The Fighter

Chapter 32: Chili Out

Eventually we had the tent set up, with all of our belongings inside. Since it had three consecutive rooms, Laura and I figured that each couple would get one of the sections, leaving Josh and Dylan to get cozy in a sleeping bag together.

Then came time to make ourselves something to eat before going to bed. 

"Does anyone here know how to make a fire?" Laura asked, her hands on her hips as she stared at the fire pit. 

"I do," Dylan said, using his voice to the group for the first time since he was pushed to join us.

"Oooh," Josh exclaimed, rubbing his hands together and blowing in them for warmth. "A real man's man." 

Mark gave me a confused look and I shrugged. "Yeah, it'll be great to roast some marshmallows, like legit campers," he managed to say to diffuse the awkwardness, before bending down to look through our bag of snacks. 

I scanned around the camp for Xavier, who was just exiting the tent with his guitar. My heart fluttered as I wondered if I'd finally be able to listen to him play. It seemed that he had bought  a new one since he had smashed his father's. If you're wondering, no I was not able to fix the guitar...and I was not able to fix him, so that turned out to be a crock.

Dylan was on his knees, his face close to the ground blowing tenderly on the kindling, like he was nurturing the flame. I looked away so that I didn't see the muscles in his neck rippling as he did. Eventually he took the fire from a small glow, to a roaring blaze. 

We perched ourselves atop the small boulders that were placed around the pit, trying to stay warm as the temperature dropped. Laura and Mark were in each other's arms laughing about who knows what. Josh was setting up a pot above the fire, filling it with the two cans of chili we bought from Food Wealth and again talking to Dylan about how a vest is an 'underrated item of clothing'. 

Xavier sat himself next to me and begun tuning his guitar. I strained to listen to his hums as he checked the pitch of each string. "I can see you listening," he groused, not glancing up. 

My face heated, despite the chilliness outside, and I made sure to look away. Things were still tense from before. "Nah, why would I care about your stupid ability to sing?" 

Surprisingly, that statement made him laugh, the warmth that trickled through his iciness was enough to blaze my core, exciting me. "Ah, right, ladies don't like men who can sing." He continued playing and humming to get the notes right, twisting the tuning keys and resting the pick in between his teeth. "You should probably cover your ears," he spoke in spite of the pick. 

I glanced shyly at him. "Do you think you'll play for us tonight?" 

He stopped his fiddling, releasing the pick from his teeth and lifting his eyes to mine, like he could feel the way he made me melt. It looked like his eyes were struggling under the weight of his brow. "I am." His voice was all grizzly, and his sullen features contributed to the sense that a dark storm cloud had been accumulating above him all day. 

I smiled though, finding that I loved to linger in the path of his gaze. I didn't mind a little lightning.  

"Don't look so excited," he ordered wryly. 

"Why not?" I crossed my arms as the evening breeze brushed past me and brought with it the smell of the pine trees. "When, if not now?" 

He shrugged, half of his face glowing orange with the fire, just the faintest appearance of a dimple. "You know what? You're right." He cleared his throat, turning toward me, before strumming. "Do you know Iron & Wine?"