Page 117 of Places We've Never Been

“I don’t know. I figured we’d have no more alone time if they knew.”

“Good call.” He ate a slice of pepper. “I’m just glad you didn’t change your mind.”

“No. I didn’t. Not even close.” I cracked another egg into the bowl.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him lean in and just as hewas about to reach me, the RV door swung open and his mom said, “That girl is such a grump in the mornings.”

Skyler stopped short and pretended to be looking at something on my cheek. “No, I don’t see an eyelash.”

“I guess it was just my imagination,” I said.

“I think the pan is hot if you’re ready with the eggs, Norah,” Olivia said.

“Yes, so ready,” I said.

“So ready?” Skyler teased.

I hip-checked him, picked up the beaten eggs, and walked them over to Olivia at the stove. I handed her the bowl but must’ve let go too soon because the bowl and all its contents dropped to the ground and splattered all over our flip-flops and ankles.

“Oh no!” Olivia squatted down. “I’m so sorry.”

“It was my fault,” I said, squatting down with her. “You didn’t have it.”

“No, it’s…It was me.” She had the bowl sideways like she was going to try to scoop the eggs back into it.

“We should just kick some dirt over them.”

“Yes, of course.”

Skyler had grabbed the shovel from the back of the RV and gestured for us to step away. When we did, he covered the puddle of eggs with dirt. Then he turned. “Should I get a bucket of water?” His eyes were on our egg-splattered ankles.

“No,” Olivia said. “I needed to shower anyway. Tell me those weren’t the last of our eggs.”

“I think we have one more carton.”

“Oh good.”

“I’ll take care of it,” I said. “You go shower.”

In her flustered state, she agreed with me and then was gone.

Skyler turned off the stove, then faced me with a goofy grin.

“What?” I asked.

“The lengths you’ll go to get me alone.”

I gasped. “I did not do that on purpose.”

“Uh-huh. Sure you didn’t.” He stepped forward and scooped me into his arms in an instant.

“What are you doing?” I squealed.

“I’m taking you to the faucet.” He carried me the forty steps to the campsite faucet—a crude metal pipe coming up from the ground with a spout on the end—then set me down. He dragged a log over from the fire pit and set it beside the faucet so I could sit. “What else do you need?”

“I’m good. Thank you.”

“Soap. Let me get you soap and a washrag.” He went to dig through the kitchen box and I slipped off my flip-flops and smiled. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so happy. I turned on the faucet and sat down. I sucked air between my teeth at how cold the water felt on my feet.