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Can I Have S'more?
Ryan
Emberscrackleandfloatupward from the fire into the dark sky above us before extinguishing into ash. I’ve added a new layer of clothing over my shorts and T-shirt, and so have Babs and Livvie.
Every other time I’ve seen Babs since she got here, she was in some sort of dress. Now, she’s in ripped jeans, and an oversized sweatshirt with her hair pulled into a ponytail through a Mariners baseball cap. She’s completely oblivious to how breathtaking she is, and I can’t keep my eyes off her.
All three of us are holding a long metal skewer with a large marshmallow on the end, browning them over the fire.
Livvie sits next to me on a log, and Babs sits in one of the camp chairs across the fire from us. I watch the light dance off Babs's face and create weird patterns with the ever-increasing shadows.
Livvie pulls her marshmallow out of the fire as soon as a corner of it turns tan. She layers it on top of a piece of chocolate, then sandwiches the gooey sweetness between two graham crackers.
I wrinkle my nose at her. “I don’t think that counts as a s’more. The marshmallow isn’t even warm yet.”
Livvie ignores me and keeps chewing. When my marshmallow catches on fire, Livvie’s eyes bulge and she tugs on my arm. “Fire! Blow it out!”
I pull the marshmallow close to my mouth and extinguish the flame, then create my own s’more. “Mmm. Now that’s perfect,” I say after taking a bite, savoring the mix of sweet, crunchy, gooey, and char-broiled dessert.
Babs shakes her head. She waits for her marshmallow to catch fire, then says, “You’re both off your rockers. It’s not a true s’more until it’s good and truly char-broiled with the center melted.”
Carried pulls her flaming marshmallow out of the fire and brings it close to her face. She rotates the stick to make sure every bit of the marshmallow is scorched before she blows out the waning flame.
Livvie gags. “That’s completely inedible now. Throw it back into the fire.”
Babs grins and wags her brows, then places her blackened marshmallow onto a square of gram cracker and tops it with chocolate. She squishes it all together, takes a bite, and closes her eyes. She lets out a small groan. “Perfection.”
Livvie’s already on her third s’more when we finish our first. “You two are weird,” she says.
Babs and I lock glances and she grins.
“I can live with that,” I say. If it means I get to spend all night with Babs nearby, watching her finally relax and enjoy herself, I’m all in.
The wind shifts, blowing the smoke into Babs’s face. She closes her eyes and waits for the wind to shift again, but after several seconds of holding her breath and coughing, Babs picks up her chair and shifts it out of the smoke.
The wind changes direction again. Again, she’s inhaling smoke. Babs coughs and waves her hand in front of her face, but the smoke persists.
Standing, she mutters, then moves to one of the empty stumps near Livvie.
Livvie chuckles. “Smoke follows beauty, didn’t you know?”
Babs furrows her brows. “Huh?”
Livvie elbows me in the ribs and jabs a thumb in my direction. “That’s what he tells me every time the smoke does that to me. Smoke follows beauty.”
“Well, of course, he’d say that to you,” Babs says, shaking her head at Livvie who now has a knitted cap over her head and a blanket around her shoulders. “You’re beautiful.”
Livvie snorts. “Yeah right. Tell that to Breck.”
I immediately straighten, narrowing my gaze on Livvie. “Who?”
“Nobody.” Livvie slouches further into her blanket.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” I ask, leaning closer to Livvie, and putting a hand on her arm.
Livvie snorts. “No! Absolutely not. Breck is a jerkfaced idiot.”
“Then why did you say his name?” I ask.
