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“It’s... it’s fine, Shepherd. You were pretty adventurous with the flapjack.”
“Yeah, now it’s your turn. It’ll reward your bravery, I promise. This stuff sticks to the ribs all night. And if it’s too rough on your belly, I’ve got a box of Pepto.” I pull out the pink box and chuck it at her.
She instantly throws it back like it’s on fire.
“Dude, no. I can handle my reconstituted noodles just fine, thank you.”
That wins her a bitter smile.
Nice knowing she isn’t picky about her diet in the field.
You never know when she’s young and fresh-faced and a billionaire’s daughter—no Mediterranean avocado salads when you’re on the go with no town in sight—though I’m guessing she wondered the same about me.
After I get some water boiling to reheat the food, she unwraps her sleeping bag. I notice she sets it about as far away from me as she can.
Good.
I’m glad I’m not the only one who sees the need for space after—well, fucking everything.
So why doesn’t it make me happier?
I follow her lead, setting my sleeping bag at the opposite end of the fire, though still close enough to get heat. It’s already clouding up and it’ll be cold tonight for sure.
Fuck, I hate this tension.
Even the wind feels like it’s whistling just to highlight the awkward silence between us.
We haven’t even discussed our plans for tomorrow, I realize.
Surveillance, yeah.
I know how to operate the prototype drone stowed in my bag, but I’m clueless about the finer points of stalking sea otters.
The last light fades behind the trees by the time the food turns into something resembling an edible meal.
Destiny stops, hands on her hips, and stares at the last shred of vermillion and red coming through the trees. The thin cloud layer above highlights the colors.
It’s one of the more spectacular sunset finishes I’ve seen in a long time.
She fumbles for her phone, taking a picture of the sunset, searching for the perfect selfie angle.
I watch her without meaning to as I stir the food and dish up some pears and blueberries I brought along for more texture and fiber.
Why can’t I quit staring?
She takes maybe five pictures, flicks through them, changes the angle, her hair, the light on her face, and then takes another set.
She’s clearly focused on what she’s doing.
There’s something weirdly compelling about it when I realize she’s not just showing off for Instagram Likes. The image is all about building her brand.
I check the food to distract myself, though.
So what if she’s standing there, the dying light gilding her in rose gold?
Who cares if it’s the most picture-perfect pose I’ve ever seen?
Not my concern.
