Page 31 of If the Summer Lasted Forever
“Paige.” I flash her a guilty look, hoping she didn’t overhear that last part.
Oblivious, she fills glasses with ice and puts the silverware on the table. “What do you need to convince me of?”
Crud.
I dish the chicken pasta onto three plates and set them on the table. “To let me go to Misty’s for her teen night next Friday.”
“Why couldn’t you go?”
Suddenly, I realize my out. “Because of our s’mores bonfire! That’s my evening to host it.”
She waves her hand like it’s no big deal. “I’ll take care of it. Go ahead.”
Well, drat.
“I’ll do tomorrow’s bonfire,” I offer, feeling guilty for pawning off my night on her.
“If you want.”
Uncle Mark comes in, thankfully announcing there’s an electrical post that needs replacing, and he and Mom begin a conversation about updating all the electrical in A Loop.
I’m quiet through dinner, but neither of them notices. Though I don’t want it to, my mind wanders to Landon, next Friday night, and Misty’s hayloft.
“Don’t feed that to Candy,”Hunter tells his sister in the snottiest voice imaginable.
McKenna glares at him as she takes a bite of her ooey, gooey, I-can’t-believe-she-used-two-roasted-marshmallows-on-that-thing s’more. Chocolate and marshmallow squish out from between the graham crackers, threatening to make a sticky mess.
“Hunter,” Mrs. Tillman says in the universal mom voice that basically means stop talking immediately or you’re grounded.
The sun only set about fifteen minutes ago, and it’s the most pleasant time of the day—still warm, but just starting too cool off for the evening. Since I traded with Mom, it’s my night to host the Friday night bonfire, and my fire is puny. The small crowd doesn’t seem to mind though.
We’re gathered near the gazebo, in the area Uncle Mark built years ago just for this. He crafted long seats from four massive logs, and they make a square around the huge, brick fire ring.
Tonight, we don’t just have families with kids. Mr. and Mrs. Murray are here with Todd, the fancy-pedigreed goldenretriever. Greg and Hallie Hendrick, the couple I initially mistook Landon’s parents for, brought their Greyhound, Bark, with them as well.
And of course, McKenna brought Candy. Tonight, the cotton ball is stuffed into a red and black checkered vest, the kind that screams iconic camper. To top off the outfit, Candy wears her usual diamond-rhinestone-studded collar. It’s a Barbie-goes-camping, canine fashionista kind of style, and it’s obvious Candy thinks she’s pretty hot stuff. She won’t even give the other dogs the time of day, and they want to play with her so badly.
“He’s really well-behaved,” I say to Greg and Hallie when Bark noses my leg, wanting attention.
“He’s the best dog,” Greg answers. “Even if he has terrible separation anxiety.”
“What do you do when you have to go grocery shopping?” I ask. “Or sight-seeing where dogs aren’t allowed?”
Greg scratches the dog’s shoulder. “He has a crate that he feels safe in, and we give him toys. He does all right as long as we’re not gone too long.”
Mrs. Murray ends up continuing the conversation, asking about Bark’s lineage. Apparently, he’s a retired racer. He’s about nine now, so he can’t move like he used to, but back when he was young, before the Hendricks adopted him, he was a champion.
“Where’s George?” I ask Landon as he plays the part of my doting boyfriend and offers to roast a marshmallow for me. It’s too early—we should really wait until the fire dies down and the coals are glowing, but the kids hate waiting, and so do I.
Landon kneels by the fire. “He’s scared of the dark—we leave him in the camper at night because otherwise, he’ll refuse to move, and you have to drag him.”
“But he’s huge,” I say with a laugh. “What’s out there that he could possibly be afraid of?”
Flashing me a smile over his shoulder, Landon shrugs. A few minutes later, he stands, offering me the perfectly browned marshmallow.
“Impressive,” I say.
He gives me a crooked grin and leans a smidgen closer. “I’ve had some practice.”
