Chapter 23
Autumn
At the camping trip rendezvous site, Gabe Wilder, one of the owners of Wilder Adventures, hands out gear.
Backpack for me, backpack for Tucker.
Mega zip-bag full of snacks and fancy just-add-water dinners—one for me, one for Tucker.
Stove for Tucker and me to share.
Extra canister of gas for Tucker and me to share.
Two-person tent for Tucker and me to share.
Wait!
“Excuse me!” I call as the tall, bearded Viking veers toward the next group of people. “We need another—”
“Plate!” Tucker finishes for me.
“We can’t share a tent!” I hiss.
“We have to,” he murmurs back. “Unless you’re ready to tell her we’re not really together.” He inclines his head to where my sister is standing, a short distance away.
I shake my head. “I…uh, don’t think that’s a great idea…”
“Then we’re sharing a tent.”
Gabe comes back and presents us with another metal plate. I take it and keep my mouth shut.
“This is so fun!” Summer enthuses. “The camping trip is my favorite part of our whole plan. Except maybe for bachelorette prom!”
“I hate camping,” Dottie grouses, out of my sister’s earshot. “The ground is so hard.”
“My hair is going to be a nightmare tomorrow morning,” Jane’s friend Truth, a curly-haired person with an angel face, adds.
The hike is long but not oppressive, a couple of miles until we arrive at a private-feeling set of tenting sites along the Trevaharmet River.
It’s starting to get dark when we finish pitching our tent.
Meanwhile, Gabe has built a roaring campfire, and once we’ve finished cooking our high-end packaged camping meals over our little stove, we all sit around the campfire and roast marshmallows.
I toast a marshmallow till it falls off the stick, capture it with a piece of chocolate between two graham crackers, and savor the familiar and delicious treat.
Summer and Jane’s friends start telling ghost stories.
It gets loud and rowdy for a while, with the occasional shriek of genuine fright, but before long, people start dropping off one by one, heading back to their tents to sleep.
Tucker and I are among the last at the campfire, with Gabe and his wife, Lucy.
They’re a cute couple—she’s in marketing and PR, and Gabe has worked for his family’s outdoor-adventuring business since he was old enough to pitch in.
They have kids, who are home with their grandparents right now, so this is a rare getaway for Lucy and Gabe.
“How did you two meet?” I ask her.
“Oh,” she says. “Well. That’s a funny story. Gabe and his mom were locked in a battle about how to move ahead with the business, and his mom hired me to break the logjam. At that point I was—”
“She was this total city girl,” Gabe says, laughing. “High heels and high-maintenance hair and makeup—the works. And I had to show her the ropes of the business, which meant going out on the fishing boat and doing some camping and hunting, and she was—”
“—sooo out of my element,” Lucy says. “But Gabe wasn’t. He was—” She stops and smiles. “Oh my God, the competence porn,” she says, laughing. “He was so good at everything.”
“Don’t forget the shower situation,” he says.
“Oh, God, I did almost forget. I was staying in the upstairs guest room at Wilder Adventures, but the only shower was at Gabe’s place, so—”
They look at each other fondly. “Only one shower,” he says.
Tucker and I look at each other, then away.
For a brief, wild, moment, I imagine the two of us telling the story of this week years from now.
But no, that’s ridiculous. There’s no way this story has a happily-ever-after. Tucker has made it quite clear that he’s not interested in anything happening between us.
The fire has died almost all the way down, and Gabe puts out the remaining coals with water from the nearby river. He and Lucy go off to bed together, and Tucker and I drift toward our campsite. I can tell we’re both postponing the moment when we climb into that small tent together.
“Normally I’d say ladies first, for changing into pajamas,” Tuck says, “but whoever goes first is going to have to step out into the cold so the other person can change. So I’ll take that job.”
I shouldn’t be surprised anymore by his thoughtfulness, but it still catches me a bit off guard, in a good way.
He changes while I pee and brush my teeth a few strides away in the woods. He’s right—it’s gotten quite cold, and I would not have enjoyed standing out here, waiting for my turn to get back into the warmth.
Then he steps out and I crawl into the tent. I change into my PJs and climb into my sleeping bag, then call out softly that it’s okay for him to come back.
I have totally failed to brace myself for how it’s going to feel when Tucker comes back into the tent, his flashlight throwing darts of light against the walls.
It’s a small tent for two ordinary-sized people, and Tucker is not ordinary sized.
He tries to keep himself small, but as he lies down beside me, the tent shrinks to practically nonexistent with him inside.
I can smell the mint of his toothpaste and the exertion of the day on him, and both smells are so delicious and taunting that I have to turn myself away from him to avoid drawing a deep breath and giving myself away.
Even turned away, I’m hyperaware of the heat and size of his body.
I’m just going to pretend he’s not here.
“Autumn?” he asks, ruining that plan.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for helping with the vendor stuff today.”
“Of course,” I say. “Thanks for—” Suddenly it feels like so much, what he’s doing for me, even though I know he has his reasons. “Thanks for protecting me—”
My voice breaks. I wasn’t expecting that. I haven’t been feeling particularly vulnerable, but I realize in that moment that I’m so grateful for him for keeping me from focusing on that aspect of things.
“Oh. Hey,” he says from behind me. “It’s— Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Just a little—more emotional than I thought I was.”
“Do you…” There’s a long silence. “…want a hug?”
It’s so unexpected that for a second, I can’t respond at all.
Then it takes me another second to register how badly I want it, what he’s offering.
The comfort and warmth of his body. I turn in my sleeping bag and roll toward him, and his arms come around me.
God, he feels good—even through two thick layers of down.
He’s big and strong and hard all over, and his hug is fierce, enveloping.
I’m aware of my whole body right now, a craving in my chest, a hollowness in my low belly, a twining, wrapping want.
Breath huffs out of me, betraying me, and he makes a rough sound in response.
His flashlight’s still on, lying beside him, and it’s enough light that I can make out his face, close to mine, the way his eyes rake over me and settle on my mouth.
His gaze stays there while my body heats, and then I can’t help myself.
I close the distance with a hungry gasp.