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“Nica, come meet Blake and Rachel.” Matt half-turns and holds out a hand.
I move closer, keeping an eye on the dog. “We met, remember? At least Blake and I did. At the chapel.”
“That doesn’t really count. Nica, this is my brother, Blake. Blake, Nica.”
I shake the country singer’s hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m envious of your little paradise out here. I haven’t seen any paparazzi this trip.”
Blake turns to look for the woman. “Rae, come meet Nica.” Then he turns back to me. “Yeah, once Boitano went back to Nashville, it’s been good. I’m the only real local, so it’s not worth his time, now that I’m off the market. This is my fiancée, Rachel Foster. And our dog, Kitty.”
I shake hands with the tall blonde and gingerly pat the wet animal’s head. “Nice to meet you. I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of experience with dogs.”
Rachel shrugs. “Not everyone can be so lucky. We were just about to take a break. Come on up.”
We troop back to the campsite. The dog shakes again, spraying everyone this time, and I squeal as the cold water hits my arms and face.
“Kitty, no!” Rachel banishes the dog to her bed on the far side of the campfire ring. It’s a metal ring that sits in the center of a circle of stones—it almost looks like a car wheel on its side. Rachel notices my confusion. “No campfires allowed at this time of year, so we fake it with a gas ring.” She points to the small green canister on the far side.
“Why can’t you have a wood fire?” I ask.
Her face goes blank—as if she can’t understand what I’m asking—then she blinks. “Right—you aren’t a local. It’s because fire risk is too high right now. We had a very dry spring. The folks in Munich Meadows have been evacuated twice in the last five years.” She frowns. “You’ve had some bad fires in California.”
I nod, slowly. “It never occurred to me a gas fire would be safer.”
“You have to make sure there is a clear ring around it, of course. And never leave it unattended. If a branch fell on it, that could be the end.” She waves at the picnic table. “We’ve got some snacks—help yourself if you’re hungry. Dinner won’t be for a while. I’m going to grab a T-shirt. It’s kinda cold under the trees.”
As Rachel and Blake disappear into the tent, Matt opens the cooler and pulls out a beer. “You want one? We’ve got cider, seltzer—hard and fruity—and water. I think there’s some diet soda, too.”
“I’ll have a seltzer. Non-alcoholic.”
He hands me a can then tosses a koozie at me. I slide the blue neoprene—emblazoned with a small white flower wearing boxing gloves and the words “Rotheberg High School Fighting Edelweiss”—onto my can. We settle into a pair of lounge chairs, and Matt shows me how to tip mine back and lock it into place. When Rachel emerges from the tent, wearing a clean T-shirt and shorts, I try to swing my feet to the ground, but I don’t go anywhere. “I’ve taken your chair.”
Rachel waves a hand as she crosses to the cooler to pull out a can. “No worries. I’ll take the hammock.” The dog gets up and follows her to the red and white fabric sagging between two trees. Kitty settles to the dirt with a heavy sigh, watching the woman as she adjusts one end of the sling. “You picked the worst possible place, Kitty.” She straddles the dog to sit back into the center of the hammock, then swings her legs up. Once she’s in, the dog’s head drops to her paws with a thud.
When Blake comes out of the tent, the dog’s head comes up again. She lurches to her feet and stumbles across the clearing toward the man.
“Traitor,” Rachel mumbles from within the folds of the hammock.
Blake pulls a beer and a plastic bowl out of the cooler. He pops the cover off the bowl and gives the dog something, then offers the container to me. “Carrot?”
“No, thanks, I’m good.”
He sets the bowl in the center of the table, gives the dog a stern look, then points to her bed. “One is all you get. Go lay down.”
The dog’s head droops, and she shuffles to the dog bed, plopping down with another heavy sigh. Blake chuckles and tosses another carrot to the dog who snaps it up.
“Don’t subvert my training, Hertzsprung,” Rachel says.
“How did you even see that?” Blake grabs a bag of chips from a crate behind the cooler and pulls it open.
“I’m a teacher. I always watch the troublemakers.”
Matt raises his can at the hammock. “He’s pretty predictable.”
The brothers argue inanely for a few moments, then silence falls over the campsite. The wind sways the trees above my head, adding a gentle background roar. I shiver a bit—although the sun is bright and warm, it’s chilly here in the shade.
Matt gets up and goes to the truck. He returns a few minutes later with a blanket which he drapes over me. “It’s warm in June, but probably not for a Californian.”
I tuck the fleece around my arms. “Thanks.” As the brothers chat quietly, my eyes drift closed, and warm contentment settles around me.
