”True,” Melinda chuckled. ”It’s called brûlée and it’s a technique I’ve only ever done using a gas flame in the kitchen.” She watched as Bill, with long, elegant fingers prepared a new batch of marshmallows. “That taste… the wood smoke, it adds so much more than the gas does.”
Reaching over – leaning in too close, she realized – she took one of the marshmallows from the bag. Curiously she broke it open, frowning as the texture proved not to her personal preferences. Critically she took a small bite, then shook her head. “No, nope, mine are much better when eaten cold, but those…” she pointed to the browning marshmallows by the fire, then opened her beer and took a drink. With a smile, she let that comment hang and disposed of the marshmallow. “Smores…” she mused. “That’s roasted marshmallows with chocolate, right?”