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Out here, it almost seems like we’re the only two people in the world.

When she sees it, she stops moving. Beside the trailer is a small firepit with two chairs positioned around it.

“Thought I could make you dinner,” I say. “I got some hot dogs and S’mores stuff.” I look at her. “You still like S’mores?”

She turns a circle. “What am I, a lunatic? Of course I do.”

“Good,” I say.

“Did you get the waffle cones?”

“What am I, an amateur?” I volley back in the same tone she used and open the door of the trailer, grabbing one of the bags from my trip to town. I pull out the box of waffle cones, remembering Hattie’s accidental discovery that they’re a great substitute when you’re out of graham crackers. Turned out she liked them better that way.

We all did.

She looks past me into the trailer. “Can I see inside?”

I turn toward the open door, then back to her.

“Unless it’s like, personal,” she says. “Sorry—that was kind of pushy. Forget I asked.”

“No, it’s fine.” To me, her curiosity is a good sign. No way I’m going to shut it down. I want to share everything with her—I just don’t know how. I motion for her to go in. “It’s nothing special.”

She hesitates for a beat. “You sure? I mean, I wouldn’t let you go snooping around my bedroom, and that’s kind of what this is, right?”

I give her a look. “Eh, I feel like you would go snooping around my bedroom.”

She grins. “Only because of the turndown service and the mints on your pillow.”

I smile, struck again by just how much I like Hattie. I like being around her, maybe more than anyone else I know.

I follow her into the trailer and try to see it through her eyes. The layout is pretty standard, but when I bought it, I gave it a complete overhaul.

“Wow,” she says. “It’s so clean.”

“I’m going to choose to ignore the surprise in your voice,” I say.

She turns. “I don’t remember you being a neat freak.”

I shrug. “Guess that’s one of the things you didn’t know about me.”

“No, but I do now.” She leans in and looks at a set of photos stuck to the wall behind the stove and sink. “Whoa, is this what it looked like when you got it?” She points to the one I took of the interior of the Airstream to document my progress.

“Yeah,” I say. “I tore everything out. And I do mean everything.”

I pull out my phone and open the album I have detailing each step of the renovation. I set it on the counter in front of her, swiping through as I explain the process. “I insulated it, added the recessed lighting here.” I point to it. “I painted the entire thing, then pulled out the windows—that was a two-week long job. Had to clean and scrape and polish every one of them. They were pretty gnarly.” I swipe to the next photo.

She purses her lips. “So . . . when you said this place is nothing special, you were lying.”

I laugh. “Fine, it’s a big deal, and I’m really proud of it, okay?”

She grins. “That’s more like it.”

“These are the layout plans,” I say. “Tried a few different options, but ended up with this.” On the wall behind us is a pantry and a closet. I turn and pull the closet door open.

“Are those all the clothes you own?” She looks at me.

“I’m a pretty simple guy.”