Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 70528 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70528 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Hmm. “Which camper is yours?”
“Oh, we’re not staying in one of these. Our place is over there.”
I follow his extended arm; he’s pointing into the woods, to a tent rising from the earth in a different area completely. But not just any old tent. No, this one is one of those posh setups with a chandelier, an actual bed, and a sitting area.
The kind you see on television on one of those swanky travel shows.
Ugh. Jealous!
“You’re sleeping in there?” I glance over at the campers. “Where am I sleeping?”
“You’re in the Happy Camper—the one with the flowers around the door.” Thad beams. “Babes and I still need a kitchenette to use and stuff, and we can all use the porch at night for sitting around and looking at the water. It’ll be so peaceful.” He has his hulky arm around Mia’s waist and he gives it a squeeze.
All I hear is ‘Babes and I.’
I shake the words out of my skull and smile, hefting the carry-on bag on my shoulder; I feel so ridiculous having brought all this crap now.
“Oh, sure. The Happy Camper sounds delightful.”
I can do this—I can totally do this. It’s not as if we’re roughing it in an actual tent; I can survive living in the cute glamper a few short nights while my friend stays in the canvas tent outfitted for a Kardashian.
I gaze at it longingly, with its own flameless trail of candles flickering in the night, bend vine chairs, steamer trunk coffee table and hanging lanterns.
Sigh.
It is crazy romantic, the entire thing glowing softly in the dark.
My own little camper is cute, too, and I approach it with Ben, as my best friend and her boyfriend head toward their digs.
“Here you are. Cozy as a bedbug,” Ben jokes before seeing my face. “Kidding. Just kidding, there are no bedbugs. We routinely check between each and every guest.”
I nod with a heavy swallow and a nervous laugh. “I’m not worried.”
Bedbugs are probably the least of my problems; surely there are creatures and critters larger than that lurking in every crack and crevasse. Besides, I once spent the night in a motel infested with roaches—I think I can handle a few creepy crawlies.
Maybe.
Ben carries my giant suitcases along the path to the door of the shiny, silver camper, vintage in its aesthetic but modern in every other way. Running water, electricity. A flat television mounted above the cabinets in the small “living room” slash kitchen.
Ben doesn’t follow me inside—it’s cramped, and he’s a stranger—but he does stand at the entrance, waiting to see if there’s anything additional I require before retracing his steps and firing up the off-roading vehicle he dropped us off with.
I listen as the engine noise fades into the distance, my eyes catching glimpses of the glowing tent out the window to the back of my glamper.
The noise is deafeningly silent.
Nary a peep, not even from a cricket—
Never mind, there goes one.
Hefting one of my suitcases atop the small kitchen table, I carefully unzip it so it doesn’t implode, the mess inside making me cringe. Security must have gone through it, for clothes are unfolded and tossed back inside haphazardly—not the way I’d painstakingly rolled and packed them the day before so they would fit like a puzzle.
I remove my toiletries, grateful the bag has a hook perfect for the back of the bathroom door, with its utter lack of counter space. Put the travel size bottles of shampoo and conditioner in the minuscule shower.
Slippers go on my feet. Robe goes in the bedroom.
Silk pillowcase goes on the pillow and I swear I’m not high-maintenance, I just like to be comfortable! I thought I was going to a spa in the Caribbean for a long weekend, okay? Sheesh.
I thought perhaps everyone would gather at the bonfire that is simmering on the sandy beach near the lake, but when I get a text from Mia saying ‘Get a good night’s rest, we have a busy day tomorrow!’, I know we won’t be outside tonight singing kumbaya into the wee hours of the morning.
The television works, but doesn’t have Netflix. Instead of trying to harness technology while in the middle of the woods, I take out the few magazines and crossword puzzles stored in my carry-on, and make myself comfortable on the bed.
“…Is she dead?”
“…No way—she’s definitely alive. Her chest is moving up and down.”
“…Maybe we should check just to be sure. We can hold a mirror under her nose. If it fogs up, we’ll know.”
“…Mia, I could hear her snoring before we even walked inside.”
Snoring?
What? Who’s snoring?
I wipe at the corner of my mouth and feel moisture. Ew, is that drool?
“Oh yeah, she’s definitely alive.”
I feel a finger poking into my ribcage. “Up and at ’em, Sleeping Beauty, your new roommate has arrived!”
Roommate? What is this nonsense?