“Yes, she’s with Dr. Beau.”
“Uhh . . . what?” I ask.
“Apparently he was driving back into town and spotted her on a hike. He had to redo her cast. She’s fine, though.”
“Oh, okay. And you’re sure you’re okay. Dad’s okay? He has his medicine?”
“You know I always carry it with me. Now stop worrying and enjoy your night with Larkin.”
“Don’t say it like that,” I say.
“Like what, dear?”
I lower my voice. “Like something is going to happen.”
“I would never imply such a thing. She’s your assistant, after all.”
“Goodbye, Mom.”
“Bye, sweetie.”
I hang up and toss my phone on the bed. I borrowed a pair of sweatpants from my dad—crotch still intact—and I head down to the main level, where Larkin is currently making pasta and sauce because that was what was in the pantry.
When I reach the kitchen, I catch her swaying to the simple instrumental music playing in the old CD player attached to the bottom side of the cabinets. Her hair is pulled up into a bun, and she’s still in her leggings, but she borrowed one of my old Watchful Wanderers sweatshirts that was hanging in my closet, which looks . . . hell, it looks damn good on her.
But the best part is that she’s not actually cooking on the stove or with my parents’ pots and pans.
Instead, she broke out the camping gear that was in the garage, set the cooking utensils up in the kitchen, and then, in the living room . . . you guessed it, she put up the two-person tent. To top off the night, she moved the couch cushions around the space to look like “boulders” and is using my parents’ wood-burning fireplace as our “firepit.” It’s creative, cute, and is setting the tone for what’s to come in this journey of “finding myself.”
Once the storm intensified, we both thought it would be smart to stay in place until it was over. It hasn’t let up yet, so Larkin chose to get started on sharing her childhood with me, which includes faux camping and all.
“Need any help?” I ask.
With a satisfied smile stretched across her lips, she looks over her shoulder. “I’m just about done. How are your parents?”
“Good. They’re staying at their friends’ house tonight.”
A loud crack of thunder shakes the house, and Larkin scrunches her shoulders for a brief pause before relaxing. “Good, and how’s the fire?”
Another rumble, a blast of light, and then . . . black.
The lights flicker off.
The clocks on the fridge and microwave go blank.
And the hum of the house settles to a peaceful quiet, allowing the bellowing beats of the storm to fill the silence.
“Did the power just go out?” she asks.
“I believe so.”
“Well, it’s a good thing we’re camping, then, huh?” she says in a cheery voice. Nothing seems to get this girl down. Always positive. One of her finest qualities. One of the reasons I find myself drawn to her all the time. “So, is the fire started?”
“It is,” I answer.
“Perfect, let me plate dinner and grab some utensils, and I’ll meet you by the fire. Can you snag some drinks from the cooler for us?”
Yes, we even have a cooler.
When she was planning out tonight, she didn’t want to miss one opportunity to bring camping full circle. And she was so excited that there was no way I could say no. So, I went with her plan, which seems to be turning into a perfect evening, even if the lights did go out.
“Sure.” I head to the living room, which is lit up by the fire I started—I’m not completely incompetent; I do have survival skills—and open the cooler, where we have drinks shoved up against ice packs. I grab two Diet Mountain Dews and then shut the cooler just as Larkin walks toward me, the cooking pot in one hand, a towel protecting her hand from the heated bottom, and two forks. “No bowls?” I ask.
“Why dirty more things when you can eat straight from the pot?” She takes a seat on the blanket I laid out on the floor and pats the spot next to her. “Sit, enjoy the fire, have some cheesy pasta with sauce.”
“Cheesy, huh?” I ask, taking a seat near her, but not too close.
“It’s how my dad used to make it. He would boil the pasta, heat up the sauce, and then mix them together with a pack of mozzarella. It was a special addition to a simple meal that Beau and I loved as kids.” She pats the spot right next to her again. “If you want to share this pot with me, you’re going to have to sit closer. I’m ravenous and can’t guarantee I’ll share well if you’re too far away.”
I scoot closer so our shoulders are brushing. I’m not sure if I’ve ever been this close to her before. Her usual perfume has a soft floral scent to it, and it’s that much stronger now without an inch of space between us. I like it.
“Thank you for making dinner.” I take a fork from her and dip it in the pot, pulling out a very cheesy piece of rigatoni.
“It was my pleasure. It really made me think of my dad, which was exactly what I needed on this rainy day.”
“Are you missing him?” I ask.
“I always miss him, but he used to love storms. He’d sit out on the deck and just watch the lightning and thunder roll through. Water would seep through the cracks of the covered porch, but he wouldn’t care. He’d just rock in his chair and enjoy Mother Nature at her finest. I’d join him whenever Mom allowed it, and we’d spend hours just rocking back and forth, getting wet, and listening.”
“Sounds peaceful.”
“It was. One of the many things we would do together. But when we were camping, just like this, in a small tent, right next to a firepit, Dad would make this meal the first night, and he always dumped in a huge block of cheese. Beau, Dad, and I would hover over the pot and eat, knocking at each other’s forks and trying to eat the most. Beau always won.”
“Are you competing against me now?” I ask, playfully knocking her fork away. Her eyes light up, and she knocks back at mine.
“No, but I can compete if you want. You’ve never seen me shovel food in my mouth, but there’s a first time for everything.”
I chuckle. “As much fun as that seems, I’d rather enjoy this. It’s really good.”
“It’s the cheese,” she says on a sigh.
“Was your mom ever into camping?”
Larkin shakes her head. “Not really. She wasn’t much of a nature person. She was also sick for most of my freshman year in high school, so she would stay home and encourage us to go camping. Beau would sometimes stay home with Mom, and it would just be me and Dad, but I remember Mom saying she didn’t want us hanging around the house, worrying about her. Life is short: she wanted us to experience it, and that was the best gift we could give her.”
“She sounds amazing.”
“She was. Dad was too.” She chuckles. “God, he would be so thrilled to know that I work with the Chance family. He really admired your store and your family. He always said he loved how you all worked together for the greater good of the store. He saw you and Palmer and Cooper always helping out. He’d tell me what great parents you had to instill that kind of comradery.”