Chapter Fourteen #2
Sydney nearly asked, What’s your kind of love story then, but knew better than to pull the thread on that topic.
Another bright idea to scare Morgan away.
Who knew Morgan might just pack her bags and convince another camper to take her home to Carmel?
If Sydney’s curse had any hand to play, Morgan might just fall in love with the driver and the two would live happily ever after while Sydney rued the day she ever invited Morgan camping.
Morgan dropped her arms to the sides and then clapped her hands together. “So, where’s the communal kitchen with the coffee machine?”
Sydney laughed. If the woman hadn’t figured out by now that there was no communal kitchen, then she probably wouldn’t be too pleased when Sydney had to explain to her later that if you wanted to avoid any foot fungi, it was mandatory to wear sandals in the shower.
“No coffee machine, just a gas stove top and a BrewMaster Classic.”
“BrewMaster?” Morgan frowned.
“The best stovetop espresso maker out there.” Sydney ambled over to one of the two ammo boxes sitting beneath the redwood and pulled a small container from it.
She then walked back to where Morgan was leaning with her hip against the edge of the picnic table, her grey eyes intense, watching Sydney like a hawk.
“Let me show you how to make real camping coffee,” Sydney said, filling the bottom chamber with water before she added coffee grounds to the filter.
“Smells delightful,” Morgan said, leaning in closer to Sydney. She filled up the space beside her until Sydney could barely focus on reassembling the espresso maker. All she could think about was how Morgan smelled like pine needles, lemongrass, and something sweet, like coconut.
“Of course it does,” she said. “Coffee at a campsite naturally tastes and smells better than usual. It’s science.”
“Is that so?”
Sydney nodded, biting at her lip, because all she really wanted to do was to smack her lips against Morgan, and to take her right there on that table.
Instead, she lit the burner, the small flame flickering under the metal pot, and stepped back.
“You should get yourself one. Or better yet, when’s your birthday? I’ll get you one.”
“No need. This is my first and last camping trip,” Morgan said, avoiding one of the many things Sydney wanted to know about the woman. She was desperate to know whether their star signs were compatible.
“Doubt it,” Sydney said, catching Morgan’s eye. “By the end of the weekend, you’ll have caught the bug.”
“I’m assuming that’s the camping bug and not some sort of lethal bacterial infection from the water.”
“Exactly.”
After a few minutes, the espresso maker started to gurgle as the rich, dark liquid slowly filled the top chamber. Sydney poured the coffee into two tin mugs and handed one to Morgan, their fingers brushing just like they had a hundred times already since arriving at the campsite.
“Simple,” Morgan said.
“A hell of a lot easier than neurosurgery,” Sydney agreed, watching Morgan over the rim of her cup as she took the first sip.
“I don’t know,” Morgan shrugged. She sat down at the edge of the picnic seat, crossed her lovely pale legs, and brought the cup to her lips. “Camping still seems harder than surgery.”
“I doubt that.”
“It’s true. I feel so out of control here. At least in the OR, I know what I’m doing.”
“Well, if I ever have a brain tumor, I’ll request you specifically.”
Morgan’s face fell.
“What?” Sydney grinned. “Will you be upset if I end up on your surgical table? Will you cry if I die?”
“Of course I will.” Morgan’s voice was so genuine that Sydney felt a flutter of something warm rise up from her chest. It was meant to be a joke—admittedly a terrible one—and Sydney had expected her to laugh it off.
But the look on Morgan’s face was deadly serious.
“Take it back,” Morgan said sharply. “Jokes like that are not funny, Sydney. Now take it back.”
“Fine. I take it back,” Sydney replied. Her brows dipped while her lips were quirked up. She wasn’t sure how to feel.
Morgan’s face smoothed out, yet whatever lighthearted banter had existed between them was gone. It had evaporated like mist in the morning sun. Morgan seemed to notice it, too. She placed the coffee on the table, rose, and walked off, leaving Sydney wondering where the hell she had gone wrong.
“What’s up with her?” Liv asked, sauntering toward the picnic table with her red hair pulled back into a tight bun. She whipped her head back over her shoulder to watch Morgan march off to who knew where. “Did you two have a fight?”
“I don’t know,” Sydney said honestly. “I just made a joke about dying.”
Liv’s face scrunched and when she spoke it was seeped in sarcasm. “Oh, how romantic, Sydney. Of course, she’s going to fall madly in love with you with jokes like that.”
Sydney shot Liv a frustrated look. Though in all honesty, whatever had just happened had given her more clarity than she’d expected. Death was clearly a sensitive subject for Morgan.
The question was, who had died?