Page 56 of Digging Up Love
With an amicable sigh, he stood and curtsied. “As you wish, milady.” When he straightened up, the firelight illuminated his graphic tee:Paleontologist, Because Freakin’ Awesome Isn’t a Job Title.
Caitlyn ripped the marshmallow bag open with her teeth. “Thanks for the invite, Alisha.” She flicked a gaze toward where Quentin sat chatting with Bridget and Dev and lowered her voice. “Sorry we crashed your date with the professor the other day.”
Alisha’s cheeks flamed hotter than the fire. “It wasn’t a date.”
“Mm-hmm. Whatever you say.”
Alisha stared into the flames, jaw tight.
“Just so you know, I think it’s great you two hit it off. He’s been in a funk for a while.” Alisha darted her eyes sideways at Cait’s words. “Nice to see something other than an intact fossil make him smile. Doc Harris is good people—he deserves it.” Caitlyn popped a marshmallow in her mouth and spoke around it. “You seem like good people too. Especially since you’re okay with us tearing up your backyard.” Grinning, Cait tugged a flat bottle out of the pocket of her cargo capris and bent over to spritz mosquito repellent onto her legs, the citronella smell sharp against the smoke.
Meg reappeared with her arms full of a doomsday bunker’s worth of marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate bars.
“S’mores!” Forrest materialized out of the darkness, a bunch of sticks in either fist.
He dug into Cait’s bag of marshmallows and stole four, threading them onto a stick, one after the other. She shot Alisha anI told you solook.
Dev raised his beer toward the truckload of s’more fixings. “Did you buy all those for us, or were you expecting fifty more people?”
“No, but I can’t escape my midwestern farm-girl roots.” Meg chuckled. “Stockpiling is in my genes.”
Headlights shone down the grass, then clicked off. Alisha sat up straight, on high alert.
“Thought you didn’t invite anyone else.” Quentin spoke from across the fire, his eyes an echo of the dusk-gray sky under his lowered brows.
They hadn’t. Doubtful their flimsy geologist cover story would hold up after a few beers.
And Forrest’s shirt ... Cait must’ve realized the issue at the same time and nudged him, gesturing at the screen-printed stegosaurus skeleton. His eyes went wide, and he dropped his stick of flaming marshmallows.
Alisha snatched up the stick and pounded it on the ground to put out the fire. Gobs of gooey marshmallow smeared all over the grass. In a flash, Forrest yanked off his tee and flipped it inside out, just as Shawn strode into the circle gathered around the fire, in formfitting Wrangler jeans and cowboy boots, upper body obscured by five boxes of pizza. “Did someone order delivery?”
Meg shook her head, a Joker-esque smile plastered on her face. “Must have the wrong house.”
Shawn lowered the pizzas, brow furrowed. “I was kidding. These are just rejects from tonight’s orders. Saw your fire and figured I’d stop by.” He blinked around at the unfamiliar faces and the half-dressed Forrest. “Heat getting to you, bud?”
“Oh, yeah ... no.” Forrest balled the fabric in his hands, red cheeks visible even in the firelight.
When it became clear he was done talking, Dev leaped in. “There was a spider. Big one. On his shirt. He’s terrified of the suckers.”
“Yep, total arachnophobe, this one.” Cait elbowed him. “Right, Forrest?”
“Right. Yeah. Petrified. I’ll just ...” He tugged his shirt back on.
Nodding along like this whole interaction was normal, Shawn set the pizzas on an upturned log. “So, what’s the occasion?”
Meg put the s’mores supplies on an empty chair by the fire, then pulled Shawn in for a quick hug, probably buying time. When she released him, she’d regained her poise. “The geologists can only stay cooped up in the Hawk’s Roost for so long. Figured we’d show them a Hawksburg welcome.”
“Well, I’ll drink to that.” Shawn took a step toward the cooler, and his grin changed to a frown. He lifted up his boot, peering at the sole. “Did your dog get into the marshmallows again, Meg?”
Preempting anyone’s reply, Bridget got up and shoved a beer into Shawn’s hands, clinking hers on it in a sloppy cheers. If he noticed the awkward vibes, he gave no sign, and soon everyone was chatting again, Shawn ensconced on a camp chair between a wary Bridget and Dev.
Meg and Alisha shared a helpless look. Shawn tended to take things at face value, so as long as he didn’t ask too many questions ...
“Why am I not surprised you’re friends with the pizza guy?” Quentin appeared at her side, breaking into her anxious train of thought.
She looked up at him with a half smile. “Hazards of small-town life. And technically Shawn’s also the grain elevator guy, the cross-country coach, and the baseball coach. He might also have a thing for my sister.” Gosh, why did she respond to Quentin like he was truth serum? Or maybe it was the romantic flickers of firelight affecting her filter.
“Doesn’t he know Simone lives in Chicago?”
