Around the fire pit, I continue brainstorming ways to corner Laurel without her realizing she’s a bunny in a trap. Everyone else prepares a lunch consisting of s’mores, jerky, PB&J sandwiches, and other packable nonperishables Ethan can’t eat.
Petey’s scouring his bag for a shred of anything that won’t make his friend sick. “I’m really sorry, man. When I packed the food, it was with Laurel in mind, and she eats like a toddler.”
“Hey!” She swats his chest.
Ethan chews on another Lärabar. “Bro, you know I’m always good.”
“You deserve way more than this.” Petey’s eyes scan the campsite. “Do you think we can hunt a deer or something?”
“Sit down,” Ethan instructs with a laugh. He pops a marshmallow, one of the few things around the fire that’s safe for him to eat, into his mouth and places another on a stick for me. “I’ll roast it for you. I’m an expert at this,” he brags, his gaze focused on the task at hand.
I assemble the other parts of my s’more and when he offers me the perfectly golden dollop of pillowy sweetness, I stare directly into his eyes, hoping he’ll blink something profound in Morse code:We’ll always be friends, orLet’s sneak off and get naked behind a tree, orPlease erase me from your memories, you sex pest. Just a sliver of insight into where we stood before we were interrupted and then imprisoned in this utopian commune that prohibits all private conversations.
Instead, my thumb goes directly through the burning-hot marshmallow.
“Holy—”
Ethan lets the s’more fall to the ground and presses my thumb between his palms. “Are you okay?” he asks. The rest of the group reacts all at once in voices that meld together.
“What happened?”
“Did you burn yourself?”
“Jesus, Char.”
“Don’t worry, Charleston. I’ve got an ice pack somewhere.”
The last one was definitely Petey, because he runs up to me with one of those first aid snap ice packs. At the sound of its hard crack, Ethan releases my hand. The cold hurts and soothes in equal measure.
Jonah hands me a fresh s’more, which I accept with my lefthand. “We still don’t know how you two got engaged,” he says to the couple. Now that it’s looking like I’ll get to keep my thumb, the crowd is back to shining on Petey and Laurel.
“I ran onto an ice rink in combat boots and cutoffs and accosted him on a Zamboni.”
The marshmallow in my mouth almost clogs my windpipe. Laurel eyes me with concern, but returns her gaze to Petey when I give her a thumbs-up.
“Cough it out.” Ethan’s gallantly trying not to laugh at my expense, my indignity a momentary détente in our awkwardness.
“Are Zambonis significant to your relationship?” Harlow asks as she pulls her long black braids into a topknot, her face affectionate yet confused.
Laurel eyes Petey in a way that says they’ve definitely banged on a Zamboni before, which probably should shock me but doesn’t.
“Only in that it’s where he was when I showed up to grovel for being such an idiot for so long.”
Petey looks at my sister like the sun might literally shine out her ass. “Don’t call my future wife an idiot, babe.”
She beams back at him and rubs her hand on his knee. “See, the four of us met as kids—” Laurel starts.
“But I was immediately in love with her,” Petey finishes.
She shakes her head. “Shut up. You were not.”
“I was,” he argues.
“But I wouldn’t give you the time of day.”
“But I kept trying.” He smashes a kiss to the top of her head.
She looks up at him, this moment just between the two ofthem. “I think I told you I’d only kiss you if you did a flip into the lake where we all used to swim.”
