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“Good. Caught a couple of trout.”
“Same spot?”
“Uh-huh. It was super crowded, so I didn’t have high hopes. Did better than I was expecting to.”
I nod, then drink more beer.
“How far did you guys go?” Finn asks.
“Hazard’s Beach.”
He whistles, long and low. “Damn. That’s…what? Seven miles?”
“Eleven, according to my phone.”
Another whistle. An owl hoots in the distance, the low sound echoing through the trees.
“So you literally wore her down?”
I snort. “Sure.”
My stomach grumbles, wanting more sustenance than beer. I get up to grab a hot dog, lathering it with plenty of ketchup.
Grace appears beside me, reaching for the mustard. “Fishing sucked,” she informs me.
“No one made you come.”
“Jordan said it was just our group.”
“What do you have against Brooks?” I ask.
She huffs. “You know that’s not who I’m talking about.”
“No, I don’t, actually. Because Cassia is part of my group. She’s my girlfriend. She’s been my girlfriend for years. And she’ll be my girlfriend, up until the day I ask her to marry me. So whatever fantasyland you’re living in? Whatever lies you’re telling McKenzie or anyone else? We’re. Never. Going. To. Happen.”
I leave her standing there and return to my seat in one of the Adirondack chairs.
I eat and listen to the various conversations, not paying close attention to anything until Cassia reappears with wet hair. She grabs some food and then takes the seat closest to me.
I’m distracted by Finn shoving some of the fish he caught and cooked in my face. I take a tentative bite while he watches with rapt attention.
“Well?” he demands.
I chew carefully. “It’s not bad,” I decide.
That’s all the encouragement Finn needs to launch into a detailed recap of the fishing trip.
I let him talk. I feel bad for barely communicating this summer and for missing fishing today. This is usually our big weekend together, and it’s looked nothing like it typically does.
The s’mores fixings come out once everyone is finished with dinner.
I glance over as the marshmallows get passed around, registering the raised bumps on Cassia’s arms in the orange glow cast by the campfire.
I scootch forward in the chair, tugging my sweatshirt off and then tossing the ball of fabric so it drops into her lap.
“I’m fine,” Cassia says.
My response is just to sink back in my chair, barely registering the slight bite to the air. I think Cassia might roll her eyes, but it’s hard to tell in the dim light. She only hesitates for a second before she’s pulling the sweatshirt on. Then shocks the hell out of me by abandoning her spot to sit on my lap and lying back so her head is tucked beneath my chin.
