“Are you coming or what?” Gwen’s voice remained even, informing John this was going to be one of those weekends.
“Coming.” He slammed the trunk a third time. That time, the catch caught and it stayed closed. Blowing out a breath, he hefted his bag and hurried along the trail.
He hated camping and never understood the need for so many to leave the luxuries of the twenty-first century behind. Of course, he had to marry a habitual camper.
When he reached the clearing, she turned and smiled.
“Isn’t it beautiful?”
Dirt and bugs? Are you kidding? “Sure is, honey.”