Page 28 of Reach Around

Shep’s already sweating through his shirt, waving his spatula like a magic wand. “Beth! How spicy you want it, Mamacita? One taste and you’ll need a fire extinguisher for your tongue!”

She gives his charred, dripping monster-burger a once over and just shakes her head, deadpan. “If that burger was a man, he’d be ghosted on every dating app in Minnesota.”

Meanwhile, the whole place is vibrating with the kind of giddy, live-wire energy that only happens when someone like JoJo offers a kiss as the grand prize and pretends she’s being impartial.

Joely makes the rounds with a golden spatula in hand, her fake-serious “food critic” face on, playing up the drama for the phones out and snapping photos. “Heath, what are you callingthis? The Leaning Tower of Avo-tragedy?” She scoops off a slice, gags, and manages a diplomatic, “Well, it’s…innovative.” The crowd snickers.

Gage hands over a burger that looks more like a Jenga set mid-collapse. “Be gentle. She’s fragile,” he pleads. Joely takes a bite, the toppings avalanche onto the floor. “Points for creativity,” she deadpans, giving him a consolatory pat.

Then Shep, the reigning chaos goblin, slides his burger across with a wink so big the whole room could see it. “Careful, Joely. This one’s got a surprise inside. Kind of like my pants.”

She takes a dramatic sniff, takes a bite, and for a second, it looks like she’s about to ascend to another plane. “Shep… what is this?!”

He shrugs, cocky. “It’s called ‘Blowtorch Romance.’ Secret sauce. Also, possibly a lawsuit.”

The crowd loses it—half-cheering, half-mocking, everyone ribbing Joely to “kiss the chef!” She just fans her mouth, reaching for a beer, eyes watering but laughing.

She bites into Boone’s cheese tower, squints, and deadpans, “Next time, try meat.”

Bennett’s is respectable, but he’s too busy scowling at me to notice Joely’s trying to enjoy it. “Just eat the damn burger,” he grunts. Joely tries not to laugh, gives him a polite golf clap, and moves on.

Then—finally—she turns to mine. My heart’s slamming like I just missed an open net. She lifts it, inspects it, gives me this sideways grin that’s all nerves and something sweeter. “Well, Foster, let’s see if you cook as good as you chirp.”

She takes a bite, slow and deliberate, and for a second it’s like time itself stutters. The bar, the noise, every dumb joke and every shout—it all hushes, every eye locked on Joely, but her gaze is only on me. She chews, licks her lips, and then it happens—her eyes catch mine, wide and searching, like she’s trying to decide if this is bravery or insanity.

Shep, forever the ringleader, shoves the mic under her chin. “Well?”

Joely swallows, and for a heartbeat, she doesn’t answer. Just stands there, pink-cheeked, the tension between us stretched so tight I think something in me might snap. Finally, she lifts the mic, but her eyes never leave mine. “We have a winner,” she says, her voice steady. Her hands are shaking, and it hits me—this isn’t just nerves. She feels it, too. And suddenly, I’m even more wrecked.

The bar detonates—cheers, howls, the slap of hands on backs, and the unmistakable chant: “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” It’s a storm, a blur, but Joely doesn’t move right away. For one long, heart-stopping moment, we’re suspended there, the world split wide open between us.

Then, almost shy, Joely steps in—close enough I can count the freckles on her cheeks, close enough I swear I can hear her heart racing. She hesitates, her breath a soft cloud in the heat between us, and then she tips up onto her toes, hands finding my arms for balance.

And when she kisses me? It’s not the staged, quick little peck the crowd expects. Her lips find mine, soft but unsteady, a question and a confession rolled into one. It’s tentative at first—nervous, sweet, the kind of kiss you never get back. But then, just as my heart goes sideways, she presses in harder, and something inside me caves. My hands are already at her waist, fingers digging in, anchoring myself to the only thing that feels real in this whole damn circus.

The world evaporates. It’s just the heat of her mouth, the shaky breath she lets out against my lips, the way she tastes a little like nerves and a lot like forever. Everything in me wantsto pour every unspoken word into that kiss—don’t let go, don’t leave, don’t be scared, not of me.

She pulls away first, just a fraction, just enough that I can feel her smile against my lips. Her eyes meet mine—shining, scared, and braver than I’ve ever seen her. The crowd roars, the spell snaps, but my arms stay around her, just for a second longer, like I’m afraid she might disappear if I let go.

Shep’s wailing like he just won the lottery. Bennett’s chirping something about “favoritism.” Joely steps back, her face burning, her fingers still lingering at my wrists. She laughs, breathless and a little wild, and for the first time in a long time, I feel something crack open inside me—a possibility, a hope, a hell of a lot more than just a burger contest.

All around us, the bar is chaos. But in my chest? It’s quiet, and it’s hers.

I’m still standing there like a total idiot, fingers numb, lips tingling, the world spinning off its damn axis. Joely’s already disappeared into the crowd—busy, smiling, acting like she didn’t just light me up in front of half the town.

She ducks behind the bar, grabbing a tray of empties, moving so fast I can’t tell if she’s working or just running for cover. My chest is pounding. I try to play it cool, but every time I blink, I see that look in her eyes before she pulled away—like we both just realized something dangerous and there’s no going back.

The place is going wild, laughter and jeers and Boone yelling, “Get a room!” But it’s all noise—background fuzz to the only thing that matters: that kiss. It was supposed to be for laughs, a goof, something to give the regulars something to gossip about for the next month. Instead, it’s burned into me, sharp and bright, a line in the sand I didn’t even know I was about to cross. One taste and I know—I’m done for.

I catch glimpses of Joely through the chaos. She’s laughing too hard at Shep’s dumb victory dance, cheeks flaming, head thrownback, but every few seconds, her eyes dart my way. Quick, stolen glances that make my heart stutter. Yeah, she’s rattled, too. I can tell. I know her better than I know myself, and she’s not hiding it as well as she thinks.

Someone slaps my back—Gage, I think. “Don’t screw it up, Foster!” he yells, and the rest of the guys pile on. I fake a grin, shoulder-check him back, but inside, I’m a mess. What the hell do I do now?

I spot Mom near the end of the bar, deep in conversation with Virgil, probably plotting her next “improvement” for the place. I snake my way over, dodging a spilled drink and Shep shoving his phone in my face to get a selfie. “Smile, champ, you’re famous now!”

Mom clocks me instantly—one look and she’s got my number. “You look like you just found out you’re being traded.” She snaps a dishtowel at my arm, just missing my elbow.

I lean against the counter, trying to get my head straight. “Mom, you got a sec? I got… something going on.”

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