By the Clark Fork River, near the new lands Dante had purchased, in the late hours of the night. The tent camp sat quietly by the riverbank.
The night sky was deep, with stars scattered in all directions like diamonds embedded in the dark heavens.
The forest on the other side of the river was barely visible in the moonlight. The tree shadows stood still, with a solemn and peaceful look.
A breeze swept through the forest, causing the branches and leaves to tremble slightly, and the whispering sound seemed like nature's beautiful song.
The Clark Fork River flowed slowly, reflecting the starry sky and the campfire by the shore.
Suddenly, a fish leapt out of the water, breaking the calm and sending small ripples across the surface. Soon, the river returned to its mirror-like stillness.
The campfire in the center of the camp was the only light source at night. The flickering flames lit the riverbank with a soft, wavering glow.
The fire licked a thick piece of wood, occasionally letting out crackles. Every now and then, a few sparks flew into the night sky and quickly vanished into the darkness.
The iron pot hanging from the tripod was lit by the fire and surrounded by rising steam.
The flames danced in the wind, and shadows flickered on Dante's profile.
He sat by the fire, his seat no more than a simple carved wooden log, but at that moment, there was no need to worry about such rough details.
Dante slightly lowered his head, holding in his hand a baked potato he had just taken from the fire. He slowly peeled off the skin, carefully handling the scorching heat with his hands.
The potato skin had roasted to a crispy texture, releasing a unique charcoal-fire aroma that stirred the appetite.
Dante's fingertips still bore some black grill marks. He skillfully removed the skin, gently blew on the potato's surface, and took a bite.
The outer layer of the potato flesh was soft and dense, with a subtle sweetness mixed with the smoky aroma of flame-roasting, while the inside preserved its natural freshness.
Dante squinted, savoring this simple beauty. A satisfied smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. "This flavor is incredible."
This humble dish prepared by the campfire in nature was actually better than many elaborate meals he had eaten.
He had never expected food cooked over a fire to rival the recipes of fine chefs.
But maybe it was because of the peace he found in places like this, where there was no need to stay on guard. Where no one could harm him—a truly peaceful place.
Thinking of the potatoes he had just planted in his garden, he couldn't help but wonder if the ones he grew himself would taste even better than these, which he had bought at the farmer's market.
The campfire lit up the quiet riverbank, and the light from the stars and the moon wove together to create a serene image.
Dante looked around. The dining atmosphere was comparable to that of a resort. Susie was asleep—they had come to this place for a family fishing trip.
This was all happening before the wedding, of course. They didn't need something like a bachelor party as Beth had suggested.
A girls' night…
The last time Beth organized a girls' night, she and Susie ended up fighting with other women.
"What a day…" Dante finished the baked potato in his hand, picked up the open bottle of whiskey at his feet, and took a sip, letting out a satisfied sound.
He glanced at the kettle hanging over the fire. Steam was slowly rising, releasing a faint fragrance.
After one last sip of alcohol, Dante tossed a log onto the fire and watched the flames roar back to life.
The alcohol bottle was now empty, so his only drink for the night would be a cup of hot coffee.
Dante shook his head helplessly—drinking too much could easily become a bad habit. If he lost control of what he drank or ate, he would lose the most important thing in his life: the peace he had always sought.
The night wind brought a bit of chill, but it was more comforting than cold.
Dante stood up, stretched, and brushed the dust from his pants legs. After eating and drinking, it was time to get to work.
There were three fishing rods set up by the river, all of which he had placed earlier before baking the potatoes. These were the fishing tools he would use to pass the time that night.
Small bells hung at the tips of the fishing rods, currently still and silent.
But Dante knew a fish had bitten the hook, just not strongly enough to make the rod tip sway.
He calmly walked to the riverbank, picked up the first rod, and gently tested the line's resistance.
The tip of the rod only bent slightly downward, with a pull so faint that one might doubt whether it was caused by the current.
"That's all the strength you've got, little one." Dante smiled and shook his head, gripping the rod with one hand and quickly tightening the line with the other.
The fishing rod he used had a reel, making it much more convenient to handle than a manual rod. Besides, these small fish weren't strong enough to snap the line, so he could reel it in without hesitation.
A few seconds later, the water's surface broke, and a small fish was pulled from the river.
Its body was a typical golden tone with dark spots, and its head was quite smooth—a variant of the cutthroat trout.
The fish's scales shimmered faintly under the firelight and moonlight. Its dorsal fin stood upright, and the spiny fins along the edge were especially visible.
Dante gently placed the fish in the palm of his hand and examined it carefully. "Well, it's not particularly big, but it's a good catch."
He reached out and unhooked the small hook from the fish's mouth. His movements were light and skillful, careful not to hurt the little one, while also avoiding the sharp spines of the dorsal fin. He placed the fish into his cooler.
The first one earned a star—looks like luck is on his side tonight.