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That’s a question.
What on earth is wrong with me tonight? Must be a full moon or something. I’m thinking things I shouldn’t be thinking. About someone I definitely shouldn’t be thinking them about. He’s my ex’s best friend, for goodness sake. He’s my friend. The thought that one ill-considered move could ruin our friendship sends a shiver down my spine.
“Everything is always better with a full stomach,” he encourages, obviously mistaking my awkwardness for heartbreak. I decide to lean into that a little, hoping it might knock me out of my wayward thoughts.
“Well, to be honest, I was thinking about filling mine with vodka and forgetting all about it…”
He looks at me, askance.
I sigh. “Don’t worry. I’m kidding. Can you imagine…?”
“Yeah, I’m the one who would be greeting your dad with that news and to be honest, I don’t really fancy doing that…”
He shudders and I laugh. “Moderately drunk it is then.”
I hold up my beer, waiting for him to match his bottle to mine, but he pauses. “Nah, I still think that’s a bit more than the Major would be happy with.”
“Gently tipsy then?”
He laughs and clinks his bottle to mine. “Gently tipsy it is.”
I take a swig of beer and watch as he spears sausages and holds them into the flames. He is 100% the only person I would trust to cook me a sausage on an open fire. He’s been our campfire cook since we were teenagers and his flame cooking is something of an art form.
“I’ll put some beers in to chill.” I rise from his side with some reluctance. He nods. I take a case of beer and carry it to the tiny stream that runs over the sand. The shaded pool where the stream emerges from the woods has been our refrigerator for many long years and has never failed to chill our beers to the perfect temperature.
As I carefully place the last bottle into the crystal clear water, I pause for a second, trailing my hand in the cool water. The last rays of the summer sun fall across the mountaintops opposite our beach haven, gently warming my bare shoulders. The birds sing their evening song in a glorious tribute to the fading day.
I rise to my feet, rubbing my arm where the beauty of our home has raised goosebumps on my flesh. The hiss of the campfire catches my attention and I turn to see a cremated sausage falling into the flames.
“Damn it!” exclaims Corran, turning back towards the fire.
“It’s not like you to burn the food,” I observe as I re-join Corran on the log.
“Yeah,” he says, running his hand through his hair. “Got a bit distracted.” He pulls a sausage from the stick. “The survivors are ready. Want one?”
“Go on then.”
I take the proffered piece of meat, breaking its crispy, flame-flavored casing with my teeth and allowing the hot, peppery filling to run over my tongue. I wash it down with a slug of beer.
“Perfect,” I say.
Corran grins at my approval. “Well, you know what they say…”
“What?”
“The way to making sure a woman doesn’t end up needing to be poured into her father’s car is by making sure she has something in her stomach before embarking on getting ‘gently tipsy’.”
I laugh. “That is a well-known phrase indeed. I hear it all the time. I’m actually sure I saw it on a t-shirt the other day.”
“It is true. And anyway, it is not entirely altruistic. I do intend on putting some beers away myself tonight so I’d better get some food on board. Or I might end up spending the night sleeping on the beach.”
“Under the stars. Sounds lovely. Very romantic.”
“Not if I have to be in the recovery position.”
“No, that would put something of a dampener on the romance of the situation, I do agree. Speaking of romance, is Beth coming tonight?” I ask, trying to appear nonchalant about my friend’s latest squeeze.
“Nah,” he says flatly, stripping a piece of sausage from the stick and tossing it into his mouth. “We’re kind of, not a…thing…anymore.”
