by Marie Meyer
The hiss of water hitting a hot burner pulls me back to reality. Bubbles and noodles topple over the brim of the pot. Steam and the acrid scent of burning starch fills the kitchen. “God. Damn. Shit.” I drop the spoon on the counter and scramble to turn off the burner. I grab the handle of the pot and scream, “FUCKME!” yanking my hand away.
I grab my wrist, holding my burned claw, and dance around the kitchen whimpering. “That’s it. I quit. I’m never cooking again.” My hand throbs, heat radiating off my palm.
Hopping over to the sink, I twist the cold water on, and run my hand under the stream. “Ahhhh,” I sigh, my clenched muscles relaxing.
“Ren?” Cayden says in the doorway. “What’s wrong?” He’s at my side in a matter of seconds. “I heard you scream.”
“I burned my hand.”
Cayden puts his hand in the water and pulls my curled fingers away from my palm. “Just a little pink.” His fingers examine my injury with the care of a seasoned nurse. “I think you’ll be all right, Gordon Ramsay.”
“Thanks.” Disappointment colors my voice. I wanted so badly to make him dinner. Albeit, macaroni and cheese from a box isn’t gourmet or anything, but it still pisses me off that I couldn’t accomplish this one menial task for him.
Cayden turns the water off and wraps a cool damp paper towel around my hand. “I have a first-aid kit in the bathroom.” He tugs on my elbow, leading me in that direction.
Shaking my head, I stop. “It’s fine, Cayden. Minor burns don’t require a dressing. It’ll heal better on its own.”
“You sure?”
“I am a nurse, remember.”
He sighs, struggling against his protective, got-to-fix-everything mind-set. And I do a little happy dance inside—my injury got him off the couch!
“Well, I screwed up lunch. And managed to destroy your kitchen in the process.” The stove is a mess. Thin wisps of smoke rise from blackened noodles still lying on the hot burner. I move toward the sink, thinking he might keep some cleaner underneath, but he grabs my waist and pulls me back.
Turning around, I look up into his sad eyes, the dull green of a plant that hasn’t been watered in days. I wish there was something I could do to help him through this, but unlike a plant, it’s not as easy to water a broken heart.
“Don’t worry about the mess,” he says softly. He folds his arms around me in a protective, tight embrace. Resting his head on top of mine, he holds me. “Thank you.”
I pull back, not enough to break our connection, but enough to see his face. “For what?”
“For being you.”
“It’s the only thing I’m good at.” I wink.
“Sweetheart, you’re good at a hell of a lot.” He smiles. It radiates from his lips, through the light blush of his scruffy cheeks, and touches his eyes. No longer droopy and sad, but a life-filled, vibrant green.
Huh. Maybe a soul can be watered.
“You know, I was thinking. I have the next two days off, and you”—I tap my index finger against his chest—“have a lot of time on your hands.”
“God, don’t remind me,” he moans.
I shake my head. “No, we should get out of town. Go somewhere, just the two of us. I was thinking, camping.” I bite my lip, hoping he doesn’t think my idea is stupid.
His eyebrow quirks up. “Camping? No offense, sweetheart, but you find one cache and you’re ready to pack it up and call nature a day.”
“I know. But this is something I really want to do…with you.” I tighten my grip on his waist.
“There will be bugs,” he warns.
“I’ll bring thirty cans of bug spray.”
His arms flex and a groan rumbles in his chest. “Hmm. You drive a hard bargain. I can’t resist you covered in the smell of DEET. It’s quite the turn-on.”
I wrinkle my nose. He’s so weird. “So, is that a yes?” My pulse accelerates with anticipation.
“Get your sleeping bag, sweetheart, looks like we’re going camping.”
“Ahh! Thank you, Cayden!” I jump, breaking the steel-cable hold he has around me. This will be so good for him. “Let’s leave today. Right now.”
He nods. “Okay. I’ve got a tent in the garage. But, don’t you need to get some things from your apartment? As cute as your heart-speckled scrubs are, they really aren’t meant for camping.”
I glance down at my pink scrubs covered in tiny red hearts. “You’re right.” Dammit. I want to leave now, before he has time to reconsider and plop back onto his couch. “We can stop by my place on our way to the campground.”
Cayden hugs me again, belly to belly. “I know you’re doing this for me. And I thank you.”
Smiling, I press up on my tiptoes and kiss him lightly. “You’ve been so sad, lonely. I’d do anything to make you happy, Cayden.” I kiss him again. “Make you dinner.” Kiss. “Burn down your kitchen.” Kiss. “Sleep with spiders.” I move in for another kiss, but his finger blocks my intended target.
“Hold it right there. I better be the only one sharing your sleeping bag.”
A shiver runs down my spine. “God, I hope so.”
* * *
Cayden punches in the code on the keypad of the garage and the motors kick in, raising the door. “Whose house is this again?” I ask, hoping we’re not adding breaking and entering to our camping must-do list.
“My Marine buddy Taz lives here. Before he deployed, he gave me his key and entry code. I’ve been looking after his house while he’s away. He’s got a lot of land, it’s secluded, and he won’t mind if we set up our little campsite out back.” With the tent, my bag, and his own slung on his back, and two chairs in his arms, he walks into the garage and motions for me to follow.
Dropping the chairs next to the door that leads to the house, Cayden opens it, and ushers me inside. “After you, sweetheart.”
The fading daylight isn’t able to penetrate the drawn shades, plunging the house into darkness until Cayden flips a switch and the kitchen brightens.
Taz’s house is more hunting lodge than contemporary home. The open floor plan leads from the kitchen right into the living room where five deer heads are mounted on the wall. The ceiling features the rustic exposed beams of a log cabin, and huge stone fireplace takes up one entire wall. It’s a beautiful home and I can see that Taz takes a lot of pride in maintaining it.
“Too bad we can’t just rough it in here,” I say longingly, strolling through the kitchen.
“You’re taking me camping, remember. I’m not going to let you beg out of it now. You’ve filled my head with too many pleasant images that I am planning on bringing to life.”
“Taz has no neighbors?”
“Not for a couple miles in each direction. He’s pretty secluded out here.”
“Okay,” I sigh, looking out the window. The wooded grounds, in all its bug-infested glory, stretches for miles. Put on your big-girl panties, Ren. You’re doing this for Cayden.
“Which way to Camp Sinclair?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Cayden
I lay the tinder in the fire pit and stack the kindling teepee-style before adding the firewood.
“You’re really good at that,” Ren says behind me.
I glance at her over my shoulder. “I’ve done it one or two times before.” She crouches next to me. “Want to do the honors?” I offer the matchbook.
“I don’t know,” she says hesitantly, biting her lip.
I nudge the matches into her hand. “Go on. Give it a try. I’ll walk you through it.”
Flipping open the matches she tears one from the book and closes the flap. Setting the match head on the striker, she cringes. “This is so not a good idea. You saw what I did to your kitchen with water and a box of macaroni. Now you’re giving me fire? I’m going to burn down Taz’s whole setup here.”
“Strike the match, Ren.” Doesn’t she know that I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her? She’s all I have left.
In one fluid motion, she d
rags the match across the striker and the flame bursts to life.
“Here’s the tinder.” I point, indicating the dried leaves, dryer lint, and small twigs. “That’s what you want to light.”
She feeds the match through the small opening I left in the teepee, working the small flame over the leaves.
“Good,” I coach. “You’re going to need to work quickly and light the tinder in different places. We want the fire to rise up and catch the kindling.”
The match burns down and Ren drops it into the tinder, hurrying to light another. “Now you’ve got the hang of it.” I bump her shoulder with mine. “We make a good team.”
She smiles at me. “Yeah, we do.”
“Step back a second.” With a long stick, I stoke the fire until it rises up in a crackling hiss, kindling sizzling. “Look at that.” The firewood on top starts to burn and our campfire is blazing. Hypnotic flames lick and dance across the sycamore logs, giving off an earthy, sweet scent—the traditional campfire smell infused with vanilla and tea.
She rubs her hands together, then places her palms outward, testing the heat. “It’s nice.”
Giving the stick in my hand a little toss, I catch it near the top. “How about some dinner? I make a mean campfire hotdog.”
When Ren turns her head, the flames reflect in her eyes, and I’m struck by how amazing she is. Just by being here, spending the night in the woods at the back of Taz’s property, bugs and all, she’s shouldering her fear to help pull me through mine.
“School me in the ways of roasted weenies, Campfire Chef. Stick me.” She holds out her hand.
Wagging my eyebrows, I pass her a stick and a cold dog. “With pleasure.”
She smirks, and takes the stick from my hand. “Always with your mind in the gutter.”
With a low growl, I grab her, hauling her close. “Not the gutter, sweetheart. But you and me in that sleeping bag…I haven’t been able to get my mind out of that yet.” I kiss her hard.
Breathless, she asks, “Is that a promise?”
“I always keep my promises.”
“Good. Because I’m going to hold you to that one.” She winks. “But first, I’m starving. The terrible cook we had earlier, the one who tried to make mac ’n’ cheese, she really fucked up lunch.”
“Don’t be too hard on her, she’s a superhero in disguise.”
Stepping out of my arms, she walks to her chair and snatches her faded red hoodie off the back. “Yeah, right.” She rolls her eyes.
She pulls on the sweatshirt, her curls bouncing as her head pops through the neck. On the front is the Superman insignia and the word “nurse” printed inside the “S.” She has no idea how super she truly is. She plops down in her camping chair and puts her hotdog on the end of her stick.
I point to her shirt. “I rest my case.”
Glancing down at her chest, she gives a lopsided smile and shakes her head. I can’t believe how fast I’ve fallen for this girl. Without her, I wouldn’t have gotten through Mom being sick, and I sure as hell wouldn’t have made it these last three days.
“O Campfire Chef,” she sings, pointing her stick at me. “How do I cook this thing?”
Dragging my chair next to hers, I ready my stick. I love sharing with her all the things my family enjoyed. It softens the blow that they’re gone and I’m the only one left.
“Like this.” I put my hotdog into the fire. “You want to put it near the base of the campfire, where the flames are blue. That’s the hottest part, your food will cook fastest there.”
Ren pushes her stick into the flames, right next to mine. Together, we roast our hotdogs, side by side, just like I used to do with Mom and Dad. In a way, this is like a passing of the torch from one family to the next.
After only a minute, Ren takes her stick from the fire and holds it close to her face, examining the hotdog. “Is it done?” She gives it a tentative poke. “Whoa, that sucker’s hot!” She pops her finger into her mouth.
I lean over and give it a once over. “It could go a little longer. It’s probably still cold on the inside.”
Wrinkling her nose up, Ren shoves the stick back into the fire. Two seconds later, she crosses her legs. Then her foot starts bobbing. I don’t know why I never realized it before, but Ren can’t sit still. Come to think of it, she’s always in motion. When we hold hands, she always sets them swinging between us. After we make love, she traces circles on my chest or back. Even when she’s asleep, she tosses and turns and her eyes flutter.
God, she makes me so happy. I love every single thing that makes her Ren. I know what Mom meant when she said to find peace in the simple things. My fidgety Ren brings peace to my war-weary soul.
The warmth of contentment spreads through my gut, pushing out in all directions like a compass rose, eating up all the pain I’ve felt the last few days…months…years.
I put a hand on her knee and she stops moving. Twisting her head in my direction, she asks, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, sweetheart. For once, there is nothing wrong.”
She smiles, all white teeth and kissable lips. “We should play a game,” she says. “When I was in college, my friends and I loved playing a game called Two Facts and a Fib. Ever played?”
“Nope.”
She gasps, appalled. “You are lucky to have me around, Cayden Sinclair. Your fun-o-meter is embarrassingly low.”
“You are so right about that.” Laughing, I pull my stick from the fire. The meat sizzles, sufficiently blackened and ready for some ketchup, mustard, and a bun.
“Oooh, is mine ready, too?” She draws it out again giving it another close examination.
I have to laugh; she is such a nurse. “Should be.”
“Great. Will you pass me a bun and the grape jelly?”
“Uhh, what did you just say?” My ears have failed me. Grape jelly?
She gives me a puzzled look. “Pass me a bun and the grape jelly, please?”
My face scrunches up in horror. “I did not pack any jelly, sweetheart.”
Leaning over me, Ren latches on to our large picnic basket and pulls it in front of her. Flipping it open, she rummages around and brings out a bottle of jelly and a bag of hotdog buns.
“You didn’t”—she sneers—“but I did.” Fitting her hotdog into the center of the bun, she turns her attention back to me. With the bun right in my face, she draws two generous lines of sticky, purple jelly over the hotdog, and takes a giant bite. “Ahhh…now this is a good dog,” she mumbles through a mouthful of jelly-covered hotdog.
My stomach churns, disgusted. “I cannot believe you just did that.”
“Mmm-mmm.”
“What did that dog ever do to you?”
Swallowing, she fishes a napkin from the basket and wipes her mouth. “When I was little, my grandpa used to put jelly on hotdogs. I picked it up from him.”
I run a line of mustard down one side of my dog, and a swipe of ketchup down the other side—because they can’t touch. “Well, I can’t fault you for keeping a family tradition alive. But later, we’re going to have to keep a Sinclair family tradition alive.”
“What’s that?” she asks, taking another bite of her hotdog.
“We’re going for a midnight swim.”
Mid-bite, her eyes go wide, and she lowers the hotdog from her mouth. “Where?”
Fear and anxiety sweep over her face. I want to wrap her up in my arms and prove to her in every way I can, that I will always keep her safe.
“The river.”
“Uh-uh. No way. I am not swimming in any river. Do you know how many things live in there?”
“The river that runs along Taz’s property is completely safe. I’ve been swimming there before.”
“No way. It’s not happening.”
Standing up, I step in front of her and squat down. I push her knees apart and lean in, our faces inches apart. “Do you trust me?”
Her eyes search mine, and she bobs her head reluctantly. “It’s real
ly a Sinclair family tradition?”
I nod. “Mom, Dad, and I would swim every night, after hotdogs and s’mores.”
Cringing, she rolls her head from side to side, warring with the idea of pleasing and refusing me. “Ooh, I really don’t like you right now, Sinclair,” she grumbles. “But I’ll do it on one condition.”
“What’s that?” I smirk.
“You have to take a bite of the Daniels family hotdog.”
“Lay it on me.” I open my mouth, showing no fear.
Ren brings her half-eaten hotdog to my mouth. I take a hesitant bite. The sweetness of the jelly and the savory hotdog isn’t the nauseating combination I expected. I chew more enthusiastically, mumbling around the food, “This isn’t bad.”
Ren’s face lights up and it takes my breath away. Leaning in, I kiss her, tasting jelly on her sweet lips. “Look at us, blending family traditions.”
“And making some new ones in the processes.” Her lips part against mine, in a ravishing grin.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Ren
We power down a package of hotdogs—after one bite of my jelly concoction, Cayden chooses to stay with his traditional ketchup and mustard—and now we’re onto s’mores, inching ever closer to my date with the river. Why did he have to eat my stupid hotdog? I’ve tried to change his mind: batting the eyelashes, pouting the lips, whispering all the things I’m going to do to him in the sleeping bag, nothing works. None of my ammunition is bring Cayden down. He’s adamant about sticking to the Sinclair Family’s Rules of Camping.
Well, I’m going to make this the longest lasting s’more on the face of the earth. I glance over my shoulder, toward the woods, knowing the river lies just beyond. Why on earth did I suggest camping? My stomach churns, nervousness twisting my guts into a pretzel.
Snuggling into Cayden’s lap, I shove a marshmallow on the end of my stick, and put it into the hottest part of the fire, the blue flame at the base, just like he told me earlier. With his head resting on my shoulder and his arms in a protective circle around me, I watch as the marshmallow shrivels and bubbles, transforming from white, to light brown, before igniting into a yellow flame. I love that part, watching it combust, when the marshmallow can’t take any more heat and it bursts into a glowing ball of fire. When Cayden makes love to me, that’s how I feel, like I’ll burn up in all of his desire. There’s no better feeling in the world then to be consumed so wholly, inside and out, and every place in between.
