“You know,” he says before he turns to follow directions, “I was never interested in Boy Scouts as a kid, but all of a sudden, I’m thinking I would do just about anything for you to guide me through the wilderness.”

“Oh, but Mr. Williams”—I drop my voice to a whisper—“didn’t you know that the first rule of camp safety is to always have a buddy with you? And I know exactly what kind of buddy I want.”

I wink at him, taking more than a small amount of pleasure at hearing his quick intake of breath before heading out into the night sky, knowing the possibilities out here are only matched by the ones inside the tiny cabin with Jasper.

—

“I thought as an adult, I’d be able to eat one of these damn things without getting it all over me.” Jasper tries to wipe another glob of chocolate off his ruined shirt.

“I didn’t want to say anything, but I think this might be something you need to bring up with your parents when you see them.” I pop the rest of my s’more into my mouth before I gesture to my shirt, which remains untouched by the campfire treat. “When you’ve experienced the glory that is s’mores over a campfire, you learn to keep clean. You just need more practice.”

I lean back into one of the aged Adirondack chairs the cabin hosts set up around the fire pit and consider roasting one more marshmallow . . . even though my stomach told me to stop two s’mores ago.

“Maybe I’ll be able to convince them to come out here to visit. We can drive up to the mountains and show them how it’s done.”

He throws the words out so casually, it takes me a moment to comprehend the importance behind them. Meeting the parents is already a huge thing, but hinting at vacationing with them? Am I hearing him right?

“You want us to go camping with your parents?” I repeat his words back to him and they sound just as wild coming out of my mouth as they did coming from his.

“One day.” He drops his skewer on his plate. “I mean, I did already meet your dad.”

I grab a marshmallow out of the bag and throw it at him, impressing myself with my accuracy when it strikes him directly on the nose.

“Hey!” He catches the marshmallow after it bounces off his face and tosses it in his mouth. “What was that for?”

“That was for bringing my dad into this. That was a low blow.” I know he didn’t mean anything by it, but my feelings smart with the reminder of that terrible meeting.