37. Brighton #2
“I still hate camping.” She looks over at me, dead serious—except her cheeks are flushed and her eyes aren’t sad, so I know she’s lying.
“Mmhm,” I say. I open my mouth to suggest we start dinner when she screams at the top of her lungs. “What, what?” I step closer as she swats at herself, still yipping as she checks herself over.
“Something fucking bit me, Brighton!” she snaps and keeps looking for the bug's location.
“It’s probably just a mosquito,” I say, reaching out to try to calm her down, but she’s two seconds short of a full-blown mental breakdown with tears in her eyes as she rubs at her skin. “Rhea,” I try not to laugh as she whips off her sweater. “You’re alright.”
“What if that was a poisonous spider? Or a hornet!” She panics further.
“It wasn’t either of those things, it was probably a horse fly,” I tell her, and realize my mistake when her brown eyes widen in shock. “They’re not deadly, calm down.”
“Stop laughing at me!” She shoves, and I catch her wrist.
“Let me look.” I squeeze, and she finally inhales, her shoulders still tense and her eyes still searching around frantically.
My eyes scan over her skin, searching between patches of ink for any sign of a bite that might actually be worrisome, but I don't find anything except for the fact that her body is more distracting than I remember.
“It was up here somewhere.” She wiggles, pointing to her back.
“Turn around,” I tell her. She shifts on her feet, and I brush my hand across her back to move her ponytail out of the way.
Her skin is smooth and delicate beneath my rough, scarred hands.
I inhale because now both of us are a little panicked for very different reasons, and inspect her skin to avoid the feelings kicking up in the base of my stomach.
“Right there,” I say, finding a small red mark on her left shoulder blade.
“It’s just a horse fly bite,” I confirm.
“Stay here.” I move to the truck and grab the first aid kit from the truck.
When I return, Rhea is still searching around for the culprit, but she’s not going to find it.
If she finds anything, it’ll be a bigger bug that scares her more, and I try not to laugh at her hatred of them.
“Hold still,” I say to her, squeezing a little lotion onto my finger and massaging it into her skin.
“Are my limbs going to fall off?” she asks me nervously, and a chuckle leaves my throat.
“No, your arms and legs are safe. It might be itchy later, but this cream will help, and if you need more…” She turns to look at me as I finish.
“I really hate camping,” she reiterates.
“I know, Hellcat.” It takes everything in me not to fix the stray hairs that fly around her pretty face.
I want to thank her for coming out here, even though she hates it.
She’s out here for me, and I recognize the effort, the care.
It’s whether or not she’s out here as my friend that has me confused.
Every line I make in the sand seems to get destroyed by her, stomping around and making a mess. “Hey, you want s'mores for dinner?”
“S’mores for dinner?” She narrows her eyes at me like I’m playing a trick on her. "That feels way too fun for you."
“It’s a Boone special,” I tell her and wander from the tent.
“That makes so much more sense,” she scoffs. “How did he make s'mores special?”
“Grab the crackers from the bag,” I tell Daisy, and her face lights up with excitement when she realizes what we’re doing. I slide the cooler across the table and pop open the lid, digging inside for the two bags marked s’mores in Boone’s disgusting handwriting.
I hand them to her, and she starts to dig inside with a confused face, “Where’s the chocolate?” she asks, almost disappointed.
“Here,” Daisy holds it up with a smile.
Inside the bags are packages of precut cheese and meats.
“Cheese and cracker s’mores?” she questions, finally catching on.
“Uncle B’s favorite,” Daisy coos, and hands me the box of crackers. “Dad doesn’t like chocolate and complains a bunch about it, so we came up with this.”
“I do not,” I scowl at her, but she gives me a sharp glare that silently wins the argument.
“You don’t like chocolate?” Rhea laughs, finding it all amusing.
“Nope.” I take the bag from her and set everything out on a plate before stacking some of the ingredients together.
I show her how to do it so the cheese melts around the meat and holds everything together.
“Yeah, don’t let it burn,” I say to her as she starts chatting to Daisy without a care in the world for what she’s doing.
“I need the bathroom,” Daisy declares, swiping a lamp off the table, and Rhea offers to go with her, but she points to the shadows of the bathroom building in the distance. “It’s close. I’ll be okay.”
Rhea nods, her worry dissipating as Daisy wanders off into the night and becomes nothing but a little firebug with her lantern in the distance.
I wrap my hand around Rhea’s and take it from her, pulling her skewer back from the fire.
She watches me carefully as I tug it out of the cheese gently before putting my hand beneath it to prevent it from dripping on her skin as I hold it out to her.
“Careful,” I warn, but she’s not listening and burns her lip with a tiny inhale of pain.
“Impatient.” I scold, leaning in slowly to inspect her lip, I run my finger over it without thinking, and blow gently to apply some cool air to it.
Rhea’s eyes flicker to mine, the fire dancing behind them, and she freezes with a tiny smile.
“It’s hot,” she exhales, and a laugh trickles from her as she takes the smore, and my hand falls away from her face.
“Yeah, well, I warned you.” I shake my head, our faces still close together.
“You said be careful,” she teases, “that does not indicate that it’s hot enough to burn me.”
“That’s exactly what that means, Hellcat.” I scoff.
“Okay, well—next time talk to me like I’m a toddler,” she purrs, her eyes trickling down my face to my lips so slowly it causes my heart to race uncomfortably.
“You are a toddler,” I manage to say. Don’t kiss her, you idiot.
Rhea licks her bottom lip to soothe the burn.
Okay, maybe kiss her…
The air is tight, and the sound of the fire cracking and popping in the distance is the only thing reminding me that the world is still spinning, and time hasn’t completely stopped.
Just one. If she pushes you away, it’s fine, you’ve just ruined the first real friendship you’ve made outside your siblings in the last ten years.
“Rhea,” her name comes off my lips, and her entire body goes still at the sound.
If she doesn’t push you away, it might just be the best thing you’ve ever done on impulse. Are we impulsive, though? No. Not about this.
“Yeah?” she whispers.
Do it. I lean in closer, prepared to make the biggest mistake of my life.
“You know it’s pretty creepy out here in the dark!” Daisy’s voice booms from the shadows, and we split apart into our camping chairs with a silent rustle.