Page 69 of Eco-Activist's Mountain Men
We all freeze, forks halfway.
“What is it?” I ask, instantly suspicious.
“Not sure you deserve to know…”
“Aw, come on. Spill. A man has to know what’s going in his mouth. Well—this one does. These cavemen? Not so picky.”
She smirks. “Fine. Maple syrup. Just a splash.”
Luke groans. “You put syrup in chili?”
“It cuts the acid,” she says smugly. “Trust me.”
Luke and I glance at each other like condemned men walking to the gallows.
Jack dives in first, chews, and grunts. “Could use meat. But… not bad. Not bad at all.”
Eric practically purrs, “This is incredible, Luna. The spice balance is perfect.”
I take a tentative spoonful. Then another. Then another. I chew. Swallow. Narrow my eyes.
“Okay,” I say reluctantly. “I hate to admit this… but this isn’t terrible.”
Luna bows. “High praise, coming from the self-declared gourmet who I know for a fact has been raiding the freezer for cheeseburgers all week.”
“Hey!” Jack cuts in. “So that’s where the fries keep going. They don’t grow on trees, Toby.”
“Come on, bro, it’s not like I’ve been stealing caviar.”
“We have caviar?” Eric asks, genuinely surprised.
I roll my eyes. “No, genius.”
Luke chews like he’s waiting for tofu to ambush him, but eventually shrugs. “I’m not saying I’m turning in my man card and going vegan. But… yeah. It’s alright.”
We clear our bowls. Jack even goes back for seconds. Then Luna reappears with a skillet of cornbread—golden, crisp-edged, smelling like sin itself.
I eye it with new respect. “Who are you, and what have you done with the annoying activist chick we pulled out of a tree?”
She smirks. “Oh, she’s still here. She just realized food gets her farther than yelling.”
We laugh. Even Luke chuckles.
Eric grins like it’s Christmas. Jack pours beers. Luna slides a tray of cinnamon apples out of the oven. Suddenly, it’s not loggers versus activists anymore. It’s just five people sharing food, drinking beer, not fighting. Feels… like family.
And for tonight, I don’t even mind that there’s not a sausage in sight.
Not yet.
I catch Luke’s eye and give him a quick wink. He nods once, barely moving, and taps the side of his nose. Our sausage pact is still alive.
Then Luna pipes up, bright as a sparkler: “Since it’s Friday night, how about a game?”
Silence.
“A game?” Jack echoes, wary.
“What, like blackjack?” I ask. “Texas hold ’em?”
