Page 21 of One More Chance

That is, until you hit the next town.

“Your sister has a really pretty song picked out to dance to,” he says. “I’ve never heard it before.”

“Lady May by Tyler Childers is one of my favorites too,” I say, smiling. I agree, she picked a good one.

“What was your song at your wedding?” he asks.

I think back to that day, the way I had to pat at my cheeks with tissues in the bathroom right before our first dance because of how emotional the whole thing had been—both good and bad. In some ways, I was so happy. In others, I was completely scared I’d made the wrong decision.

“I don’t remember the name of it. Charles insisted on picking it. The whole thing is a blur.” I’m not saying anything that isn’t true. Charles picked this dreadfully boring song he called a classic. I swear, sometimes it was like he was an eighty-year-old man trapped in a young person’s body.

“That sucks,” Jensen says.

I shrug, not really bothered either way about the memory anymore. “What about you? No marriages or divorces under your belt, but have you been close? Thought about it with someone?”

Jensen’s jaw tightens for a second as he stares off. “There was one girl. It was a long time ago.”

“What happened?”

Jensen’s shoulders rise and fall slowly as he exhales. “Just wasn’t meant to be.”

Getting the impression he doesn’t want to say much else, I quickly change the subject. “Are we almost there?”

Jensen laughs at my paper-thin attempt as he turns the wheel of the truck onto a road I’m not familiar with. “As a matter of fact, we are.”

I look down the road and see a body of water not far off in the distance. A lake. We’re camping at a mother-effing lake.

“We’re also gonna build a campfire,” he says. “That’s like, three things in one or something, right?”

I think back to our conversation about dates turned things-Charles-hated and indeed, this will be like combining three of those things. Well, if we go swimming. OH MY GOD.Are we going swimming? Is he going to be shirtless and stuff?

More importantly, how many fucking tents did he pack and why haven’t I asked myself that question until now?

Jensen parks the truck on a patch of gravel off the road and hops out, pulling bags and a cooler from the back before I can even make it out of the truck.

I watch him stack everything neatly and note there only appears to be one tent. One two-person tent. That’s…snug. I’m going to file my panic away for later in favor of remaining calm while he needs my help setting up the campsite.

We walk toward the lake, bags in hand, and set it all down on a flat stretch.

“Let’s set up the tent first,” he says.

I walk over to him and the tiny tent he’s holding in his hands, and then I place my hands on my hips. “We’re both gonna sleep in there?”

“Yes?” The word falls from his mouth like a question.

“It’s awfully small…”

“You don’t want to spoon?” He smirks, lifting his eyebrow.

“What?”

“If it makes you feel better, there are two separate sleeping bags. I promise to behave,” he offers, pointing to the bags on the ground.

I nod slowly, surrendering to the situation.

After we set up the tent, collect wood for the fire, and set up the cooler and two chairs, he hands me the bag Lyla packed for me. “She said she packed everything you’d need. I was thinking we could have dinner, then swim?”

“Sounds good,” I say. “What’s for dinner?”