“Oh, I do. They’re going to get it. Just watch.” He shakes his head. “Mark my words, this is all a fucking farce.”

Umm, can we get clarification on the tent?

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Wilder says. “But it seems like you’re projecting. If you came here for some sex-a-thon with your partner, where cabins and tents matter to you, then maybe you’re in the wrong place.” He loops his arm around my waist. “We’ve been through a lot, the both of us, and we’re trying to figure things out. If you can’t handle that, if you can’t believe it, then that’s your own fucking problem, not ours.”

The looks on everyone’s faces. Shock.

Consider me shocked as well, because I don’t think I’ve ever had someone stick up for me like this before. How does he seem to suddenly comprehend my triggers now? And why do I feel so exposed and on edge?

Before anyone can make a comeback, he directs us away from the firepit, me still holding the plate with the s’mores, and we head to our cabin.

The walk back is in complete silence as we’re shrouded in the dark, only the pathway lights leading the way while crickets chirp in the distance and fireflies dance among the trees.

I’m not sure what to say honestly, because this whole situation was weird. Wilder upset—angry actually—that’s unsettling. He’s always happy-go-lucky, ready for anything, but I can feel the irritation coming off him. Did Chad strike a nerve?

And then there are my coworkers, talking about us behind our backs, jealous over a cabin. It’s all, like I said, weird. And that weirdness makes me feel incredibly insecure.

When we arrive at the cabin, Wilder unlocks it and lets me in first before he shuts the door and locks it.

Once again, silence falls between us while I stand awkwardly in the middle of the room with a plate of s’mores. Unsure of what exactly to do and slightly out of sorts about Wilder’s steaming attitude, I ask, “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” he asks, pointing to his chest while he slips his shoes off. “Why are you asking if I’m okay? The real question is are you okay?”

“I mean, I think so. You just seem very agitated.”

“I am agitated,” he replies. “Why aren’t you agitated?”

“I guess I don’t know how I feel,” I answer honestly. “For a second, I thought they were saying we were faking the marriage, and that got scary for a moment, because I didn’t want to get caught in that lie, and maybe they do have an inkling about us faking it all, but it just seems like you’re really angry.”