"Marissa, I think we're lost," Lance said again as he trudged along behind his girlfriend. He wasn't much for nature, and he'd only reluctantly agreed to accompany his girlfriend after lengthy persuasion.
"We're not lost, Lance," Marissa insisted, pushing aside a stray branch before it could tangle in her red ponytail. "We're just a little off the track."
"That's just another way of saying we're lost," Lance insisted, slapping a mosquito on his arm irritably. Black-haired, blue eyes, and a lanky 6'2, Lance was more at home in a library or in front of a game console than out in the woods. He did some light jogging and tried to watch what he hate to keep himself on the slim side, but that was where he preferred his physical activity to end.
Marissa sighed. At 5'9, she was 5 inches shorter than her boyfriend, with classically green eyes to match her long blonde hair. She adored Lance, but often wished he was more outdoorsy like her. It had taken weeks to persuade him to go on this hike with her, and he'd been complaining more often than not for the last three hours.
It didn't help that they actually were lost, but Marissa would rather die than admit it. If she owned up to it, Lance would never do anything like this ever again.
"Honey," she tried, going for a distraction technique, "can't you just enjoy the view while you walk behind me?" She gestured to her skimpy hiking gear: a pair of black short shorts and a pink crop top that emphasized her generous bust. A white ball cap that she had pulled her long blonde hair through completed the picture, and she preened a little as Lance blatantly ogled her.
Then another mosquito bit him on the neck, and he slapped it with a scowl. "Let's just keep going," he grumbled. The pair resumed their trek.
About 30 minutes later, Lance spoke again. "Hey, do you smell that?"
"Smell what?" She asked, turning. Lance had paused and was sniffing the air, looking oddly like a bloodhound on the scent.
"Something smells good!" He said, and abruptly darted off through the trees.
"Lance!" She shouted and chased after him. "Come on!" She heard him yelling, and up ahead she could see the sides of his plaid blue overshirt (worn open over his white undershirt) flapping in the breeze as he ran towards whatever he was smelling.
She was smelling it too, now, and he was right: it did smell good. But she was still annoyed he had taken off without her. She was so caught up on that that she almost crashed into her boyfriend when he came to an abrupt stop. "Look at that!" He said, eyes wide. She looked, and felt her own eyes go wide as well.
It was a gingerbread house; like something someone would bake at Christmastime, but scaled up large enough to actually live in. White frosting outlined the doors and windows, and a set of candy cane pillars upheld a wide front porch (whose floorboards seemed to be giant graham crackers), in which a door (whose knob appeared to be a giant m&m and whose body appeared to be milk chocolate) stood invitingly.
"Wow," Lance said, slowly walking over. "This is unreal!" Then, to Marissa's shock, her reached up and broke off a part of the porch roof and took a big bite. "It's sugar-cookie!" He told her through a full mouth, grinning as he sprayed crumbs. He gulped it down, then reached up and broke off another chunk.
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