Page 49 of The Falcon and the Foe

“How many have you had?”

“Just one. I wanted to make sure we had enough for everyone else.”

I nodded, grateful that he was thoughtful enough to ration.

“You’re holding it too high,” Cal said. “Your marshmallow is going to get smoky. Lower it.”

I inched my wrist and stick down, lowering it closer to the flame.

“I don’t want it to burn.”

“It won’t. I have a Master's in S’moreology from S’morenell. Trust me. Closer.” Cal took my hand and confidently moved the stick down into the flame.

The marshmallow and I were one and the same, immersing ourselves further into a dangerous heat. The touch of his hot skin burned into my hand, sending a current through my chest and down to my dick. I turned to look at him, dipping myself a touch more into this fire.

“Scout Leader Russ!” Emmaline yelled out from across the fire.

My marshmallow burst into flames.

“Crap.” I yanked the stick out of the fire and blew on the marshmallow, but it had zero effect. This thing was a ball of fire.

“Holy marshmallow!” Cal called out.

My breath wasn’t smothering the flame, only adding to its power. I smacked it against the ground, but the fireball of sugar refused to quit.

“Stand back!” Chase charged forward with the fire extinguisher and shot clouds of white on the stick and marshmallow.

Once the fog of the extinguisher cleared, the scouts crowded around and gawked at the charred ball of goo at our feet.

I met Cal’s eyes, which were bunched with laughter. He tried holding it in, bless him. So much for his Master's in S’moreology.

“You’re quite the pyromaniac, aren’t you Scout Leader Russ?” Cal folded his arms across his chest.

I peeled the goo off the stick, tossed it in the trash, then tossed the stick in the fire.

“Here, you can have mine.” Chase handed over his marshmallow, coated in a creme brulee-esque burnt sheen. “I’ve already had three.”

“Three?” I shot Cal a look. He held up his hands in surrender.

He brought over the graham cracker and chocolate bar. “Let’s try this again.”

I put the gooey marshmallow atop the chocolate. Cal pressed the other graham cracker on top, and I pulled the stick from the s’more, which slid out like a sword from a stone.

Cal held up the finished product. “Now that is a perfect s’more.”

The first bite transported me back to my scouting days and having s’mores around a campfire. I’d attempted to make a double-decker s’more back then, but it was so tall it wouldn’t fit in my mouth.

“What are you smiling about?” Cal asked, his voice husky.

“Just remembering my days as a Falcon. I think I was a little bit like you.”

“Heaven forbid.” Cal smeared his thumb over the corner of my lip, sending another bolt of unwanted heat through me.

“You had some…”

“Yeah. Thanks.” I wiped the rest of my mouth on a napkin, even though I wished it was Cal’s thick fingers. “This is a darn good s’more.”

16

---