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“I know, right?” Babs grins. “It makes all the difference.”
I hold out my uneaten half of the s’more in front of Babs's mouth, offering it to her. “Want a bite? It’s better with double chocolate.”
She hesitates, staring at my hands. Then, she leans forward and takes a bite. The s’more seems to completely crumble, half of it dropping in my hands, the rest in Babs’s lap, with a healthy amount of the melted chocolate and marshmallow dripping onto her chin and lips.
My eyes bulge. I deal with the mess on my hands, while Babs cleans up the mess on her lap and face. She chuckles to herself. “This is a lot harder to do when you don’t have a mirror. Or overhead lighting. Or any way to see what your face looks like.”
When my hands are clean, I rummage around in a bin in the truck then return to our log and hold up a wet towelette. “Need one?”
“Did I get it all off my face?” she asks.
I tilt my head. This time it’s my gaze that drops to her mouth, staying there longer than is necessary. Her lips are sticky and inviting. I bet they’d taste sugar-sweet after the s’more. Would there be a hint of chocolate too? I’d have fun cleaning those lips with mine.
Babs stills.
What is she thinking?
I reach out and gently wipe at the corner of her lip, and the middle of her chin. Then I remember that she just buried her father.
All the warm fuzzies evaporate.
Swallowing, I lean back and murmur, “There. Perfect.”
My gaze returns to Carrie. We stare at each other, the tension in the air thickening by the second.
Twenty-four hours ago, I told Livvie and everyone at the barbecue that I loved Babs.
Now, I’m alone, in the dark, staring at her and wondering if her lips are as soft and sweet as I’ve imagined them to be all these years.
Babs stares at me in the firelight, almost as if she wants me to kiss her. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. My heart says to go for it. My brain says now’s not the time to make things awkward.
Finally, she breaks our gaze and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I…uh…I want to thank you again for letting me tag along.”
I look away and toss the wet wipe into the fire. “Any time. It’s more fun when there’s another person. Especially when Livvie decides she’s had enough of me and hides in the tent.”
I start to poke at the charred and burning logs with a long stick. “I never had a chance to ask if you had kids, or what you do in Seattle.”
She stares at the flames for what feels like an eternity. “No children.”
My stomach drops at the fracture in her voice. “Oh.”
I don’t push the issue, but a million questions run through my mind about why. She’d make an amazing mother.
She snickers to herself, then stares into the flames again as if lost in a trance. “I was married once for a short time. We'd tried to have kids for a while. After no results, I started seeing specialists. They never could figure out what was wrong with me. Just that we couldn’t get pregnant.”
“Did they test your husband to see if he was the problem?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Chase was certain it was me. Swore that he was in perfect health.” She wipes a tear from her cheek. “We divorced shortly after that.”
I grip my stick harder and grit my teeth. How could her husband be so positive that she was the problem? So sure that he's willing to divorce her over it?
I open my mouth to ask questions, but she starts talking before I get a sound out.
“I spent pretty much my entire adult life wondering about you,” she says, stealing a glance at me, then focusing back on the fire. “Even while I was married to Chase. I wondered what were you doing. Where did you end up going? Did you ever get married?” She tucks her hands under her thighs and stares at her feet. “All this time you were still in Walla Walla, raising Livvie.”
“Why didn't you look me up?” I ask quietly. I hold my breath, afraid to know the answer. Even more frightened that she might refuse to say anything. If Babs is going to leave my life in less than a week, I don’t have the luxury of finessing things and coaxing information from her. I need to learn everything I can. Figure out if what I feel is one-sided, or if she has feelings too. Then I need to figure out what she wants to do about them. To say the timing of our meeting again sucks is an understatement. I will not be buying any lottery tickets anytime soon.
Another tear trickles down her cheek, drawing my eyes to her face. The way her brows pinch together when she’s sad, and how perfect her lips are.
