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“I hate when you’re reasonable.”
“I’m getting married tomorrow. It’s temporary.”
Briggs reaches for the tray of beers. “Can we return to the fire before Temple eats all the marshmallows?”
Rider looks toward the lawn. “She has consumed three.”
“She’s hoarding the bag.”
“You ate two desserts at dinner.”
“I’m maintaining mass.”
Easton takes the tray from him. “You’ll survive.”
“That kind of negativity is why I avoid vulnerable conversations.”
We return to the fire with enough alcohol to guarantee tomorrow morning will begin violently.
Cade occupies an Adirondack chair with Bliss tucked sideways across his lap. Her bare feet rest over one arm while his jacket covers her shoulders. Easton settles beside Aura on the wide bench opposite them, and Rider takes the remaining chair.
Temple sits on the ground wearing a blanket around her shoulders like a cape. She has constructed an elaborate s’more containing three marshmallows, two pieces of chocolate, and enough graham cracker to compromise the structural integrity of the entire thing.
Briggs stops beside her. “That’s excessive.”
She looks up. “You ate two pieces of cake.”
“Those were appropriately portioned.”
“One piece occupied an entire plate.”
“It was a small plate.”
Temple presses the top graham cracker into place. Melted chocolate escapes over her fingers. “This is culinary architecture.”
“It’s collapsing.”
“It’s settling.”
Briggs lowers himself beside her and studies the s’more with unnecessary concentration. “The weight distribution is wrong.”
“You’ve eaten enough buildings tonight.”
“I’m offering professional assistance.”
“You play hockey.”
“I also understand sandwiches.”
“This isn’t a sandwich.”
“It has two exterior pieces containing food.”
“So does a taco.”
“A taco is a sandwich.”
Temple’s mouth falls open. “Take that back.”
