Chapter 4
four
Tobias
“There, that should do it.” I tighten the last screw on the new piece of pipe I had to install.
Teddy said the last glamper mentioned low water pressure at checkout.
I should have fixed it before Kysa checked in, but I’m glad I didn’t, or I never would have met her.
The water temperature was another quick fix—now it should be perfect for Kysa to shower.
I turn away from the shower, but I can’t stop thinking it’s the perfect size for both of us, even if we’re giants by most standards. I find Kysa biting her lower lip again, as if she wants to ask me something but is trying hard not to. “Do you want to make S’mores?” the words rush out of her mouth.
“S’mores?” I repeat, so caught off guard by her question that all I can do is repeat what she said.
“I’ve never had S’mores before. I asked to have the tent stocked with supplies for making them when I booked it.”
Teddy’s more of a businessman than I’ve ever given him credit for. I never would have thought of stocking the glamping tents with food. Hell, our hunters and fishermen either cook what they catch or kill, or they bring junk food to eat.
“Sure. Why not?” It’s been years since I made S’mores, but by the look of excitement on her face, I’d make them for her every night.
“Yes.” She grabs my hand, leading me through her bedroom and out to the front of the tent, where a fire pit and Adirondack chairs are set up.
“You get the fire started, and I’ll grab the supplies.
” She lets go of my hand and turns to go back inside the tent, but I reach out and grip her arm, stopping her.
“What about your shower?” My fingers involuntarily squeeze her arm as I picture her gorgeous, curvy body covered in suds.
“I can shower later.” She gives me a heart-stopping smile that catches me off guard, and I let go of her arm, giving her a chance to slip into the tent.
The fire lights easily, ready in no time for her first attempt at making and eating S’mores.
She steps out of the tent, her arms filled with bags of marshmallows, a box of graham crackers, a couple of big chocolate bars, and two metal roasting sticks.
“I think I have everything.” She glances at the supplies in her arms, taking inventory.
“I think you have more than enough.” I get to my feet and take the items from her. “Sit.” I nod toward the chair closest to mine. “Watch while I make the first one, then you can give it a try.”
“Like it’s that hard.” She sticks out her lower lip in a cute little pout and crosses her arms over her chest.
“Okay, smarty-pants.” I set the S’more-making supplies in the chair on my other side.
“We’ll do it together.” I open the bag of marshmallows, grab two, place one on her roasting stick and one on mine, then hand hers back to her.
I line up the rest of the ingredients, handing her two halves of a graham cracker and a big chunk of the chocolate bar.
I place my marshmallow stick over the fire, letting the flames engulf it.
I watch her from the corner of my eye as she copies me, placing her roasting stick over the fire.
“See, it’s not that hard.” She mutters under her breath, making me laugh.
“Alright, you never finished telling me about yourself.” I rotate my stick, making sure to cook each side evenly, while she copies me.
“I’m a writer.” She looks into the flames, her eyes never meeting mine.
“What do you write?” By the way she’s nervously fidgeting in her seat, I’m pretty sure I already know the answer. But I want to hear her say it.
“I’m a romance author.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, almost like she’s embarrassed to admit it.
My mother used to read historical romance novels when I was growing up, featuring bare-chested men with long hair blowing in the breeze, clutching a damsel in distress. She probably still does, but now is not the time to think about my mother reading romance novels.
“What kind of romance novels?” I avoid eye contact and instead pull my marshmallow out of the fire, testing it with my fingers and finding it almost ready.
She jumps in surprise, and her marshmallow falls into the fire. “Damn it, I lost my marshmallow.”
“I’ll let you share mine if you tell me what kind of romance novels you write.” I busy myself building the S’more as I wait for her to answer.
“Fine.” I hear a muffled curse. “Mountain men.” She takes a deep breath and looks me directly in the eye. “I write romance novels about big, sexy mountain men.”
The S’more is halfway to my mouth when I realize what she said. “Come again?” Did she really just say she basically writes about me? Not to be conceited, but I’ve been told I’m sexy a time or two, just not by anyone who mattered.
“That’s what he tells her to do in most of my books.
” She giggles, jumping out of her chair, grabs my S’more from my hand, takes a big bite, and leaves me speechless.
“Mmm, it’s so good,” she says around a mouthful of ooey-gooey goodness.
“I can’t believe I’ve never had anything this good in my mouth before. ”
My mouth drops open, and I’m sure I look like a fish out of water. “What?” I finally choke out.
“What?” she repeats, licking a stray strand of marshmallow goo from her lips.
Snapping out of it, I lift my hand, running it over the white fluff still on her lip, then bring it to my mouth and lick it off. “You missed a spot. You’re right. I’ve never had anything this good in my mouth before, either.”
Her eyes drift to my lips, then back to mine. We both lean in until we’re only a few inches apart. I feel her warm breath caress my lips when a coyote off in the distance howls, making us jump apart and break the spell.
“I should take that shower now and go to bed. I have a big day tomorrow. You probably want to head home anyway.” She stands and steps by me.
I nod letting her pass, knowing darn well there’s no way I’m going to leave her out here in the woods by herself. Even though the tent is perfectly fine and the area is safe, I’m not going to take any chances with my future wife.