Teacher's Pet

I found my voice again. "Then how about we settle something once and for all," I said. Penn's jaw dropped, worried that I was about to reveal our silly charade. I laughed. "Take me out along your favorite trail, and we'll see who the real camper is."

"You're trading a night in one of your opulent 'glamping' dreams to hike a long, dusty trail and sleep on the ground?" Penn asked.

I nodded. "Proving you wrong is my kind of celebration."

Chapter Sixteen

Penn

It was hard to admit that the pace Corsica set was impressive. I had forgotten that she ran every morning, usually along the beach, and that underneath her pretty sundresses was a fit, athletic body. She marched along the trail with fiery determination. There was nothing to do but focus on the hike and enjoy the view.

Corsica had switched out her breezy sundress for a pair of tailored, khaki shorts and a sky-blue tank top. Every time I glanced over the curve of her back, I thought the shirt was the color of her eyes. After the silly thought reoccurred a few times, I wished the incline was more punishing. I was having trouble keeping my mind on our trip.

The biggest problem was that I couldn't believe we were out there. I kept thinking Corsica must be a daydream in front of me. I was still amazed and pleased that this had been her idea.

"Couldn't find a bigger pack?" I asked.

Corsica tossed a look over her shoulder. "It's the same size as your pack."

"Except mine is full of necessities like a frying pan and food. How many dresses, skirts, and outfits did you pack?"

She stopped on the trail and spun around to face me. "I've got the coffee grounds and press, plus half the water. What, is your pack too heavy? Do you need me to take on more?"

I laughed and brushed a wavy curl out of her face. "No. I'm just teasing you."

Corsica swatted my hand away. "Why? You can't think of anything better to say?"

I shoved her along the trail and was glad when she turned back around. It was annoying how quickly she saw through me. What

was I supposed to talk about? How beautiful the day was or how the sound of the stream far below us was slowly lulling me into a happy stupor?

I could have told her how happy I was to be out with her and how my heart tripped every time I thought about having her all to myself for days.

"Just so you know," I said, "I'm not going to dress for dinner. I left my suit and tie at home."

Corsica snorted. "That's your loss. Don't you know how great it feels to dress for dinner?"

I caught her hand and pointed across the stream. "There's a good spot to camp. How about I set us up and then you can explain how a stuffy, snobby ritual can feel good."

By the time I was done with the tent, Corsica had the fire pit dug and ringed with large rocks. She'd even gathered a few nice logs and a decent pile of kindling. She was laying out the cooking stuff when I finished securing the rain flap.

"See? What's the point of dressing for dinner when there's only going to be one course? I hope you like roasted veggies and hot dogs," I said.

"And pasta," Corsica said. She unearthed a cooking pot and box of macaroni from her pack. "And wine. Your father snuck it in before we left."

I pulled over a log and sat down. "So you're really going to make me dress for dinner?"

Corsica brushed back her hair and put her hands on her hips. "What's so bad about it? Everyone takes a few minutes to relax, get cleaned up. I think changing clothes and freshening up sets the whole tone for the evening."

She held out the cooking pot. "I'll start the fire while you filter some stream water. Once the pot's set to boil, we'll retire to our separate quarters and dress for dinner."

I took the pot. "Separate quarters?"

"The stream side of the tent is yours and the hill side is mine. No talking, no teasing. I'll see you in ten minutes or so." After lighting the fire, Corsica rummaged through her pack, pulled out a black, cotton dress and her brush, and then disappeared behind her side of the tent.

I filled up the water filter and splashed cold water on my face. After scrubbing off the sweat and putting on a clean shirt, I almost had to admit that she was on to something. Then I saw her and knew I had to admit she was right.

Corsica's hair was loose and soft, brushed to a glossy shine. She'd worn it in a braid all day but now let it spill over her shoulders. The black dress was soft, billowing and clinging to her tight form in turns.