The truth was, Ididn’twant this to be a disaster.
I wanted it to be something he remembered as good. Something that made him forget, even for a little while, whatever it was that kept pulling him into silence.
And maybe, just maybe… something that helped him stay a little longer.
I stretched out across the grass, my stomach full of slightly charred hot dog and nerves I was pretending didn’t exist.
Ben sat beside me, barefoot, firelight flickering over the curve of his jaw as he stabbed at the last of our marshmallows like he was preparing for a duel.
“I can’t believe you’re still roasting marshmallows like it’s a competitive sport,” I said, propping myself up on one elbow.
He glanced at me with mock seriousness. “You think this is a game?”
“Sir, you’re burning them on purpose.”
“Char equals flavor,” he said, popping a blackened marshmallow into his mouth like a man with something to prove.
I wrinkled my nose. “You’re not invited back to s’mores night at the lodge.”
“You can’tuninviteme from an event I wasn’t invited to yet.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I definitely do.”
I grinned, pushing up to my feet and brushing off grass. “Okay, master of fire, I’m going to change into a bra that doesn’t smell like I was hunted by a beaver.”
He leaned back on his hands. “Show-off.”
“What?”
“Youbroughta change of clothes.” He ran his hand over his bare chest and shook his head. “Seems odd.”
I lifted my chin. “It’s called preparedness, Florida.”
“It’s called sabotage.”
“Don’t be jealous of my survival instincts.”
I grabbed my bag, ducked behind a tree, and quickly swapped into leggings and a long-sleeved lodge tee I’d shoved into the bottom of my backpack. Who needed a bra for bedtime? I even found fuzzy socks. Fuzzy socks! It was as if my past selfknewI might get stranded with a dangerously attractive man and need to feel cozy while losing my mind.
When I came back, Ben was standing by the truck bed, looking up at the stars like they owed him answers.
I tried not to notice how good he looked without his shirt.
“Well,” I said, dropping my bag with a little bounce. “Shall we make the world’s smallest campsite?”
He looked down at me and smirked. “Still going for the truck bed?”
“I mean… unless you’re afraid of spooning.”
His eyes darkened, but he said nothing, just turned to unlatch the tailgate and haul it down with one smooth movement. He grabbed both sleeping bags and tossed them into the back with casual precision.
“Just saying,” he murmured, “you brought extra clothes and sleeping bags and a perfectly portioned cooler.”
I narrowed my eyes. “If I planned to get stranded with a man, it would’ve been someone easier to resist.”
That made him laugh, and it sent a wild little thrill through me.
