a pun or play on words or…”
Her words knocked the wind out of me, but I couldn’t stop laughing. “No, I literally meant the beaver you pissed off earlier.”
“So you don’t want to sleep where we put the sleeping bags?” Fifi tucked her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, thecorners of her mouth twitching like she was trying not to smile too big.
“Not really.”
“What about the truck bed?” she offered, way too casually.
I raised an eyebrow and turned to look at it, the classic, seafoam green Clarabelle with her chipped paint and rusty charm.
It wasn’t exactly roomy.
She followed my gaze. “It’s got the flattest surface. And with the tailgate down, we can stretch out. Kinda. And we’re high enough to avoid most angry animals.”
I gave her a sidelong look. “It’s… pretty small for two people.”
Her eyes glinted.
“Not if we spoon.”
I coughed, actually coughed, like I’d swallowed a damn pinecone.
She said it as if she were talking about cloud cover or trail mix, like, spooning with me would be just another Tuesday on the Honey Leaf calendar.
My brain tried to do math and reason, and logic, but all it managed was:
Fifi.
Spoon.
Fifi, spooningme.
I turned slowly, locking eyes with her.
She just grinned.
Like a woman who knewexactlywhat she was doing.
“You serious?” I asked, voice low.
