Page 30 of Chasing Sunsets

I ignore them, but the heat creeping up my neck has nothing to do with the wine.

By the time Anson and I leave, I’m pleasantly tipsy, the kind of relaxed that makes everything feel a little lighter. The drive back to the campground is slow and easy. The windows are rolled down, and the night air is hot against my skin.

I lean my head back against the seat, closing my eyes for a moment. “That was nice.”

“Yeah?” His voice is low, amused.

I glance over at him. He’s got one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh. The faint glow from the dashboard highlights the strong line of his jaw, the slight curve of his lips.

“Yeah,” I murmur. “I like your friends.”

“They like you too,” he says. Then, after a beat, “Amiya definitely does.”

I snort. “I like her too. And she sure has your number.”

He chuckles. “She subtle?”

“Not even a little.”

He grins, and for a second, I get caught staring. Maybe it’s the wine, or maybe it’s just him, but everything about this moment—the wind in my hair, the warmth in my chest, the way his fingers tap absently against the steering wheel—feels … right.

And dangerous.

“You have fun?” he asks, glancing at me.

“I did.” I pause. “I liked seeing you with Leia.”

His smile softens. “She’s a great kid.”

“You’re good with her.”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “She’s easy to love.”

Something about the way he says it makes my stomach do a slow flip.

The rest of the drive is quiet, comfortable, the kind of silence that doesn’t need filling. By the time we pull up to my RV, the stars are scattered across the sky, bright and endless. The air smells like the ocean, like summer and salt and something familiar.

Anson puts the truck in park, but doesn’t move to shut it off. Instead, he turns to me, that teasing smile back in place. “You sure you don’t need me to walk you to the door? You’ve had a lot of wine.”

I roll my eyes, but I’m still smiling. “I think I can manage the ten steps without hurting myself.”

But I don’t move. Neither does he.

The air shifts, thick with something unspoken.

I should get out. I should say good night, go inside, stick to the boundaries I set.

Instead, I glance at his mouth.

“Careful. You keep looking at me like that, and I’m going to kiss you,” he warns.

My eyes flit back up to his.

“That would be breaking the rules,” I whisper.

He grins, and his hand comes up to caress the side of my face.

“The best thing about rules is breaking them. Besides, friends can kiss. It’s like kissing cousins, but without the grossness or guilt,” he says.

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