“Not recently.”
She laughs, free and easy, and I tug her closer to kiss that sweet mouth.
I can’t remember the last time I felt free to laugh about the little things.
Or the last time I wanted to.
But she makes me want to smile. And laugh. And sleep outdoors in the light of the moon, wrapped in a blanket with a woman who’s asked for so very little and given so very much.
“You’ve slept outdoors often?” I ask her.
“When I was little, Hyacinth and I used to sleep wherever we got tired when we were running around our Dad’s camp all summer long. We woke up once in a canoe.”
“On the water?”
“I swore a blood oath to Hy that I’d never, ever, ever reveal more details than that.”
I chuckle. “And did you weave your secrets into friendship bracelets?”
“We did! And we made candles and tie-dyed T-shirts and that’s the first place I ever used a pottery wheel.”
“At your father’s camp?”
She feeds me a bite of prosciutto as she nods. “He had the most adorable art hut. Every summer after Mom and Dad divorced, we’d spend it out at Camp Funshine. And the minute Mom let us out of the car, Hy would race for the archery range or the ropes course, and I’d dash off in the other direction for the art hut.”
Camp Funshine. Of course. It couldn’t have been named anything else. “You miss it?”
“Dad gave so many kids the best memories of their summers, and we met so many kids from all over the world. There was this girl I met from—oh my gosh, you know what? I can’t start, because if I start telling you about all of the people I met there, I would literally never stop.”
I smile. That’s pure Begonia. “Have you been back as an adult?”
“No. The people who bought it when Dad declared bankruptcy just wanted the land. And the lake. And the stables. It’s—it’s not what it used to be.”
There’s a sadness in her voice that makes me want to slay dragons. Begonia Fairchild was not born to be sad. She was born to make instant best friends at summer sleepaway camp, to leap head-first into any adventure that comes her way, and to lie here with me, naked beneath the summer moon, eating a charcuterie picnic while I wonder what on earth I could ever offer this magical creature to entice her to stay as long as possible.
Somehow in the past two weeks, she’s gone from the world’s largest inconvenience to my reminder that the world is a place of joy.
“Your father declared bankruptcy.” The words leave my mouth, and I cringe.
But Begonia laughs, as if she understands where I was going. “Yes. It wasn’t pleasant, but he survived. I mean, not long, but it wasn’t… It wasn’t bankruptcy that killed him. That was an accident.”
“You weren’t terrified at all when I threatened to sue you.”
Her cheeky grin flashes in the moonlight. “I would’ve been sad if you’d followed through and I had to raise funds by putting my great-grandma Eileen’s old dildo collection on eBay to afford my own legal fees, but yes, I know I would’ve survived.”
“I’m quite the asshole.”
“Hayes. You found a total stranger making a disaster of your house.”
I grunt and reach for a grape to feed her. “That turned out far better than I expected.”
“And look at us now,” she agrees.
Look at us now, indeed. “Do you still enjoy camping?”
“I used to, but then—well, then I grew up and did what I thought grown-ups should do, which is dumb, isn’t it? Why can’t grown-ups have fun too?”
“Are you not having fun tonight, Begonia?”
She wriggles against me, making my cock go harder than it has any right to be given how thoroughly I climaxed not fifteen minutes ago.
And because I’ve been spending so much time around Begonia, I have an irrational desire to high-five myself for it.
She’s not rich. Newly divorced. With her entire plans for her time off thrown into disarray through no fault of her own.
Yet she’s the most joyful woman I’ve ever met, as if she believes the world is made of rainbows and that each experience, from waking up in the morning to having a picnic on the beach, is to be savored.
She’s the sun, and I’ve become a single blade of grass basking in her presence.
She tips the cheese into my mouth, and then she’s talking again, her voice washing over me. “I’m having the best time. Do you know what? Summer camp should be a thing for grown-ups too. We should get to play and have fun and let someone else make us cafeteria food after we spend the morning canoeing and swimming and horseback riding, and then get to have grown-up time afterwards.”