Page 69 of Reach Around

He bumps his knee against mine. “Feels like we’re on a date.”

I glance at him, teasing. “Is that what this is?”

He gives a lazy shrug. “You’re here. I’m here. There’s fire, alcohol, and sexual tension. It checks the boxes.”

I sip slowly. “You forgot s’mores.”

“Oh shit. I did.” He grins. “Guess you’ll have to come back for a real official date. One that gets announced to the Slammer-verse.”

There’s a spark in his eyes—one that says he’s only half joking. And the way my heart stumbles? I’m not joking at all.

Thisfeelsreal.

I’m halfway through my cocoa when he reaches over and brushes something off my lip.

“You had…” Brogan’s voice dips low as his thumb swipes the corner of my mouth, “a little marshmallow fluff.”

I swallow, hard. “Thanks.”

His hand lingers. Just enough to short-circuit my brain.

“You’re kinda pretty, Foster,” I whisper.

He smirks. “Kinda?”

“Don’t get cocky.”

“Oh, it’s way too late for that.”

I lean forward, setting my mug on the ground, because I need both hands free. “What’d you want to show me, anyway? You said there was something…”

He doesn’t answer, instead, he stands and offers me his hand. God help me, I take it. He leads me a few yards past the old shed with the rusted door and the pine tree with the crooked star still zip-tied to the top from Christmas. Back yards in Sorrowville aren’t that big, but this one’s about a half-acre.

Christmas already feels like it happened in another universe, but the ache still lingers. The Fosters went down to the Cities for the big family bash, and I spent the holiday with Lynsie’s crew—matching pajamas, way too much eggnog, and her mom insisting I’m basically their extra daughter now. Brogan and I exchanged tiny, dumb presents—he got me a bird feeder shaped like a hockey puck, I gave him a hand-carved driftwood ornament. Nothing fancy. But every time I see it on his keychain,I remember what it’s like to be chosen, even when you’re not part of someone’s family tree.

He stops and flips on a motion light. And there it is. A backyard obstacle course made entirely for squirrels.

“You did this?” I ask, blinking at the tiny wooden bridges, PVC pipe tunnels, and what looks like a sunflower seed zipline.

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Had some time during the lockout. It started with one bird feeder. Then it turned into a battle of wills.”

“And the squirrels won?”

“They always do. But now, I make them work for it.”

I laugh, genuinely, the sound spilling out of me like it hasn’t in days. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re beautiful,” he counters.

And just like that, the air shifts.

He steps closer, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating off him, even in the January chill.

“This okay?” he asks, voice rough.

I nod, because words aren’t working.

His lips brush mine. Once. Soft. Testing.

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