Chapter 16 Ewan
EWAN
“Are you really that cold?”
Stepping out from the tent, her arms wrapped around herself inside my old hoodie, Maisey looks at me, incredulous, as if I just asked her to solve a word problem using hieroglyphics.
Her beautiful, luscious frame is dwarfed in the old, faded sweatshirt, but looking at her in it, my body can’t help but react.
Because she is gorgeous.
“Yes,” she replies, a shiver ripping through her. “I thought I was prepared for the temp to drop overnight, and I was fine snuggled up next to you all night, but I feel it never got warm today.”
“C’mere.”
I hold out my arm, ready for her to slip under it.
She’s not wrong; it didn’t warm up today as much as I expected, making last night’s lows feel even harsher.
Spring in Georgia can be wild and unpredictable, and this one is proving to be no different.
Still, Mother Nature gifted us a beautifully sunny day, even if it was on the cool side, perfect to spend playing in the river, fishing, and not having a care in the world.
Now back in my favorite clearing in the woods, I’ve got the fire going and dinner pretty much prepped, ready for a cozy night curled up with Maisey. Who is apparently as cold as if we were hanging out on Antarctica.
I scoot her in front of me so that she’s directly in front of the fire, and wrap myself around her. Letting out a sigh, she melts back into me, her muscles releasing under my hold.
“Do I need to go get the big blanket from the truck? Or are you gonna be okay?”
“Depends. Are you going to let go?”
I roll my eyes, shaking my head, but tighten my grip, nonetheless. Because when it comes to this woman, I’m a goner. I am putty in her hands, ready and willing to be molded into whatever she wants.
“I do have to make dinner at some point,” I tell her, pressing my lips to the top of her head.
The smell of her shampoo fills my nostrils, still potent from yesterday’s use, the unique, fruity scent triggering something in my brain.
Happiness. It’s a smell that I’ve always associated with her.
Any time I get a whiff of it, no matter where I am, my thoughts immediately go to the feel of her head on my chest. Of nights like this when we were teenagers—she complained about the cold then too—or movies on the couch.
Now, I get to add a tent display in my own store to that list too.
“I hope you packed something good, since we didn’t catch anything today. At least not something you were willing to keep.”
“Don’t worry, I came prepared.”
I give her a squeeze, then let go, stepping back. Maisey squeaks in objection, turning to follow me as I reach for the camping chair behind me. Motioning for her to sit, I reach for the cooler and the bag of camping cooking utensils, pulling them closer to us.
Then, I hand her the roasting stick.
“We’re having s’mores for dinner?”
“Better.”
“What’s better than s’m—”
I open the cooler, pulling out the pack of hot dogs. Maisey stops, eyes going wide, hands clasping over her mouth.
“Hot dogs…” She sighs. “I don’t think I’ve roasted hot dogs over a fire since…”
Trailing off, her face morphs as she tries to think.
To be fair, I can’t remember the last time I did it either.
Hot dogs are not a go-to food for me. I’ll grab one if I’m at a baseball game, or maybe at the Fourth of July picnic—although even then I’ll opt for a burger if I have the choice—but that’s about it.
Truth be told, I think the only reason we were roasting hot dogs that night when we were teenagers is because we happened to have some in the house.
“You know, I feel like that night couldn’t have been the last time, but for the life of me, I can’t think of another moment.”
I cut open the package, pull out a dog, and hold Maisey’s roasting stick steady as I slide it on.
Trying my best to keep my composure, despite all the dirty jokes I could make right now, I look up at my girl, her lips pressed together as she watches me.
It’s clear that her mind is moving the same way mine is.
Fuck, she’s amazing.
“Because you eat a lot of hot dogs?”
Maisey shakes her head, sticking her roaster into the flame. “Not even close. Very much an American food. In Europe, there are lots of wursts and sausages, but a hot dog, that’s pure ’Murica.”
I laugh, plopping down into my camp chair next to her and following suit, lining my roaster up next to hers.
“And don’t worry, I have the ketchup too.”
“I prefer mustard.”
What?!
Maisey makes a face, shrinking into herself, suddenly embarrassed by her admission.
“Depending on the country, ketchup was tough to find. And I never took to the whole mayo on my fries thing.” She shrugs. “So, I developed a taste for mustard. Fancy mustard, actually, but really, any kind works. So, that’s what we’re putting on this baby. Keep the ketchup for pacts.”
Smiling, I reach back into the cooler and pull out the small baggie I shoved in there earlier, holding it up to show it off.
The little white packets with red and black writing are a bit hard to read in the dark, reflecting the light of the fire as the flames flicker, but there’s no doubt what they are.
“Packets!”
“You were the one who liked it, not me, so I didn’t want to bring a whole bottle. Instead, I stole some packets from the cafeteria at Hayes headquarters.”
“But you have mustard, right?”
I scoff. Do I have mustard. Taking a minute to rotate the dogs, I reach back into the cooler, pulling out the bottle of stone ground mustard, showing it off like I belong on QVC.
“You know, this whole you and me thing might just work.” Sticking her tongue out at me, she takes the bottle, along with a bun from the bag I laid at our feet.
“You’d break up with me over the same condiment that was the whole reason you came back?” I quip, knowing it’ll get a rise out of her.
Only, it has the opposite effect.
Maisey’s face turns serious. She looks away, but not before I catch a softness in her eyes that tells me there’s something more there. Something that she’s been keeping to herself.
“That wasn’t the whole reason,” she says.
Her voice is so soft, and she’s still facing away from me, so I almost don’t hear it. Crackles and pops from the fire fill the silence, swallowing her statement whole, never letting it make it into the evening sky.
My stomach knots, tension moving through my muscles like sand through a timer, waiting for her to continue.
I don’t doubt her feelings for me, and we’ve already discussed how bad our communication was back then, leaving me curious as to where her mind is.
As much as I want to know what she means, I don’t want to push her.
Instead, I turn my focus back to dinner, silently taking her roasting stick from her and giving it another turn to make sure there is the perfect amount of crispiness to her dog. Once I’m satisfied, I remove it from the fire and load it into the bun.
Handing it to her, my fingers brush along hers, sending sparks flying.
It doesn’t matter that she’s been my best friend since forever or that she was gone for years.
Touching her—no matter how briefly or innocently—ignites my soul.
I would burn the entire world down if it meant getting to hold her hand, even for a few minutes. Because that would be enough.
“This is the real reason. This whole moment,” she whispers, stopping me and interlacing her fingers with mine.
Looking around us, she shrugs gently, as if she isn’t sure she’s making sense.
“Because in a whole bunch of years, I want our kids to be weirded out, yet oddly accepting, by us having a sex tent, the same way y’all are that Auggie and Miss Belle have a sex boat. ”
Our kids…
My heart stops, all of the oxygen sucked straight out of the universe with those two words. I know I need to react. Say something. Do something. But I’m too dumbfounded by how casually she throws out that future. A future I want so badly I can taste it.
“You get over the weirdness of Fishy Business pretty quickly as long as you don’t think about it as the sex boat,” I tell her, trying not to think about what my parents do on that boat.
The thirty-three-foot cabin cruiser was a gift from Auggie to Miss Belle when Willa graduated from college, since they were officially empty nesters and all seven of us were on the legit Hayes payroll and not his personal one.
As far as yachts go, it’s small and rather unassuming, with enough room for all of us to hang on it for a day, and a cabin that is big enough for basically one purpose.
A purpose that all of us adult children are well aware of.
Anyone who has ever met my parents knows they are still very much in love, even forty-plus years of marriage and seven kids later.
They’ve never hidden their PDA, flirting, or adoration of each other from us, always wanting to be a model of a loving, healthy relationship.
Something they very much are. Which is why we can tease them about their “sex boat” or “grown-up naps,” despite not wanting to think about my parents that way.
“Besides, we have our own boat for that,” I add.
Maisey blushes, the glow of the fire showing off the tinge in her cheeks just enough for me to see it. Squeezing her fingers with mine, I lean in, kissing her knuckles, loving that my vibrant, confident girl turns pink at the offer of getting frisky on the boat.
Definitely add that to the to-do list.
“So, sex tent, check. Sex boat, check. If you’re really feeling adventurous, we can add deer stand and duck blind to the list,” I offer, trying to be funny.
Maisey gives me the side-eye, and for a second, I think my joke didn’t land.
Shit. She’s going to think that’s all I’m thinking about now.
Or that I’m not taking her seriously. Because I am.
I want the same kind of relationship, and more than anything, I love that she’s thinking about our future together this way.