“You’re killing me, Wyatt,” I told him as he grabbed a towel and supplies to head to the communal bathhouse in the campground. “You’ll come back and find me shriveled to dust in some female version of blue balls.” “Oh, the drama,” he teased, heading out the door. I hopped up and put on my shirt, draping my bra across Candy’s couch just to piss her off, then went to dig through the donuts. Things felt very right with the world again. I grabbed a chocolate cream and went outside, not finding Candy on the porch or in the front clearing.
