“Sometimes I shorten it to sparky,” he replies nonchalantly.

“Exactly. Instead of something sweet like baby or kitten, nope, I get Clark Griswold’s pet name. Other than that usage, every other Jack Russell Terrier in the United States is named Sparky, so I’m not exactly seeing it as a term of endearment.”

“I honestly never thought about that,” he chuckles, wobbling my elbow, which is resting on his chest.

“Well, those are things you have to consider,” I add sarcastically.

Casen rolls onto his side, forcing me to slide off him. A mischievous smile lights up his face. “All right, can I explain?”

I nod, signaling him to continue.

“Jen, you have to understand, you are the feistiest, most stubborn, headstrong woman I’ve ever met. You don’t take shit from anyone, especially me, and yet you are one of the most loyal people I’ve ever come across. I adore you for all those qualities.”

“What does that have to do with—” I begin to ask, but he covers my mouth with two of his fingers, cutting me off.

“Do you know what a sparkplug is?” he asks.

“I know it belongs in a car, but other than that, no.” He gives me a look of disappointment. “Don’t give me that look, Casen Thompson. I’m not the type of girl who rebuilds engines; I have a triple A card for a reason.”

“Never once did you strike me as the type to wield a wrench,” he mocks.

“Ha ha. This better be one hell of an explanation,” I warn teasingly.

“Wait a minute, what’s wrong with the Griswolds?” he teases. I playfully push his shoulder, causing him to laugh.

“You’re such an asshole,” I tell him as I try to hide my own smile.

“I certainly am, but it’s what you like about me. Now hush and let me finish.”

I settle back against the pillows and wait for whatever imaginative creation Casen has concocted for my terrible nickname. I always thought he was poking fun at me when he used it.

“I enjoy cars, not the new pieces of shit made of plastic, but the classics, cars with soul. You know I treat Nelly like my own child. That pickup was nothing more than a rusted out shell of a vehicle when I bought it, and it took years to restore. There is something really cool about finding something which has been abandoned, something which was thrown away and making it shine again.”

I nod in agreement. I may know jack shit about cars, but I feel the same way about my photography. I love capturing those small moments when people don’t think you’re watching. That’s where the real beauty lies, not in anything I could ever pose.

“When I met you, you reminded me so much of Nelly.”

“I reminded you of your truck? Casen, my suggestion would be to offer chocolate and back away slowly. I don’t see this going anywhere complimentary, when the introduction includes you remind me of my once rusty truck I found in a junkyard. Not exactly words which will convince a girl to let you under her hood.”

“You’re killing me, devil woman. Let me finish,” he whines before briefly burying his head in a pillow.

I quietly giggle and then nudge him up. “Sorry, I’m sure this has a fabulous ending.” Yeah, that probably didn’t help contradict the devil woman label. I swear I try to channel my best Mother Theresa, but all that ever comes through is something, which rivals Linda Blair. “Really, keep going. Please. I want to know where the name comes from.”

Casen rolls his eyes, clearly no longer amused with my interruptions and added commentary. “Like I was saying, I kept thinking of Nelly when I was around you. It wasn’t that you reminded me of the actual truck, it was something specific about the truck. I rebuilt everything, my truck was perfect, but I couldn’t get the damn thing to start. I checked and double checked.”

“What was wrong with it?” I ask.

His eyes slide to mine and he grins triumphantly. “The sparkplug,” he announces smoothly. “It’s the tiniest of parts, but if something is wrong with the sparkplug, a vehicle won’t work. When I met you I realized if I let you close enough, you would be my own personal sparkplug.” He grabs my hip and pulls me down to my back and hovers over me. “You’re a massive personality inside this tiny little package. If I didn’t have you or if something were to upset you, my own world wouldn’t work the way it should. I knew you would be that important to me. Am I making better sense?”

I nod and kiss him. Just like that, I don’t mind the nickname anymore. In fact, I now want to hear it more than ever. I’ve never been important to anyone, so for him to see something more than anyone else makes me feel both uncomfortable and special.

Before I can say anything, Casen rips the blanket off me and I yelp from the immediate chill I’m met with. “What the hell?”

“It’s my turn to ask a question. One last one before we have to pack up and return to the real world.” He rubs his hands down my freezing body until he reaches the tattoo on my lower hip. People say tattoos are addictive, but I only have the one and I don’t see that ever changing.

“Tell me the story of this tattoo. I’ve seen a million and a half of those dandelion tattoos with the fuzz floating off into the breeze. This, though, is the yellow dandelion flower. I could understand a rose, or a daisy, even one of those popular lilies, but a dandelion? Most people consider it a weed, not a flower. So, I want the story,” he explains while his fingers trace the outline of my small tattoo. His touch leaves a trail of warmth on my skin, and I silently beg him to continue.

“That’s exactly why I got it. I like to consider myself a person who survives whatever shit pile I step in or get thrown into. I’m not some fragile thing which wilts and dies. Like you said, I’m stubborn. When I decided to get a tattoo to remind myself it’s okay to be a headstrong girl who not everyone is going to like, those popular flowers wouldn’t work. They all need to be taken care of; if their environment isn’t ideal they can’t survive.” As I continue to explain I feel my throat tighten and tears begin to flood my eyes. I rarely cry. I take that back, I don’t cry, but I never talk about my past either, so I guess this attack of the emotions can be expected, but I hold it together. “No, I wanted the weed,” I choke out. “I wanted the plant which people try and kill year after year, yet it continues to return. Its beauty isn’t in the petal. The beauty lies in its will to survive. There was never any indecision, I’m a dandelion.”

I feel a tear get past my defenses and roll down my temple and into my hair. I try to pretend it didn’t happen so Casen won’t notice. No such luck, though. Instead of using his hands to wipe my sadness away, he turns my head toward him and kisses the path of my tear.

“You got part of your description wrong, sparky. You aren’t a weed. You absolutely are a flower. You are the strongest fucking flower I’ve ever met.” His words provoke a few more tears to fall.

Casen then shifts on top of me, and brushes my hair away from my face. “Beautiful inside and out,” he whispers before kissing me and grinding his hips against mine.

When he deepens the kiss, I pull away. “I thought we needed to get ready to leave?” I ask.

“The world can wait. There is nothing outside this camper more important than who is in my arms right now.”

I push him off me, straddling his waist and pinning him to the bed. I lean down as though I’m going to kiss him, but I stall just before reaching him. “Don’t you forget it,” I tell him with a sly smile. Casen chuckles and lifts his head to meet me in the middle. Our bodies meld together and once again passion overtakes us. He was right. The world and everything in it can wait.

Casen

“Thank you for dinner,” she says, placing the key in the lock to her apartment.