tongue out at me.
“Umm, that would be ‘Smart Asher’, Becca.”
“Oh, just be quiet,” she says, swatting her hand through the air. At least she’s still smiling for me.
I take my seat, and wait for Becca to put the pan back on the stove and sit down. She pours a ridiculous amount of ketchup all over her hash browns before handing the bottle to me. “Would you like a little hash browns with your ketchup, ma’am?” I smirk at her. I love stirring her up.
“You know better than to ask that question. The answer is always yes.”
As I put a little ketchup on my hash browns, I watch her dig into her omelet. She closes her eyes, and breathes deeply, and a small moan escapes her. Well, if it’s that good, I guess I don’t care what she added to mine. I dig into my own food, putting the first bite in my mouth. “Mushrooms! You added mushrooms to mine, didn’t you?”
She finishes swallowing before answering. “Yes. You and my father are the only two people in the world that I know who like mushrooms, I swear. So when I saw my parents brought some with, I snuck a few into your omelet.”
“Seriously, Becca, this is amazing. I could eat this all day, every day, and never get sick of it.” I take a bite of my hash browns and my eyes open wide. “What did you add to these? They’re fantastic!”
“That’s for me to know, and you to maybe find out. It’s a secret. Not even my family knows. They just know they like it.”
“Well, I’ll have to find a way to get it out of you. But for now, I’m too hungry, and enjoying this food far too much, to care.”
Chapter Eight
Asher
After we finish eating, we work together to finish up the rest of the dishes and clean up the kitchen.
“So, mister I-lost-two-games-in-a-row. What are we playing next?” Becca asks as she finishes rinsing the dish rag.
“Why don’t we take this outside,” I say, hoping I can win the game I am about to suggest.
“What do you have in mind?”
“Well, I was thinking we could play a friendly game of corn hole.”
Becca sort of jumps up and down, clapping her hands. This is the most excited I’ve seen her all weekend. Even more than when we were singing around the campfire last night. “I love corn hole! Although, I have to admit, I’m not very good at it.”
“Well, all the better for me then. I’d like to win something this week.”
“Since you’re probably going to win this game, then I’d better hear what it is that you’re playing for.”
I have a few things in mind, but I’m thinking we should work our way up to those things. I don’t want to scare her off.
“If I win this game of corn hole, you have to answer three questions of my choosing. No matter what I ask, you must answer it.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I hold my breath.
She’s looking at me skeptically, probably weighing what she thinks I might ask her about. I wonder if she’ll agree to this, because she has no idea what I have planned to ask her.
“Alright…but if I win, I want the same thing.”
“Well, well, well. It looks like somebody is stepping up to the plate.”
“What can I say? This game playing is getting serious. And I might as well ask for what I want, just in case I do win.”
Huh? “What are you saying? That you haven’t been asking for what you really want?”
“I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”
Oh, this game is so on.
-----
Becca
I practically drag Asher down to the shed where all the lawn games, extra paddles, and life jackets are stored. I really do love playing corn hole. I remember when my parents built our corn hole games. Literally, they made them by hand, boards, saws, and all. My mom even hand sewed the corn bags. I thought my parents were spending too much time and money on some stupid game that only a two-year-old would be amused to play, but my feelings changed after the first game they forced me to play. I was totally hooked. It's been a favorite
“Umm, that would be ‘Smart Asher’, Becca.”
“Oh, just be quiet,” she says, swatting her hand through the air. At least she’s still smiling for me.
I take my seat, and wait for Becca to put the pan back on the stove and sit down. She pours a ridiculous amount of ketchup all over her hash browns before handing the bottle to me. “Would you like a little hash browns with your ketchup, ma’am?” I smirk at her. I love stirring her up.
“You know better than to ask that question. The answer is always yes.”
As I put a little ketchup on my hash browns, I watch her dig into her omelet. She closes her eyes, and breathes deeply, and a small moan escapes her. Well, if it’s that good, I guess I don’t care what she added to mine. I dig into my own food, putting the first bite in my mouth. “Mushrooms! You added mushrooms to mine, didn’t you?”
She finishes swallowing before answering. “Yes. You and my father are the only two people in the world that I know who like mushrooms, I swear. So when I saw my parents brought some with, I snuck a few into your omelet.”
“Seriously, Becca, this is amazing. I could eat this all day, every day, and never get sick of it.” I take a bite of my hash browns and my eyes open wide. “What did you add to these? They’re fantastic!”
“That’s for me to know, and you to maybe find out. It’s a secret. Not even my family knows. They just know they like it.”
“Well, I’ll have to find a way to get it out of you. But for now, I’m too hungry, and enjoying this food far too much, to care.”
Chapter Eight
Asher
After we finish eating, we work together to finish up the rest of the dishes and clean up the kitchen.
“So, mister I-lost-two-games-in-a-row. What are we playing next?” Becca asks as she finishes rinsing the dish rag.
“Why don’t we take this outside,” I say, hoping I can win the game I am about to suggest.
“What do you have in mind?”
“Well, I was thinking we could play a friendly game of corn hole.”
Becca sort of jumps up and down, clapping her hands. This is the most excited I’ve seen her all weekend. Even more than when we were singing around the campfire last night. “I love corn hole! Although, I have to admit, I’m not very good at it.”
“Well, all the better for me then. I’d like to win something this week.”
“Since you’re probably going to win this game, then I’d better hear what it is that you’re playing for.”
I have a few things in mind, but I’m thinking we should work our way up to those things. I don’t want to scare her off.
“If I win this game of corn hole, you have to answer three questions of my choosing. No matter what I ask, you must answer it.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I hold my breath.
She’s looking at me skeptically, probably weighing what she thinks I might ask her about. I wonder if she’ll agree to this, because she has no idea what I have planned to ask her.
“Alright…but if I win, I want the same thing.”
“Well, well, well. It looks like somebody is stepping up to the plate.”
“What can I say? This game playing is getting serious. And I might as well ask for what I want, just in case I do win.”
Huh? “What are you saying? That you haven’t been asking for what you really want?”
“I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”
Oh, this game is so on.
-----
Becca
I practically drag Asher down to the shed where all the lawn games, extra paddles, and life jackets are stored. I really do love playing corn hole. I remember when my parents built our corn hole games. Literally, they made them by hand, boards, saws, and all. My mom even hand sewed the corn bags. I thought my parents were spending too much time and money on some stupid game that only a two-year-old would be amused to play, but my feelings changed after the first game they forced me to play. I was totally hooked. It's been a favorite
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