the discarded pile of twigs. At least three quarters of what we’d collected must be there. “The hardest part come next. We have to feed the fire slowly so it doesn’t snuff out.”
“How?”
“Come here.”
I walk over and crouch down beside him. The fire barely reaches halfway to my knees. It gives off only a little warmth.
“Here.” Rich hands me a long, scrawny stick. It doesn’t look any different from the ones in the fire. “Hold the thin end just above the flame. Like this.” Rich takes my wrist and directs my arm as he leans close to me. “And then you wait…” he whispers in my ear, “…for the flames to catch.”
“Like this?” Rich’s proximity is a very welcome feeling in the night.
“Yes,” he says, pressing himself closer to me. “Now, rotate it to spread the heat around.” Something about the way he says “heat” sends shivers down my spine. I try to focus on the fire in front of me—not the one that threatens to ignite inside from having Rich so close.
“Now what?” I ask, trying to shake off the feelings that are forming within me.
“Now,” Rich says softly, “you wait for the ‘pop’.”
As if on command, the stick in my hand cracks. A flame springs to life at the end. I laugh.
“Now put it in there, quickly,” Rich urges me. “In line with the rest. You want to form a pyramid out of them.”
I lower my stick into the fire. The rest of it is absorbed by the flames immediately. “You know, this is kind of fun,” I admit.
Rich steps away from me to gather more firewood from the discarded pile. The loss of his body warmth is uncannily unpleasant. “You’re a pro,” he praises, handing me the next piece of wood. “You don’t even need me to guide you.”
“I had a good teacher,” I smile, and bring the next twig over the fire just like he’d shown me. Rich does the same with another stick beside me. We take turns adding to the fire like that, moving around the pit to make sure everything’s even.
Soon after, all the twigs we’d collected make a solid base for the darting flames. The fire roars all the way up to my waist, offering plenty of heat. In fact, it’s so hot that I have to take off my jacket when I go sit on the nearby log.
Rich settles down beside me. He looks into the flames without saying a word.
Shadows flicker across his face. His eyes seem more intense than I’ve ever seen them. The fire illuminates his hair, turning it a deep, solid red. Not the orangey, soft red of a carrot, but the intense, steady red of a chestnut stallion.
Without warning he turns his head. His eyes bore deep into mine.
“Ahem.” I clear my throat when he doesn’t say anything. For some reason, I feel my cheeks growing warm. “What?”
“What are you thinking about?” Rich asks with serious gravity. The way he says it makes the question seem a lot more loaded than the words alone would entail.
“I was wondering where you learned to make a fire,” I lie, trying to dissipate the sudden intensity between us.
He seems surprised. “Really?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Well,” he begins, his eyes taking on a distant look, “I went camping once with my sister and father. I was around eight. Min would have been… four or five. My father brought one of his…” Rich makes a disgusted sound in his throat, “… female friends. They ended up spending the whole trip locked in a tent together, leaving me and Min to fend for ourselves.
“One evening, we wandered off into the woods. We lost track of time. Before we knew it, it started getting dark. Min became scared. She began to cry. I knew we couldn’t find our way back at night. Luckily, I had my backpack, and it had…” Rich flips his Zippo through his fingers, “… this. I read a survival book before we went on our trip. I remembered reading a chapter about starting a fire with nothing but flint and steel. I had the Zippo, though.”
Rich sighs. “This was in the summer. I was terrified of setting the whole forest on fire. Believe it or not, I used to be a cautious little kid. But, I was scared for Min even more. I collected a little pile of sticks. I arranged them just like that.” He points to the fire pit. “And I tried my hardest to light it. But, no