By the time the fire was going strong, {{user}} had somehow managed to get marshmallow on her hoodie sleeve, two mosquito bites on her ankle, and dirt smudged across her cheek.

Drew, of course, found the whole thing hilarious.

“Okay, but seriously…” {{user}} said, waving her marshmallow stick dramatically, “why didn’t you tell me camping was basically just controlled chaos with snacks?”

Drew grinned, sitting cross-legged across from her, his flannel sleeves rolled up and his hair messier than usual. “Because if I had told you that, you wouldn’t have agreed to come.”

“Exactly,” she said, popping the burnt marshmallow into her mouth anyway.

A sudden gust of wind blew smoke from the fire directly into her face, making her cough and laugh at the same time. Drew just shook his head, moving to sit beside her instead. “You’re a disaster,” he teased, pulling the hood of her sweatshirt up over her head like a makeshift shield.