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“I’m going to put out the fire. Would you like to come back to my place for a beer?” June knew what he was really asking, was practiced enough in her life to understand the subtext of going back to someone’s house for a beer.
“Of course,” she replied, unraveling herself from Colin’s embrace to help him clean up the dinner picnic. June shook out her blanket and folded it neatly, began packing up leftover food items from dinner, and spread out the embers of the fire. Colin walked over to a small spigot off to the side of the fire ring, filled a small bucket, and doused the fire, returning two times with more water to make sure the fire was completely out.
"The last thing we need this year is a forest fire," he said when June questioned the need for a final bucket of water. "If there is one thing that I'm obsessed with here, it's safety. Sprained ankles and scratches on kids, I'm fine with - that's part of camp. But major disasters do not happen on my watch." June was surprised with the deadly seriousness of his tone, how intense Colin became when he talked about his camp.
It was also seriously sexy.
June slung the cooler bag on her shoulder and Colin placed his own backpack on, and he pulled out a tiny flashlight from his pocket and guided them back to his cabin, his hand resting on the small of her back. Every iota of June's focus centered in on that small spot where his hand touched hers - how could his skin be so warm that she could feel it through two layers of fabric, while he was still only in a t-shirt? What would his hand feel like on her bare skin? Would she get to feel that?
Thoughts piled, one on top of another, as they walked the short hike back to Colin's house. Now that she was more comfortable with their date - and the direction that the evening was heading - June took time to study the cabin. It wasn't big, but wasn't a tiny house. It was black or dark gray - June couldn't tell in the dark - with red trim and a small porch that spanned the front of the house. The entrance was on the left side, and on the right side of the house, the roof sloped down to the ground in a kind of half A-frame. A chimney stuck out of the roof, and a dim light glowed in a small window just above the door. It looked cozy, welcoming, eclectic - kind of like Colin, if June had to be honest.
Colin led June up the path, unlocking the door and slipping his sandals off by the door, straightening them and remaining in his thick wool socks.
“Who’s this?” June said, kicking off her boots in the doorway. A large, fluffy gray cat had prowled over to her shoes and was currently performing an aggressive sniff test of her shoelaces. June cringed, thinking about how long it had been since she washed her shoes.
Colin huffed out a laugh. “This,” he said, reaching down and scooping the cat up into his arms, “Is Muir.”
“Like John Muir?”
“Yes, like John Muir. I got him when I was an idealistic 20 year old and all I wanted to do was escape to a cabin in Yosemite and write about the beauty of nature.”
“Uh,” June pointedly looked around at his small house. “That is actually kind of what you do.”
”I don’t write, I watch Netflix,” he replied. “Plus, I talk to people way more than he did.”
“Campfire with Teddy Roosevelt to advocate for the National Park System,” June shot back. Colin’s eyes widened. “What? I watched a lot of Ken Burns during the pandemic.” Colin laughed again, scratching the underside of the cat's chin. “Could you imagine rocking a beard like Muir's, though?” June felt warmth blossom through her as he laughed. She liked making him laugh. Liked making him feel things.
“Fair point. However, I named him before I knew about all his horrible views on the native populations of the Yosemite area.” Colin set Muir down on a table, then walked over to his small fridge. “Would you like a beer?” June grunted a yes, and Colin reached in and pulled two cans from the side of the door.
“Have you been?” June asked, flopping down onto the couch. Colin joined her on the couch, passing the cold can to her and settling in. He pulled her legs on top of his and rested his hand gently on her shin, his fingers curling slightly over the sharp bone. June had a sudden desire to press the beer to her cheeks to cool the blush she was sure was spreading over her face.
“Nah,” he said, taking a deep pull from his beer. June watched his Adam's apple move as he swallowed and suppressed a deep desire to run her tongue over the bump. She shook her head and took a small sip of her own beer, the piney bite of the hops reminding her of the pine scent that swirled around Colin as he maneuvered through life.
"Do you want to go?"
"Oh, more than anything. I'll definitely try to hike Half Dome by 40, if not sooner. It's just hard, because the best season for hiking is summer, and my summers have been booked up by camp for the past 15 or so years." Colin took another sip of his beer. "Where do you want to travel?"
June thought a moment, sipping her beer to buy time. "I used to have a map with all the places I wanted to travel - all over Europe, Machu Picchu, Angkor Wat - but I haven't been out of the country since college. I tend to take on tutoring jobs in the summer, and I always find something to do over breaks. Plus, teaching doesn't pay well, and travel is expensive." June sighed. "I mean, like, you know that going into it, somewhere in the back of your mind, but I didn't think it clicked until I saw friends from college - people I had drunk pitchers with, watched throw up in bathtubs - buy houses. And then I looked at my own bank account, and I realized I was happy if I was able to splurge on a new book for myself. I can't fathom even putting together enough money for a new security deposit, let alone a down payment."
"Again, perks of this job - I've never had to apply for an apartment since my junior year of college." Colin opened his arms. "Everything that the light touches is mine in this tiny abode."
"Did you bring all of this stuff?" June asked, looking at the worn plaid couch they were on, the green rocking chair in the corner, the dented IKEA television stand.
"Hell no," Colin laughed. "What I owned in the decade after college, when I was in New Mexico, had to fit in my car, because I was always moving houses and the occasional summer at a different camp to switch things up. Honestly, the most important thing I own is Muir, though I'm not sure if he would consider himself 'owned' in any manner." As if on cue, the cat leaped up on the couch, butted Colin's arm with his head, then curled into a large gray ball next to his hip. Colin scratched his chin with the hand that wasn't on June's legs, and the cat's eyes closed, drunk on the affectionate touch. June could relate, as Colin's hand tended to move in a gentle path up and down her leg.
“Okay, so tell me what’s yours and what you inherited when you moved in this place,” June said, shifting on the couch. “Like did you inherit this couch?”
“Yes, it was here when I got here,” Colin said, patting the plaid arm. June was surprised that she didn’t see a cloud of dust rise from the couch.
“I think someone was murdered on this couch,” June said skeptically. “There’s literally no way that, like, John Gacy or someone didn’t give the couch away. Have you checked under the cushions for blood stains?”
“There are no blood stains on this couch,” Colin said, shaking his head. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“It isn’t weird to you that you just inherited a collection of random things?” June asked, pointing to the collection of coffee mugs on the counter.
“Nah, I kind of like it,” Colin admitted. “I’ve been in this state of being a semi-nomad for a while, but being here feels permanent. I like to think all of the random things this house has accumulated represent the people who lived here before me, and they probably have really interesting stories to tell.”
“Like how someone was murdered on this couch,” June interjected. Colin laughed as he took another pull from his beer.
