Page 50 of One Night Flame

Not even a little.

The fair kept moving around us—kids darting between booths, the smell of kettle corn hanging thick in the air, a bluegrass band plucking notes somewhere near the cider tent—but everything had narrowed to just Cord and me.

Liam was gone. Off on a popcorn-fueled adventure with Grandma, dragon tucked under one arm and no backward glance.

And I was still standing there, hand empty, chest full.

Cord’s fingers brushed lightly against the small of my back. It wasn’t a move. It wasn’t pressure. It was just... there. A quiet reassurance, like he was checking to make sure I hadn’t floated away.

I turned to look at him, and he was already watching me.

“So…” he said, leaning in slightly, voice low and warm, “grown-up things?”

A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Like corn mazes and semi-inappropriate jokes?”

His answering grin was slow and wicked. “Best kind.” Then he reached for my hand—unhurried, giving me the space to say no.

I didn’t.

His fingers laced through mine, palm steady against mine, and I felt something settle in my chest. Not fall. Not flutter. Settle. Like maybe I’d been holding tension for so long I didn’t even realize I was allowed to let it go.

“And maybe dancing under some fairy lights?” he asked.

I blinked. Not because it was cheesy. But because it was so sincere it caught me off guard.

I turned into him, sliding into his arms and smiling up at him. “Best offer I’ve had all day.”

EPILOGUE

CORD

The second we stepped out of the truck and onto the grass, Liam took off like a shot toward the obstacle course.

“Watch me, Cord!” he shouted over his shoulder, that plastic fire helmet from last year’s fall festival still somehow in one piece and wedged onto his head like battle gear.

I lifted a hand. “I’m watching, rookie!”

He zigzagged between two cones, arms pumping like he was on a mission, then paused dramatically before the hose-pull station. There was already a line of kids gathering, but he looked back just once to make sure I was still watching. Like he needed the nod.

I gave it.

Next to me, Lucy laughed softly, shaking her head as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “He’s been talking about this all week,” she said. “Said he needed to train.”

“He’s ready,” I said, and I meant it.

She turned that smile on me then, and I forgot what humidity was. Forgot how the back of my shirt stuck to my spine. Forgot that I used to come to these picnics solo, hovering around the grill or hiding behind coolers just to avoid small talk.

Now I was walking in with Lucy at my side and Liam leading the charge like he owned the damn place.

And somehow… it all made sense.

It had been less than a year, but already it felt like before was the strange part. The loner routine, the self-imposed distance—that had been survival mode. This? This was life. Real life. With noise and sticky hands and small victories, like watching a seven-year-old conquer an inflatable wall while you held your breath like it mattered.

Because it did.

I glanced at Lucy again. She wore jean shorts and a soft blue top that made her look like summer. Sunglasses pushed up into her hair. Flip-flops, even though I’d warned her about the grass being a minefield of garden hose and sprinkler lines.

She was here, hand brushing mine as we walked, like she didn’t even have to think about it anymore.

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