Chapter Ten
Piper
Hours later, we finally reach our destination. Mom isn’t the cheerful, picture-snapping person she was when we left. She’s been slowing down for the last mile, her breath coming out in heavy puffs as she drags her feet along the trail. I’ve lost count of how many times she’s paused to admire the scenery, which is really just code for catching her breath.
Benson leads the way into a small clearing that’s tucked between tall pines. I’m relieved to finally take off my backpack. My shoulders ache, and my feet are screaming from the hike.
“Alright, this is it,” Benson announces, dropping his own pack to the ground as well. “We’ll set up camp here for the night.”
Mom lets out a dramatic sigh and practically collapses onto a nearby log. “Oh, thank goodness. I didn’t think we were ever going to get here.” She wipes her forehead with the back of her perfectly manicured hand, and for once, her perfectly styled hair is a bit disheveled.
“You okay, Mom? Need some water?”
She glares at me, but it’s more playful than angry. “I need more than water, Piper. I need a spa, a warm bath, and maybe a glass of wine—or three.”
Benson laughs as he starts unpacking. “Well, I’m fresh out of spas, but we can definitely get you some water. I even packed a bottle of wine for us to share.”
Mom nods approvingly. “You picked out a stellar guy, Piper.”
“Sure did,” I say, playing the part of the loving girlfriend. “Shall I help put up the tents?”
“Thanks, honey,” Benson replies with a wink. “Here’s yours and I’ll do mine.”
I frown. “And Mom’s tent?”
“Well, you and your mother have a tent, and so do I.”
Mom shakes her head. “That’s okay. I don’t need to share a tent with Piper. I need my space.”
My pulse quickens. “Mom, come on, I can’t share a tent with Benson.”
“Why not? You’re a couple. You can sleep next to each other, right? I’m sure Benson is a perfect gentleman.”
“That’s not—” I gulp, scrambling for an excuse. “Look, I thought we could use this time to bond. Mother and daughter.”
Mom shoots me a guilty look. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Piper. I mean, we can, if you insist. It’s just that I have an elaborate evening routine, and I don’t want to be disturbed while meditating.”
“Since when do you meditate?”
“Debby recommended it when I told her I had trouble sleeping. It works like a charm.”
I’m going to strangle Debby if I ever see her.
Benson smiles at her. “It’s okay, Claire. It would be weird for Piper and me to not share a tent. We’re practically engaged.”
Mom smiles. “Exactly.”
My eyes grow wide as I realize there’s no escaping this. I grab Benson by the arm and pull him aside so Mom doesn’t hear us. “You only brought two tents? You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”
“No, I figured you’d share one with your mother. I’m a strong guy, but you can’t expect me to carry supplies for three people, Pip. How was I supposed to know she’d kick you out so she could meditate? Besides, it’s kind of weird how bad you don’t want to share a tent. Your mother will get suspicious.”
I glance over at Mom, who is inspecting her sleeping bag like it’s an alien object.
“I honestly didn’t think your mother would be so adamant about having her own space. I just assumed she’d want to bond with you, you know, mother-daughter camping stuff,” Benson says as he follows my gaze.
“We need rules. I can’t share a tent with you without them.”
“You don’t trust me?” he asks with an arched eyebrow.
“Not really,” I say.
He leans closer, his breath warm on my skin. “If you sleep in my tent, your mother won’t be able to fire off questions about us.”
“So what, this is nothing but a safety precaution?”
He grins.
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s funny how hard you’re resisting this. It’s one night in a tent, Piper. You’ll stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine. You close your eyes, and bam, before you know it, it’s morning again.”
I bite my lip. “Fine. I guess we don’t have much of a choice.”
We walk back to my mother who’s on the phone with someone—Dad, by the sound of it.
“I’m telling you, Henry, this hike was unprecedented. We must’ve walked thirty miles.” She laughs. “I know, right?”
I bite back a laugh and share a look with Benson. We hiked ten miles today, but I don’t want to burst Mom’s bubble when she’s this happy about her accomplishment. Whether ten or thirty miles, the fact that she hiked it without giving up remains, and I’m proud of her.
Benson and I get to work on the tents, pitching them both within half an hour.
“Look at us working like a well-oiled machine,” he remarks.
“Don’t get used to it,” I say.
Although, deep down, I’m enjoying myself more than I thought I would. Sure, the whole only one tent thing was a surprise, but it might not be the end of the world. And like Benson said, we’re supposed to be in a relationship, so why wouldn’t I want to fall asleep next to him?
Mom finishes her call, looking pleased. “Your father says hello, Piper. I just told him how fantastic the day was and how well I did. He’s so proud of me for hiking that distance today.”
“You did great, Mom. You really pushed through,” I tell her, conveniently leaving out the parts of the day where she kept complaining about how horrible her feet felt or how many bugs were flying in her vicinity.
“Who’s hungry?” Benson asks as soon as the tents are up. “Today’s specials are grilled sausages over the campfire and toasted marshmallows for dessert.”
“And a salad?” Mom asks with a hopeful look in her eyes.
“Sorry, Mrs. Jennings, no vegetables today,” he says while starting a fire.
“Oh. Well, I guess it won’t hurt for one night. We’re really roughing it, aren’t we?”
I stifle a laugh at the idea of Mom, who’s used to her crisp salads and perfectly plated meals, trying to come to terms with dinner made over an open fire.
“Shall I help you with your sleeping pad, Mom?” I ask.
“That would be great.”
By the time I’ve arranged everything in her tent, the fire is roaring, and Benson is already busy making dinner.
“So, how about we get some photos of us making the sausages?” Mom suggests, her phone poised and ready. “It’ll be a great memory for us.”
“Mom, please, Benson doesn’t need you to take pictures of this.”
“I don’t mind my food being photographed,” Benson says, looking over his shoulder with a grin. “Let’s make it a good one.”
I roll my eyes and laugh, watching as Mom tries to get the perfect angle for her photo. Benson hands me a stick with a sausage already skewered on it and motions for me to hold it over the fire. I can’t help but notice how the warm glow of the fire highlights his features. He looks so relaxed and in his element, with a lazy smile playing on his lips. I almost forget how much he normally pushes my buttons. It’s a strange feeling, but one I can’t quite ignore because it’s so strong.
“Piper, get over here,” Mom calls, snapping photos of the sausages roasting. “We need you in the picture too.”
“Yeah, come on, honey,” Benson says.
I inch closer to him, my heart thudding in my chest as his arm slips around my shoulder. The warmth of his touch sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. It feels so good. So right. How is that possible? I’m supposed to hate him! But… even I can’t quite remember why. Sure, he insulted me once, years ago, but that feels like a lifetime away compared to how comfortable he feels now.
Mom gets her shot, and I try to focus on the moment rather than the way Benson’s arm feels like it belongs wrapped around me. As we pose, his hand lightly grazes my arm, and the casual contact sends a thrill through me that I can’t quite explain.
“Perfect!” Mom exclaims, reviewing the photos on her phone. “These are going to make the best memories.”
I manage a smile and nod, though my mind is buzzing. It’s hard to reconcile this easy, enjoyable moment with the old image of Benson I’ve been clinging to. Maybe he’s not the insufferable guy I remember—or maybe I’m finally seeing a different side of him. Either way, it’s clear that this camping trip is doing something unexpected to both of us.
As the meat sizzles over the fire, I steal glances at Benson, who’s now busy turning the sausages with a practiced hand. He catches my eye and grins, that lazy, relaxed smile of his still in place. I feel a flutter in my stomach, and for once, I’m not annoyed by him—it’s quite the opposite actually.