Scottie’s standing next to me, a smile on her face, looking happier than I’ve ever seen her. And it makes me fucking happy.

Ecstatic.

I remember the day I met her—she was worried, unsure, desperate to just make an impression and then get the hell out of the therapy session. Even when we first arrived at the camp, you could see there was something hanging over her. Something that was tamping down her joy, her energy.

But now…now she’s smiling. She exudes joy. She has an essence about her that’s addicting. And today has been no exception.

To be honest, I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun. From the complicated tandem bike ride to the ice cream to the lakeside blow job to the picnic and cloud watching, it’s been a day that I know I will never forget. And it’s not the activities that made this day special, it’s her reaction to the activities. It’s the innocence and the amusement in her expression that I will remember, because she’s come out of her shell.

Not to sound like a corny fuck, but she’s blossomed right in front of my eyes, and it’s one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.

“Tonight we will be mixing drinks, but not just any kind of drink. I want it to be a drink that represents you as a couple. I want you to think long and hard about your relationship, your journey, and morph that into a cocktail. Then we’ll be handing out the drinks to our judges, and they’ll pick a winner based on taste and creativity. As always, our winners will get a prize, and trust me, you’re really going to want to win this one.”

I lean into Scottie and say, “Hear that? A prize. A really good prize. Want to go three for three?”

“I don’t think we even have an option. We need to know what’s going to be in that basket.”

“That’s my girl,” I say, pulling her into my side.

“Please review the ingredients on the menu in front of you, pull your ideas together, and when you’re done, bring your tumbler up to the bar, tell our bartender the ingredients, mix them, and then set your drinks in front of the judges’ table. It will be a blind taste test, so the judges are hiding at the moment. Don’t forget to name your drink. Good luck.”

Okay, this could be fun.

I pick up the menu in front of us and say, “Any ideas?”

“Well, we have to pick something that represents us, but we also want to make it good. So we can’t be putting lager and Fireball together.”

“I mean, if you want to grow hair on the judges’ chests, we could do that.”