Page 223 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
“I had fun too.” I steal a piece of his cotton candy, bumping his warm hand.
He curls his pinky around mine before letting me go. Then he licks his fingers. And watching his tongue run along his thumb pad does things inside me—reminds me why I added all those extras to our bucket list.
Ourbucket list.
I love how that sounds.
“Considering we only did part of each list.” He smirks down at me as if challenging me.
“We were very PG.” I lick the cotton candy off my fingertips.
That’s when I catch him staring.
“I think PG is a critical role for us in getting to know each other again.” The words crawl past his lips like they’re painful to say.
“You did take a go at it on the Ferris wheel.” I scratch above my breast as a reminder.
He chuckles. “That wasn’t intentional.”
“Mhm,” I tease.
We laugh, and it feels so good. The whole day has felt so good. We arrive at the campsite too soon. The fire crackles at the center, ringed with familiar faces sitting on overturned coolers and folding camp chairs, bundled in blankets.
All heads turn as we walked in together.
The sudden silence is heavy as eyes flicker between us and eyebrows rise.
Smirks form.
“What’s going on here?” A blanket is draped over Josie’s shoulder as she leans over the fire with a poker stick, cooking a marshmallow.
“We weren’t—”
“We happened—”
We start at the same time and then glance at one another. There goes that comfort level between us.
I clear my throat. “We decided not to hate each other.”
“Oh, did you?” Josie leans back, taking her poker stick out of the campfire.
“We already know.” Levi lifts his beer.
Josie skips over to me and plucks the bucket list book from under my arm. “We’ve been waiting for this.”
I try to get it back, but she manoeuvres so I can’t reach and prances back to her seat. Hart and I share a very possessive look, but neither of us says a word.
“We have pages to decipher.” Josie balances her poker against the fire pit, placing the marshmallow above the flames.
She plops on the chair and opens it to a page with a raging campfire and melted marshmallows that aren’t intended to be eaten...well, not in the traditional way.
“Go get changed so we can do this already. Looks like we’re talking scary tales around the fire.”
Hart and I share a look because there’s so much more to this bucket list than what they think.
Josie picks up the poker. Scorching flames swallow the marshmallow. Beads of molten sugar drip, and then the marshmallow slowly begins to slide.
My chest tightens as I watch it descend inch by inch, toward her lap.
