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He put his arm around her shoulders as they walked to their cabin. “Not a bad idea. I make a mean s’more.”
She laughed. “Is this a competition?”
“There’s an art to it,” he insisted.
“More things you learned in summer camp?” she teased.
“Where else? We don’t roast many marshmallows in the SEALs.”
“I’m guessing not. It wouldn’t look good on the recruiting poster,” she said. “Give me a minute to splash some water on my face and grab a sweatshirt, and I’ll be ready.”
Ten minutes later, they joined other couples around the fire where staff members were handing out drinks and s’more supplies. Owen watched Sophie load two marshmallows on her stick and put them directly into the flames.
“They’ll burn,” he cautioned, but prevented himself from taking the stick from her.
“I like ’em that way.” The marshmallows were already turning dark brown on the outside. “Crispy.”
“The inside’ll still be cold.”
“Won’t matter. The outside will be burning hot.” She grinned at him as one of her marshmallows burst into flames. She pulled it back from the fire and blew on it. “Perfection.” She slid the marshmallows off her stick directly onto half of a chocolate bar and topped it with the other half.
“No graham crackers?”
“Why bother? The marshmallow and the chocolate are the reasons people eat these. I’m cutting out what’s not necessary.” She took a large bite, making marshmallow ooze out the end of her chocolate sandwich.
“I’m going for the traditional method,” he said. His marshmallow was turning a lovely golden brown and puffing up as the inside heated.
“You do you.” She licked chocolate from her fingers and his insides heated, too.
He leaned close to her. “Are we really staying for an hour?” He could think of other things he’d like to do with that hour.
“Oh, we are. Then, the night is ours.” Her grin was wicked, making him think of that hour they’d spent in the bathtub the night before followed by the hours in bed. They’d been some of the best of his life.
“Killing me,” he muttered, but concentrated on finishing his s’more.
When people had eaten enough, everyone settled into chairs pulled up to the edge of the large fire ring so that their feet could balance against the stone. Owen let himself relax into enjoying the scent of the woodsmoke and being out under the stars with Sophie.
“Why don’t you just quit?” the man on the other side of Sophie said to his wife.
Owen had met the couple at a previous session. He was a stockbroker, and she was a lawyer. They’d come from Philadelphia for the retreat to rekindle their romance. He flipped back in his mind to recall their names. Amy and Jeff Swindell.
“How can I quit?” Amy said with a sigh. “We’ve been over this before.”
“Babe, it’s not like we can’t afford it. Being a lawyer stresses you out. I forgot what an un-stressed you was even like until we came here.”
Amy twisted her hands together. “What would I do instead?”
“Anything that makes you happy,” Jeff said. “Being a lawyer isn’t it. You hate it.”
“I don’t hate it,” Amy spoke slowly. “Not exactly.”
“What don’t you like about being a lawyer?” Sophie asked, and the husband looked at her gratefully. He must have been hoping for an ally on what seemed like a discussion the couple had had many times before.
“Court,” Amy admitted. “It makes me physically ill to stand up in front of a judge and argue a case.”
“Well, aren’t there other kinds of law?” Sophie suggested. “What about those?”
“My firm are trial attorneys exclusively. And I’ve invested so much time into building my career.”
