G is for Glamping

She thought about the picture that she had sent him as camping inspiration. She looked around and sighed. Not even remotely similar.

woman reading a book in a white tent
Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

The rain dripped in her hair and traveled into her eye from the spot where the tent was leaking. She pushed it away and fought a flash of anger.

He loved to camp. It was a wonderful childhood memory for him and she wasn’t going to ruin the weekend by being a grump. She straightened her shoulders and reached for another sweater.

She realized that something smelled amazing and her stomach was growling. How had he managed to get a fire started, much less actually cook? The man obviously had survival skills.

Just then he knocked on the tent flap. “Open up. I’ve got dinner.” She unzipped the door and held it open while he ducked inside with two plates.

“Not exactly your glamping,” he said. “I should have checked the weather. We could have come another weekend.”

She smiled. “Nope. This weekend is perfect. The food smells amazing, I have you and later you promised me s’mores. Who needs glamping?” She kissed him as he put down the food. “Now feed me. I’m starving.”

(197 words)

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