by Sarra Cannon
“Rules?”
“Yeah, like whether I can pick it up from just anywhere, or if I have to find some at our own site, or what?”
Mason picks up a large leather case and flips it open. Inside is a small axe with a worn wooden handle. The blade, though, shines like its just been sharpened. “Firewood is really more of a man’s job,” he says. “But you can come with me, if you want. Help me carry it.”
“No thanks,” I say. “I’ll stay here. I just need a little direction on what you want done.”
“Are you sure you’re okay? Because when I left you were smiling and when I walked back…” His voice trails off as points toward the path. He presses the palm of his hand against his forehead. “You’re mad because I was talking to that girl?”
“Is that what you call it?”
He makes a frustrated noise in his throat. “Yes, that’s exactly what I call it,” he says. “She was telling me about the festival. I thought you’d be interested in it too.”
“And you didn’t notice how hot she is? Or how much she was flirting with you?”
He sighs and picks up the hatchet. With one hard swing, he buries the tip of the blade into a stump. “Is this how it’s going to be, then? The whole trip you’re going to be watching me like a hawk, freaking out every time I talk to another girl?”
“I’m not freaking out.” I struggle to keep my voice down. From the corner of my eye, I can already see our neighbors turning around in their chairs to listen. “I just thought we agreed you weren’t going to flirt with other women while we were together.”
“Then I guess we damn well better define what you mean by flirt, because in my mind, that’s not at all what I was doing with her,” he says. He steps closer to me, not trying at all to keep his voice down. “Now, if I’d told her she was a fine piece of ass, that would be crossing the line, but as I see it, talking to a nice girl about an upcoming music festival that I would like you and I to attend together is completely harmless. And if you’re going to hover over me the whole time, then maybe you should get on the next bus back to Fairhope.”
I stomp one foot in the sand. “You’re the one turning this into a big deal,” I say. “I was doing my best to ignore it and keep a good attitude. You’re the one who disappeared for more than half an hour, leaving me here to fend for myself.”
He opens his mouth and lifts his hand like he’s going to say something, then makes a fist and shuts his jaw with a snap. He takes a deep breath, then leans down and pulls the hatchet from the ground. “I’m going to get some firewood,” he says. “I’ll be back later.”
Regret seeps into my bones. I didn’t want this to turn into a big argument, but I’ve seen him parade girls like that right under my nose a thousand times. I don’t want to see it happen again. Not now. Not when I have so much to lose.
“Wait,” I call out to him. He turns. “What am I supposed to do while your gone?”
“You’re a big girl,” he says. “Figure it out.”
He walks away, heading into the wooded area past the camping sites. I stand there staring after him until he’s too far in for me to see him through the trees.
I turn and the woman with the big tent is just standing there, staring at us with a big grin on her face. When I narrow my eyes at her, she just shakes her head and lifts her red cup toward me in a salute.
I’m pretty sure I’ve never felt more lost in my life.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
I stand there, staring at the scattered tent pieces and the bags all around me. There’s a tug deep inside my gut that says I should just give up and go home. That Mason was right. I’m not cut out for this. I have never really lived without my parents standing right behind me, ready to pick up the pieces when I fall apart.
That’s what they did when I was eight years old and fell out of a tree. I had been climbing high, trying to prove to Preston and his friends that a girl could climb just as well as any boy. I got almost as high as Preston when I lost my footing and fell to the ground. I broke my leg and hit my head on a rock. My mom was more worried about the future scar that would be left on my forehead than anything else. The leg would heal, but she was horrified by the thought of that scar.
She was on the phone with a plastic surgeon in the ambulance on the way to the hospital and by morning, I’d already had surgery on my face.
I lift my hand now and feel the place where the scar would have been. Instead, the skin is smooth and perfect, almost no sign of the mistake I’d made when I was a little girl.
And they’d done the same thing a few days ago when I crashed that car. Driving drunk is one of the dumbest things I’ve ever done in my life. I could have died. I could have killed someone else. I probably deserved to go to jail or to have my license suspended.
But Tripp Wright’s daughter can’t have a spot on her record like that. So they fixed it.
Money can fix almost anything.
But it can’t fix your heart. And it can’t make you a better person.
I want what Mason wants. I want to be a better person. The kind of person who appreciates what she has and who sees the best in others instead of someone who automatically assumes everyone has ulterior motives.
I stare down at the tent and know that if I give up now and go home, I’ll spend the rest of my life under the wings of my parents and their money. I’ll never really learn to do anything for myself. I’ll never have the chance to really know what I’m capable of.
And what is that going to teach my child someday?
I’m being pulled in two different directions. I don’t want life to be hard. I like having money. But at the same time, I don’t want to be the kind of person who never really experiences life. I don’t want to live on a pedestal anymore.
I bend over and take the first piece of metal in my hand. I can do this, right? How hard can it really be to put a tent together? I study the various pieces, putting myself into it. I figure out which side is the bottom of the tent and spread it out on the smoothest part of the ground. Then, I start putting the stakes in the ground, tying them off. The ground is soft, so getting them into the ground turns out to be a lot easier than I thought it would be.
The whole thing falls over on me twice before I really figure out how it works, but I’m getting there.
I see the men by the fire have all turned their chairs around to watch me and the woman with her red cup is still standing there with that grin on her face. They might be getting a kick out of this, but at least I’m not giving up.
By the time Mason comes back, the tent is more than halfway put together. I’m sitting on the ground unraveling the last part of the rope when he comes up. My hands are super dirty, so I stand up and rub them against my shorts.
He’s got firewood piled up high in a stack against his chest. I rush over to take some and after a brief look of surprise, he unloads a few pieces onto my arms.
“Thanks,” he says. Then he notices the tent. “Holy shit, you did this?”
I stand straight and proud. “Yep, all by myself. I had a couple false starts, but it started making more sense the further I got into it.”
“It looks great. I’m impressed.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Looks like you got a lot of good firewood.”
“Should be enough for a couple of nights, anyway.”
He dumps all the wood onto the ground near the fire pit, then starts stacking them up in a neat pile. I go back to finishing up my work on the tent while he gets a fire going. The sun is starting to set in the distance and the woods take on a pink and orange glow. I hear the crackling of several fires around us and as I look out across the park, I can see at least ten different fires and campsites with families, friends and couples all enjoying one last vacation before the end of summer.
“I’m in shock that you pulled this off,” Mason says.
He walks around checking the stakes and pushing them down just a little further into the ground. He takes one completely out and backs it up
about an inch. “You want to make sure the tension is nice and tight,” he says. “That way the top of the tent is completely raised up. See?”
The side of the tent comes out and the fabric is more taut. I nod, then stand back and take in the whole scene. “I can’t believe I really did that on my own,” I say. I run a weary hand across my forehead and smile. “I’m camping.”
He laughs and steps closer to me. He runs his hand over my forehead and little pieces of dirt fall away. I make a face and reach up to rub it clean, but my hands are so dirty, I think I’m only making it worse.
Mason puts his arm around me. It’s the first time he’s touched me since our argument. “No matter how long I’ve known you, Penny Wright, you keep finding ways to surprise me.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“Dog me,” I say with a giggle, holding my stick out toward Mason.
We’re sitting together on a large log Mason brought over from the empty campsite next to ours. He takes a hotdog from the cooler and spears it with the end of the stick. I hold it over the fire.
“I haven’t had a hotdog since I was little,” I say. “My mom never lets us eat stuff like this.”
Mason puts a hotdog on his own stick and puts it practically right into the fire.
“You’re gonna burn it,” I say.
“No I won’t,” he says, bumping me with his arm. “Mine will just be ready faster. Yours is the one that’s not going to be ready until midnight with as far as you’re holding it up.”
I scoot a little closer to him, wanting to feel the warmth of his body against mine. I regret not packing a sweatshirt.
“Hey, I’m really sorry about earlier,” I say after we’ve been quiet for a minute. “I am just so used to seeing you with other girls that I just assumed you were flirting with her. I hope you can at least try to see it from my point of view.”
“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry I got so angry. I made a promise to you, though. No other women. I’m going to stick to that, Pen. You have to trust me.”
I suck in a breath. Trust. That’s a very tricky word, especially when it comes to Mason. I know he cares about me and would do anything in the world to keep me safe. But when it comes to my heart, he’s broken it too many times to count.
“I want to trust you,” I say. “But at the same time, we’re doing something crazy here. At the end of this, no matter how I feel, you can just walk away.”
“If that’s all you’re going to think about this whole trip, then it’s over before it really began, isn’t it?”
I look over at him. Shadows dance across his features. Is he saying he’s wanting to give this a real chance? I have no idea how I’m going to survive this when it’s over. I think about raising a baby on my own and it’s almost too much to take.
But how can I expect him to change in just a few short weeks?
Maybe I’ve gotten us into an impossible situation here.
He pulls his hotdog from the fire and studies it. “Dammit.”
I look over and see that one entire side is burnt to a crisp and I laugh. “Ha! Told you you’d burn it.”
I pull mine from the fire and look at it. It’s a perfect brown all the way around. He looks over and before I can stop him, grabs the hotdog off my stick and stuffs it into his bun and takes a bite.
“Hey,” I shout. I drop my stick and tackle him.
He falls to the ground, the half-eaten hotdog still in one hand. I straddle him and put my hands against his chest.
“Give me my perfect hotdog,” I say.
“Or what?” He lifts one eyebrow and even in the dim light of the fire, I can see his eyes are filled with mischief.
“Or I’ll keep the sleeping bag all to myself tonight,” I say.
“Well, that’s not an option,” he says.
Under my hands, I can feel his heart racing as his eyes search my face.
He drops the hotdog into the dirt and grabs my hips. He lifts up and crushes my mouth with his, pressing hard against me, exploring me with a hunger he’s never shown.
I respond with my whole body. I can’t get close enough to him. He pulls me into his arms and I wrap my legs around him. My hands run over his arms, his face, through his hair.
He parts his lips, drawing me in with his tongue. Passion explodes in my core, and I want more. I want all of him.
I tug on his hair and grind my body into his, feeling him growing excited through his jeans as he presses against me. He groans and moves his kisses to my chin and neck. His hands play with the hem of my tank top, then slip underneath, caressing the skin on my back and at my waist.
I lean my head back, giving him access, but it’s not enough. I pull his head back and take his mouth again.
Behind us, the fire roars. Sweat trickles down the back of my neck and down the center of my spine.
“I want you,” he says, pulling away. He’s out of breath.
“Then take me.” I meet his eyes. “I’m yours, Mason.”
He stands, lifting me in one smooth, strong motion, then carries me into the tent. He doesn’t even bother zipping it back up behind us.
He lays me down on the sleeping bag, then lifts his shirt over his head and throws it to the side. The light of the fire flickers against the tent, illuminating the shadows around his muscles.
His body is perfection and even though I’ve seen it a thousand times, I want nothing more than to touch him again. Consume him. Explore every inch of him.
I lean up, reaching for the button on his jeans.
He moans and I look up, meeting his eyes in the semi-darkness as I unbutton, then unzip his pants. His eyes are dark and full of need. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I’m addicted to that look. I’d let him break me a hundred times as long as I never had to live without that look.
I know it’s wrong, but I can’t help it. I love him. Tonight, I feel it more than ever.
Impatient, he finishes for me, pulling his pants off and tossing them in a pile with his shirt. I touch the band of elastic on his boxers and help him pull them down over his erection. I’m instantly wet at the sight of him, needing to touch him and feel him against me. But when I reach for him, he gently pushes me back, delaying my touch.
I’m breathless, gasping for air, but only needing him to survive.
My body burns for him. Exists for him. And when his hands find me, my body trembles at his touch.
He undresses me with furious urgency, and in seconds I’m laying under him, naked and begging. I writhe against the ground, my hands reaching up to slip around his waist. My nails scratch against his back, pulling him down until his skin meets mine.
I open for him. Ache for him. And finally, he lowers himself fully onto me, slipping inside. The first seconds are full of a beautiful ache as my body stretches to receive him, then welcomes him as he pushes all the way.
We move together with passion and need. A push and pull that somehow feels different this time. I’m not sure if it’s because of the way we opened up to each other or if it’s from the excitement of being alone on this adventure, but we’re more connected. More in sync with each other, our bodies moving to meet each other’s needs at every turn.
And when he comes, he’s looking deep into my eyes. The passion there sets off a firework of emotions inside of me. Our bodies tremble together and I cling to him with the hope of the last few years, wondering if maybe, for the first time since I’ve loved him, he’s feeling something like love for me, too.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The next morning, I wake up in his arms.
All the times we’ve been together, we’ve never actually slept together like this, and I want to enjoy these first few moments before he wakes. I snuggle into the crook of his arm and look up at his face. He looks so peaceful and perfect.
His dark blond hair is a mess, and I smile as I think of how many times I must have run my hands through his hair last night.
At some point in the night, he must have zipped u
p the tent and pulled the sleeping bag over us. We’re still naked and one of my legs is looped with his. I realize the best feeling in the world is the warmth of his naked skin against mine.
Even if this can’t last, I think, it was all worth it for this moment right here. For this one night we shared when I felt love from him. Even if he never admits it or says it out loud, I felt the stirrings of it, and I will never forget it as long as I live.
His eyes flutter open and he smiles when he sees me watching him.
“Morning,” he says. He kisses my forehead and I snuggle my face against his chest.
“Good morning,” I say.
“Last night was amazing,” he says. His voice is husky this early in the morning and it sends an electricity through me.
“Yes,” I say. “If I had known how much fun camping out in tents could be, I would have suggested this a long time ago.”
He sits up a little. “Hey, that’s right. You survived your first night in a tent,” he says. “Penelope Wright slept naked in the great outdoors. No one back home would believe me.”
I laugh and sit up, the sleeping bag slipping down to my waist as I lift my arms and stretch. My body is a little achy from sleeping on the hard ground, but mostly I just feel happy.
“You’ve got to stop that,” he says.
When I look over, I see that he’s staring at my breasts.
“Stop what?” I ask, playing innocent.
He groans and pulls me into his arms. “You know what.”
He kisses me, but it’s not the same hungry kind of kiss from last night. This is a soft kiss that says he’s exactly where he wants to be.
“If we don’t get up now, we’re going to lose the whole day,” he says. “Because I’m never going to want to leave this tent.”
“Who says we have to leave?” I ask.
“Don’t tempt me,” he says. He gets up and pulls his discarded clothes back on his body.
He searches the sleeping bag for my clothes, then tosses them to me.
“Come on, get dressed,” he says, a smile playing at his lips. “I don’t know about you, but I’m suddenly very hungry for pancakes.”