Rust and Roses

Chapter 9

Marie and Mac found themselves sprawled out on a cool and tranquil spring night, a mesmerizing tapestry of stars overhead, casting a celestial glow upon the campsite. The gentle breeze, redolent with the earthy scent of pine, delicately danced through the air, weaving with it the distant symphony of a crackling campfire. Their heads, adorned with silhouettes outlined by moonlight, rested in close proximity, creating an intimate tableau against the canvas of the night. Their hands, not merely intertwined, but intricately woven, shared a warmth that stood in stark contrast to the cool embrace of the evening air.

"I like 'em new folks," Mac remarked, breaking the serene quietude. "Especially that Karen, she sure is wild."

Marie, momentarily vulnerable, felt a flicker of insecurity at Mac's words. What if he now prefers the company of those intriguing newcomers over me? What if the allure of novelty has overshadowed the comfort we once shared? Her mind spiraled into a whirlwind of doubts until Mac's voice, concerned and caring, gently pulled her back.

"Marie?" Mac propped himself up, his silhouette etched against the starlit backdrop, waving a hand in front of her face. Shaking off her worries, Marie refocused on her friend.

"I'm sorry, got lost in thought. What'd you say?" she asked.

"I asked if you like 'em, especially the new women. It must be nice to have some girls your age in camp now," Mac mused.

"Oh, yes. I like 'em, I suppose," Marie vaguely offered, reluctance evident in her voice, hesitant to delve into a conversation about other women with Mac.

"What's the matter, darlin'?" Mac inquired, his tousled blonde locks falling gracefully across his forehead.

"Nothing," Marie replied, her gaze momentarily avoiding the real source of her distress.

"Marie," Mac sat beside her, holding her hand with a mix of tenderness and concern, his eyes reflecting a genuine care. "What's the matter?"

Marie hesitated, reluctant to unveil her fears. The trepidation lingered as she worried that acknowledging them might solidify their existence.

"It's embarrassin'," she finally confessed, squeezing his hand. "It's nothin' to worry about."

Mac, unconvinced but compassionate, implored her to open up. "Marie, I've gotten to know you pretty well these last few months. I can tell when you're lyin' to me. Please tell me what's wrong?"

A heavy silence, pregnant with unspoken emotions, hung between them. Marie looked down at their clasped hands, then turned her gaze to the stars, summoning the courage to be vulnerable.

"Do you like 'em more than me?" she asked, tears welling in her eyes, still fixated on the stars, seeking solace in their distant glimmer.

"What?" Mac questioned, caught off guard.

"Do ya?" she repeated, her gaze now fixed on his face, shadows dancing across his features in the moonlight.

"No," Mac reassured her, stumbling over his words. "I like 'em, sure, but I don't... ugh..." He scratched his scruff, struggling to articulate the complexities of his feelings.

"You what?" Marie gently pressed, coaxing him to share his innermost thoughts.

Now it was Mac's turn to gaze at the sky, taking a deep breath. "I really like you, Marie. Not like 'em," he confessed. A small smile and blush graced Marie's features, illuminated by the soft glow of the night.

Mac turned to her, his eyes locked onto hers. "Marie?" he asked, a mixture of vulnerability and anticipation in his voice.

"Yeah?" Marie softly responded, her voice a delicate murmur.