Page 26 of Story Of My Heart

Chapter Fourteen

Piper

I haven’t sat in front of a roaring fire for years. My father used to have them when I was a kid, taking my brother and I camping on the occasional weekend during the summer. They were always my favorite part of those days. The only other thing that came close was the brightness of the stars all the way out there, away from the city and all of the light pollution. Even now, I love watching the flames take the wood apart, turning it from something dead into warmth and ash and color. I love how toasty it makes my cheeks feel, and how it makes the bottom of my feet feel a little bit too warm while they’re perched on the edge of the pit, like my shoes might melt right off in between the bricks.

Tate seems unfazed by the whole thing, sitting in a chair three feet from the fire with one leg draped over the other, dangling a beer from his hand as he scrolls through something on his iPad. The resort’s traditional circular pile of bricks must be passé when compared to the state of the art fireplace in his penthouse, built to get him through the frigid Minneapolis winters in style. His nonchalance is comforting in its predictability. Sitting beside him in a shared silence, equally engrossed in our work, is the most normal thing I have felt since our moment of shared insanity earlier.

This much screen time is starting to strain my eyes and bring me dangerously close to a migraine. I let them drift up from my screen and toward the fire, sliding my glasses back into my hair and blinking as I shift focus. A particularly dry twig catches fire with a crisp crack, and both halves glow orange. The image reminds me of Tate and myself, and how good everything felt this afternoon. Maybe I’m late to the party, my love life being historically boring over the last decade or so, but perhaps the reason the sex is good is because it’s wrong, because we’re keeping something from ourselves and making poor decisions. I just hope I don’t end up like that poor little twig, getting reduced to ash in the process.

The sound of footsteps approaching the fire pit breaks my train of thought, followed by the soft clinking of glass bottles being carried together.

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Fallon asks, unloading the assortment of goodies she’s carrying into the chair on Tate’s other side, setting a six pack of green bottled lagers on the ground next to it. She offers one to Tate and myself, and we take them gladly.

“Yes, but it’s an interruption I totally appreciate.” I stretch in my seat, grimacing at the small series of pops that come from my spine. Fallon digs in her canvas tote bag, groaning in disappointment.

“Shoot.” She holds a hand to her forehead. “I forgot the bottle opener.”

“It’s not a big deal. I can work with this.” I smile, not sure if I’ve ever shown Tate this trick before. Leaning from my chair, I reach for an extra beer from the pack, and grip both bottles in my hand, making sure to hook the cap of the inside bottle over the other bottle top. Then, after an experimental stroke, I slam the outer bottle against the brick of the fire pit, watching Tate’s mouth fall open as the inner bottle’s cap flies up into the air and lands on the ground.

He looks from the fire pit to the beer, to me, then back again, squinting. “It’s basic physics … but applied so well. Piper, is there anything you can’t do?”

“Tate’s right,” Fallon agrees, barely containing her excitement as she hands me another beer to open. “That was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. You’re like a real life superhero. And superheroes deserve s’mores.”

Reaching into the bag, she removes several skewers, a box of graham crackers, a chocolate bar the size of my head, and a very crinkly bag of marshmallows. Tate motions for a skewer and the bag of marshmallows, which he tears into like a rabid child, stuffing not one but two of the things into his mouth at the same time.

“Sorry the chocolate is just the regular kind. I don’t have anything as nice as yours.” She passes me a skewer, and I wrestle a marshmallow away from Tate. “Speaking of—why don’t you have a shop or website for your amazing chocolates? I’d sell them here in a heartbeat if you did.”

I give her question some thought while I find a sweet spot in the range of the flames for my marshmallow. “I guess life got in the way.”

“She says I’m a lot of work,” Tate chimes in. His marshmallow is completely on fire, and he spins it in a slow circle as he blows out the flame. I make a concerned face at Fallon, who shrugs and rolls her eyes. Apparently, he just likes his burnt. I’m not surprised.

Even as he toys with his food, forgoing the graham crackers entirely, I always seem to be sitting right in the corner of his eye, as if his well-being hinges on my response to his sister. There’s a shadow of guilt in his expression, like he’s starting to realize just how much of myself I’ve devoted to him over the years. Maybe things are changing between us after all.

“I’m happy to support Tate with his dreams,” I answer, carefully weighing my words. I don’t want Tate to blame himself for how I’ve chosen to live my life. Right now, I don’t have enough money or time to be able to launch a side hustle and give it the attention it deserves. Maybe someday.

“Oh, that’s so sweet,” Fallon smiles at my response, then throws a tight look over my shoulder, shouting to a cluster of chairs several feet behind me so suddenly that I jump. “Don’t get any big ideas. We’re not doing that. I’m keeping my dreams.”

I can just barely make out Leo’s silhouette in the shadows thrown by the fire, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head, surrounded by a handful of guys I’ve seen hanging around the resort. He stands with a stretch, lumbering over toward us.

“Is that so? I don’t know why you’re getting all fired up. We’re not really together,” Leo teases, placing a hand on the back of Fallon’s chair.

Fallon flips her hair over her shoulder. “So you keep saying. What happens if I want to keep you?”

Leo tenses, shaking his head. “I’m turning in for the night.”

“Killjoy,” Fallon calls out, watching as he grabs for one of her beers then turns and starts to stride off toward the cabins. “You don’t know what you’re missing! You’re going to be really sorry if a handsome stranger picks me for cornhole tomorrow!”

Tate goes back to his iPad and I make a show of making another s’more, feeling like I shouldn’t be eavesdropping on this conversation.

Leo pauses, the beer halfway to his lips, and casts a long look back over his shoulder at Fallon. His voice is low when he speaks, carrying a mix of amusement and something deeper, more wistful. “Fallon, you know that’s not it. I just...” He trails off, shrugging as if trying to shake off his own hesitations.

Fallon’s posture softens, her playful smile faltering as she watches him struggle for words. “Leo, it’s okay. You don’t have to play it so cool around me. We’ve known each other since we were throwing sand in the playground. I know when you’re putting up walls.”

He laughs, a sound more resigned than amused. “Yeah, and you’ve been tearing them down just as long.” He takes a slow sip of his beer, his eyes not leaving Fallon’s. “Look, I’m just not sure if I’m ready to be someone’s anything right now.”

Fallon leans forward, her voice earnest, almost pleading. “But you are someone’s something, Leo. You’ve always been.” She pauses, gathering her courage. “And maybe I want more than just childhood memories and casual hangouts. Maybe I want more.”

Leo sets the beer down, stepping closer to the fire, his face illuminated by the flickering light, shadows dancing across his features. “Fallon, you’re amazing. You deserve someone who’s all in, someone who can give you everything you want.” His voice cracks slightly, betraying his calm demeanor.

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