Page 11 of Bonfire with Beckett
Hers lowers to mine.
And then I lean in. She moves closer.
And I kiss her.
It’s soft at first, tentative, sweet with caramel and apple. She makes a sound—half sigh, half surprise—that undoes me completely. Her lips part, inviting me deeper, and I take it, sliding my hand along her jaw, tilting her face toward mine.
The world drops away—the creak of the wheel, the hum of the crowd, the dizzying height. None of it matters. There’s only her, warm and pliant, kissing me back like she’s been waiting for this as long as I have.
I break just enough to rasp, “Is this okay?”
Her eyes are dark, shining. “Yes.”
She fists the front of my shirt and pulls me back to her.
So I kiss her again, harder this time, until my lungs protest and my pulse feels like it’s on the outside of my skin. Her hand slides up my arm, gripping tight. She tastes like sugar anddaring, and I know—without a single doubt—that this woman is dangerous in ways fire never was.
The Ferris wheel pauses at the very top, swaying gently. The town sprawls below, lights twinkling. But I don’t see it.
I only see her.
When her lips meet mine again, slow and sure, the rest of the world disappears.
FIVE
WILLA
Osprey Lake is quiet when we arrive, reflecting the pale autumn sky. The sun is beginning to sink, painting the water in streaks of gold and copper, the trees around it a blaze of pinks and purples on their way to oranges and yellows.
It’s perfect.
Beckett walks a few paces ahead of me.
He’s perfect.
His hands are tucked into his jeans pockets, boots crunching against the gravel path. There’s something about him—the broad shoulders, steady stride, strong whiskered jaw—that makes me want to climb him like a tree every time I see him.
Which, is pretty much all the time.
We’ve spent almost every day together these last two weeks. We’ve walked through safety checklists, conducted volunteer training, grabbed coffee while we review weather charts.
Somehow, those business meetings of ours usually end with one of us kissing the other. It’s no wonder the butterflies in my stomach start flapping every time I see him.
Especially this evening.
It’s the day before the bonfire. I want is for everything to go right. But I also want to make out with him. Preferably with my back pushed up against one of these trees.
“Last walkthrough,” he says, scanning the perimeter like he’s mentally mapping every square inch. “We’ll double-check the ring, water tanks, extinguishers. Then tomorrow…” He shrugs. “We see what the wind says.”
“Right,” I murmur, hugging my arms against the chill. “The wind.”
I follow him along the marked path, past the ring of stones they’ve laid, the steel rim Hank helped fabricate glinting in the fading light. The tanks stand ready, hoses coiled neat as snakes. Volunteers stacked extra water buckets along the perimeter. Everything is ready. All we need is permission from the weather.
“What do you think our odds are?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual.
Beckett pauses, squints at the sky, then looks back at me. “Fifty-fifty.”
I groan. “You’re supposed to tell me ninety percent. Maybe eighty. At least something hopeful.”
