For the next few days, Booth and Jane availed themselves of the more commonplace camp activities like the ziplines, ping-pong, kayaking, and rock climbing, but also the unique Grease-themed activities. Booth loved “Frightful or Fabulous Food of the Fifties,” at which they explored some of the iconic fare of the time, some of which had bad reputations. For instance, Jane had never had fondue before. She’d always had a vague idea that it was melted fake cheese that you dipped bread into, which didn’t sound appetizing, but the kind the chef showed them how to make had swiss and gruyere cheeses, garlic, mustard, and white wine.

“I could eat this by the spoonful,” Booth declared and Jane agreed.

They weren’t as impressed by the Jell-o salad. They tasted a “cherry Coke” version made with cherry pie filling, Coke, pineapple and cherry gelatin, inspired by the popular beverage of the time.

Even better was the Cocktail Hour where they learned how to make classic fifties faves like the Pink Squirrel, the Rum Runner, and Blue Hawaii. Frasier and Everett vowed they were going to host an old fashioned cocktail party before the summer was over and Booth and Jane were invited.

But perhaps the most fun activity was the ’50s Slang Team Challenge. Of course, the Gaydies insisted Jane and Booth be part of their team. The MC showed twenty slides of a slang terms and each team wrote down what they thought it meant. “Are you writing a book?” meant someone was asking too many questions. If you said to a girl, “Come on, snake, let’s rattle,” you were asking her to dance, and if you were “frosted,” you were angry. Even though they didn’t win, Jane had a great time. Booth had always been able to make her laugh—that hadn’t changed.

“Passion pit?” Booth asked. “That sounds dirty.”

Everett shook his head and said in a low voice, “No, a passion pit is a drive-in theater.” It turned out Everett was pretty fluent in ’50s lingo.

Later, when the term was “razz my berries,” Booth snorted. “Now, that’s got to be a sex term. It probably means getting a blow job or something like that.”

“You just have sex on the brain,” she whispered to him.

He whispered back with a grin, “And I see no problem with that.”

Later that afternoon, they all checked out canoes. Frasier and Everett paired up in the first canoe, Booth and Jane got into the second and Harley and Octavio took the third. One thing led to another and they ended up racing to a small island in the middle of the lake. Jane, Frasier and Octavio acted like the guys on the rowing team who didn’t do anything but yell “Stroke! Stroke!” while Harley, Everett and Booth went head to head. Booth won, but Everett wanted a rematch, so after a suitable resting period, they raced back to the dock and Booth went all out. He had a reputation to uphold after all. He was a damned athlete by trade. It was his job to be fit and he wasn’t about to lose in a physical competition against a damned CPA. He ended up winning both races, much to Jane’s delight.

After dinner at the lodge, they all sat under the stars and watched Gidget, projected on a big screen. The staff provided beach chairs, popcorn, hot dogs, and movie candy. Booth had never even heard of that movie, let alone seen it, but it was a kooky fun flick about a young woman who becomes a mascot of sorts for a group of hipster surfers. The way they talked was pretty funny. The lingo of the time was very different from that of today. After the movie the Gaydies went back to their cabins. They had a group climb scheduled early the next morning with a former Park Ranger who was reported to be a hottie.

Booth and Jane went back to Moon Bug 9, hand in hand. He felt completely relaxed and more content than he could remember feeling in many years. The moon was out, casting a silvery blue tint over everything and the smell of smoke from the campfire drifted through the air. Something was going on in the boathouse, judging from the laughter and voices, but Jane had said she wanted to go back to the cabin.

Once there, they didn’t even turn on the light. Booth kicked the door shut and they reached for each other, mouths fusing, as they fumbled with their clothes. There was no awkwardness, no hesitation. Within moments, they were on the bed, naked, giving and taking pleasure. Booth worshipped her body using his hands, his mouth, his cock. When she opened her legs and took him inside, he felt so much more than physical pleasure. Being joined like this with her was a celebration of what they were together and taste of what they might have in the future.

* * *

The next morning when he woke up, Booth glanced at the bedside clock. It was almost six. Too late for sunrise yoga, but just in time for breakfast. He slid out of bed carefully, yanked on his clothes, snaked the room key and left the room as quietly as he could.

In the lodge, he found not quite the full buffet, but enough to cobble together a decent meal. He grabbed a few croissants and pastries, a bowl of cut fruit, apple and orange juice, coffee with all the fixings.

It took him a while to get back to the cabin without spilling the drinks and he worried the entire time that Jane would wake up and find him gone and wonder where he was. He hoped she was still sleeping so he could surprise her.

She was. He crept inside and set the tray down.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he murmured, kneeling next to the bed. He brushed aside a lock of her hair and she opened her eyes. A drowsy smile dawned on her face when she saw him, a smile so sweet and genuine, his heart fucking fell over and surrendered. His mom had always said it was the little things that mattered and the look on Jane’s face right now…he loved it and he loved her.

He loved her.

He always had and he always would.

A long time ago, his mom had been on her knees in the flowerbed planting what looked like little onions in the dirt. His six-year-old self had wondered why she was doing it backward. Everyone knew you took food out of the ground, not the other way around. But she’d smiled at him when he told her so.

“These are bulbs, honey. If we plant these under the ground, they’ll be protected from the snow that’s coming. Then, in the spring, we’ll have beautiful daffodils.” She’d shown him a picture of the bright yellow flowers and he remembered being in awe of his mom—that she knew things his teacher didn’t even know, that not all plants came from seeds.

By the time spring rolled around, he’d forgotten all about the bulbs and when his mother pointed out the long narrow leaves and the tight bud emerging, he’d been amazed and surprised. It didn’t make up for the fact that it was too warm for their backyard ice rink to stay frozen, but it was still kind of nice.

Looking again a sleepy Jane smiling up at him, he realized his love for her was like one of those daffodil bulbs, except it had lain dormant and virtually forgotten about for eleven years, not just a few months. But unlike the daffodil, he wasn’t going to allow it to wilt, turn brown and die.