Page 12 of Bonfire with Beckett
His mouth quirks. “I don’t sugarcoat, Willa. You’d hate me if I did.”
“Not true.” I step closer, lowering my voice. “I’d love you for it.”
The words slip out before I can stop them, and heat flashes across my cheeks.Love?Oh god. Too soon. Too much. I clear my throat and hurry on. “I mean—I’d appreciate the gesture.”
His gaze lingers on me, heavy, like he heard the word I didn’t mean to say. Then he nods toward the lake. “Tell me how it’s supposed to look. Tomorrow night. If everything goes right.”
I glance out at the water, the way the trees lean in close, like they’re holding their breath. Closing my eyes, I picture it.
“There’s music playing,” I begin. “Fiddles, banjos, maybe a little Johnny Cash. People laughing, sipping cider. Families wrapped in blankets. Couples sneaking off for a kiss by the water. And right here—” I gesture to the ring—“a fire so tall it reaches the stars. Sparks shooting up like they’re dancing.”
I open my eyes. He’s watching me, not the lake. His expression is intent, reverent. Like my words matter more than any weather forecast.
I swallow hard and my pulse quickens. “I just want people to feel what my parents felt. The magic of it. The connection. Like anything could happen when you stand around that fire together.”
His jaw tightens, but not in the way it does when he’s shutting someone down. Softer. Sadder. “I hope I get to see it. Your dream. I really do. If the weather cooperates, I want to see it.”
I blink, thrown by the warmth in his tone. “You mean that?”
“Yeah.” He looks back at the water. “Your mom would’ve wanted it too.”
My throat catches. “You really knew her.”
“Knew her?” His laugh is low, rough. “She carried me through deployments, Willa. Not literally, but… she wrote. She emailed. Sent packages when the mail system worked. She checked in like she knew when I needed it most. Everyone else kind of fizzled in their communications after a while, but she didn’t.”
Tears sting my eyes, hot and fast. “That sounds like her.”
“I would’ve been… a lot lonelier without her,” he admits.
I can’t say it. I can’t say “I’m falling for you.” But the truth swells in my chest.
Since she died, one of the things that made me saddest was thinking Mom wouldn’t get to meet the man I’d spend my lifewith. That he’d never get to know her. Two of the three most important people in my life never crossing paths.
It’s a constant thought lurking in the back of my head.
But here’s Beckett. Talking about her like she was every bit as important to him as she was to me.
In a way, it almost feels like she night be the reason we’re standing here together now.
It’s probably silly to think that, but wouldn’t it be amazing?
I must be wearing every thought on my face, because Beckett’s eyes darken, and then he’s stepping closer. His hand cups the side of my neck, rough palm warm against my skin.
And then he kisses me.
His mouth claims mine, and I gasp against him. Clutching the front of his shirt. His tongue slides against mine, and the world narrows to the heat and need growing between us.
He presses me back gently against a tree. Just the way I imagined before.
Looking at me, manifesting this moment of pleasure.
And… it is a true pleasure.
His body crowds mine. One hand cradles the back of my head. The other slides up and down my waist.
I feel him everywhere. Solid muscle. Pure heat. The faint scrape of his beard against my skin.
I break for air, panting, and he kisses the corner of my mouth, my jaw, down to the soft spot beneath my ear. My knees threaten to give out.
