Van is no better than a teenage boy. She’ll be the first to admit it—with that shit-eating grin of hers. You love her, you do, but sometimes you swear she’s got a one-track mind.

You’re trying to clean up after dinner while everyone else lounges in the cabin. It should be a simple task. Quick, even. But Van has other plans.

She comes up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist. “You know, babe,” she murmurs, voice smug, “it’s real romantic of you to bring me out here alone like this.”

You roll your eyes. “Van. We’re on chore duty.”

“Mhm. And?”

You don’t have to turn around to know she’s smirking. That smirk. The one that usually gets her in trouble.

You sigh, tilting your head slightly so you can see her out of the corner of your eye. “And maybe you could go five minutes without trying to grope me in the middle of the damn woods?”

Van gasps dramatically. “Groping? Me? That’s a serious accusation.” Her hands are still very much on your waist.

“Van.”

“Fine, fine.” She pulls back—mostly. Her hands slide lower, fingers grazing the curve of your hips, and you shoot her a look. “Can’t help it, babe. Have you seen yourself? It’s like putting a steak in front of a starving man.”

You snort, shaking your head. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” she sing-songs, “you’re still here.”

It’s like this all the damn time. She’ll sit by you at the fire, arms slung around you, whispering things in your ear that are definitely not appropriate for the setting. Or she’ll conveniently forgets how to tie her own boots just so you’ll bend down in front of her.

And yeah. You’re still here. Of course you’re still here.

You sigh, wrapping your arms around her neck. “You know, you could just say you like spending time with me instead of acting like a boy who just learned about boobs.”

Van grins, hands finding your hips again. “Nah. This is more fun.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t fight her when she leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.