as always, buddy. Fire-roasted beef stew with cheese and crackers. If you think I’m going to expend energy cooking dinner when we’ve got a mountain to climb tomorrow you’re nuts.” His relaxed smile made her aware of how focused she’d been for the last hour, chopping, stirring, and thinking, and her heart sank. She’d thought winning meant producing a better dish, but they hadn’t been playing by the same rules.
“Careful, it’s hot.” Donovan exchanged dishes with her and gestured for her to precede him to the log by the fire.
Across the fire, Stan was wolfing down her creation with obvious enthusiasm, but no one was filming his enjoyment. Next to her, Donovan ate steadily, too. He’d pulled the rug out from under her and made her look like an idiot. Again. She could already see how his part of the show would play out. Rookie doesn’t have enough sense to stop for water. Newbie rushes around showing off while the experienced camper conserves his energy. We’re climbing this whole mountain tomorrow? I’m toast. She forced herself to take a bite of the stew while it was still hot. Like he’d said, she was going to need her energy. Fortunately, even without her additions, it was delicious, and she savored every bite before tentatively picking up one of the crackers. She popped it in her mouth and chewed. Not as bad as she had expected. Actually, it was pretty good in a super-salty, crunchy, spongy kind of way. “Thank you very much for making me dinner. It’s nowhere near as bad as I expected.” She waited for him to say her “cassoulet” was good, too. When he didn’t, a sharp stab of disappointment took her by surprise.
She kept eating, but the enjoyment she’d felt in the meal was gone, and she didn’t want to think about why. The smug sideways glances he kept shooting at her told her he expected her to play the food snob, so she cleaned her plate of everything, including the raw onions, and then handed it to him with the empty soup can. Being a good sport didn’t mean giving up. “Loser does the dishes.”
His eyes gleamed. “Who says I lost? We’re in the woods, Susie, not Paris. You lost major points for expending pretentious—I mean precious—energy.”
“Yes, you’ve made that lesson clear, although I’d like to point out you sucked down every bite.”
“Waste not, want not. But that doesn’t mean you won.”
“Our bet wasn’t about energy conservation or camping theory. It was about cooking skills.” Susannah turned to the cameras. “Stan? Dave? The verdict, please.”
“Russ lost.” They spoke in unison.
She beamed a smile at the camera focused on her. “For that, I’ll make you both breakfast in the morning.” They cheered, and her smile turned genuine. Donovan shrugged and began gathering dishes.
“Anything else on the agenda?” she asked.
Donovan shook his head, and she walked away from the fire, suddenly aware of every tired and aching muscle. It was barely dark, but she was ready to call it a wrap. She wanted to hole up and recover from the day without a camera recording her every move. With a sigh, she remembered the tent camera. At least I can zip my bag over my head and indulge in a silent scream.
She visited the outhouse, relieved it was too cold for snakes, but she couldn’t stop imagining spiders. Big ones, hiding in the corners. When it took her a solid minute to find the toilet paper enclosed in an old coffee can, and she heard something rustling nearby, she nearly panicked, but she persevered and was rewarded with a bottle of antibacterial gel tucked next to the tissue. The burst of adrenaline from her predicament carried her to the tent, where she unlaced her boots and set them in the far corner. She dug for her toothbrush and toothpaste in her backpack, glad Donovan hadn’t tried to convince her they weren’t necessary. After eradicating every lingering hint of raw onion from her breath, she crawled into her sleeping bag, wearing
“Careful, it’s hot.” Donovan exchanged dishes with her and gestured for her to precede him to the log by the fire.
Across the fire, Stan was wolfing down her creation with obvious enthusiasm, but no one was filming his enjoyment. Next to her, Donovan ate steadily, too. He’d pulled the rug out from under her and made her look like an idiot. Again. She could already see how his part of the show would play out. Rookie doesn’t have enough sense to stop for water. Newbie rushes around showing off while the experienced camper conserves his energy. We’re climbing this whole mountain tomorrow? I’m toast. She forced herself to take a bite of the stew while it was still hot. Like he’d said, she was going to need her energy. Fortunately, even without her additions, it was delicious, and she savored every bite before tentatively picking up one of the crackers. She popped it in her mouth and chewed. Not as bad as she had expected. Actually, it was pretty good in a super-salty, crunchy, spongy kind of way. “Thank you very much for making me dinner. It’s nowhere near as bad as I expected.” She waited for him to say her “cassoulet” was good, too. When he didn’t, a sharp stab of disappointment took her by surprise.
She kept eating, but the enjoyment she’d felt in the meal was gone, and she didn’t want to think about why. The smug sideways glances he kept shooting at her told her he expected her to play the food snob, so she cleaned her plate of everything, including the raw onions, and then handed it to him with the empty soup can. Being a good sport didn’t mean giving up. “Loser does the dishes.”
His eyes gleamed. “Who says I lost? We’re in the woods, Susie, not Paris. You lost major points for expending pretentious—I mean precious—energy.”
“Yes, you’ve made that lesson clear, although I’d like to point out you sucked down every bite.”
“Waste not, want not. But that doesn’t mean you won.”
“Our bet wasn’t about energy conservation or camping theory. It was about cooking skills.” Susannah turned to the cameras. “Stan? Dave? The verdict, please.”
“Russ lost.” They spoke in unison.
She beamed a smile at the camera focused on her. “For that, I’ll make you both breakfast in the morning.” They cheered, and her smile turned genuine. Donovan shrugged and began gathering dishes.
“Anything else on the agenda?” she asked.
Donovan shook his head, and she walked away from the fire, suddenly aware of every tired and aching muscle. It was barely dark, but she was ready to call it a wrap. She wanted to hole up and recover from the day without a camera recording her every move. With a sigh, she remembered the tent camera. At least I can zip my bag over my head and indulge in a silent scream.
She visited the outhouse, relieved it was too cold for snakes, but she couldn’t stop imagining spiders. Big ones, hiding in the corners. When it took her a solid minute to find the toilet paper enclosed in an old coffee can, and she heard something rustling nearby, she nearly panicked, but she persevered and was rewarded with a bottle of antibacterial gel tucked next to the tissue. The burst of adrenaline from her predicament carried her to the tent, where she unlaced her boots and set them in the far corner. She dug for her toothbrush and toothpaste in her backpack, glad Donovan hadn’t tried to convince her they weren’t necessary. After eradicating every lingering hint of raw onion from her breath, she crawled into her sleeping bag, wearing
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