Page 8 of Bonfire with Beckett
“You already did,” I mutter, shoving the blanket back at Beckett.
Dad gives me the look that meanslaterand disappears down the hall.
Silence stretches. Beckett folds the blanket with neat, precise movements, like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just have his arms around me while my pulse tried to launch into orbit.
When he finally looks at me, there’s the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Now that you’ve had a taste of the safety curriculum… What’s next?”
I take a breath, forcing my pulse to steady. “What’s next is… We go on a fact-finding field trip.”
His brows lift. “Fact-finding.”
“Yep.” I grab my coffee cup, drain the last lukewarm sip, and stand. “You want to be involved every step of the way? You’re coming with me.”
“When?”
“Three days.”
He nods. “Where are we going?”
I smirk. “You’ll see.”
FOUR
BECKETT
The bench seat in Tom Martin’s old pickup creaks every time Willa takes a corner.
I still don’t know why I let her talk me into this.
“Where are we going?” I ask for the third time, bracing one arm against the door.
“I already told you.” She grins, eyes fixed on the road. “It’s a field trip.”
“That’s not much of an answer.”
“It’s all you’re getting.” She downshifts smoothly, clearly at home behind the wheel. “You’re the safety guy, remember? Always preaching about being prepared. Consider this practice in flexibility.”
I grunt. “I don’t like surprises.”
“You’ll like this one.” Her ponytail swings when she glances at me, mischief dancing in her eyes.
I’m about to press again when she makes a final turn, gravel crunching under the tires. The truck rolls to a stop, and I look out the window and freeze.
The Maple Ridge Fall Festival spreads in front of us, strung with orange lights, booths lined along the square, the smell of cider and cinnamon rolling on the cool air. Families. Kids. Laughter.
I haven’t come here for anything but inspections in years. Haven’t let myself.
Willa kills the engine, tosses me a triumphant look. “Surprise.”
“The… festival,” I gape. “This is your fact-finding field trip?”
“Where else?” Her smile widens. “You’ve been supervising booths for years. Checking permits. Shutting down rogue extension cords. But when’s the last time you actually enjoyed it?”
I grunt. “Enjoy isn’t part of my job description.”
“Exactly. Which is why I’m making it part of mine.” She waves toward the door. “Come on. Don’t make me drag you.”
And damn if the mental image of her trying to drag me anywhere doesn’t short-circuit my brain. I clear my throat. “This is ridiculous.”
