Page 18 of Red, White, and You

High praise.

By the time the final float passes—a slightly lopsided Liberty Bell courtesy of the drama club—I’m hot, sweaty, and completely out of baked goods.

“Successful morning?” Phoenix asks, appearing beside me looking entirely too put-together for someone who just spent an hour on a parade float.

“Very. How was your first Honeysuckle Ridge parade?”

“Educational,” he says. “I learned that Mrs. Patterson has very strong opinions about flag protocol, and that Joe has no shame when it comes to public enthusiasm.”

I laugh. “That’s Joe. All the success, still the same guy who loves a small-town parade.”

Phoenix leans in slightly, his voice low. “Thanks again for last night. The cake was incredible.”

Heat crawls up my neck. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“I more than liked it.” His gaze lingers, and the air between us goes still.

“Gigi, I need to tell you something—”

“There you are!” Joe booms, striding toward us with Ella in tow. Both of them look suspiciously pleased with themselves.

“We’ve been looking for you two,” Ella says.

“Why?” I ask, though I already know I won’t like the answer.

“Because,” Ella chirps, “we thought you might want to watch the fireworks with us tonight. Up at Miller’s Hill.”

Joe grins. “Best view in town. And I promised Phoenix a look at the stars.”

Phoenix gives him a flat look. “I don’t remember asking about stargazing.”

“Really? Huh.” Joe’s grin widens. “Could’ve sworn. Either way—you’re both invited.”

I glance at Ella, who is vibrating with matchmaking energy. Joe’s not even pretending this isn’t a setup. Then I look at Phoenix, who just raises his brows, waiting.

“What do you think?” he asks. “Want to watch some fireworks?”

And even though every rational cell in my body is yellingbad idea,I hear myself say, “Sure. That sounds fun.”

Joe and Ella exchange a look of smug triumph.

This is either going to be the best Fourth of July I’ve ever had… or a complete disaster.

At least there’ll be fireworks.

Chapter 11

Phoenix

Miller’sHillisthekind of place that makes you understand why people never leave small towns.

The view stretches across the valley like a postcard—Honeysuckle Ridge below, the ridgeline beyond it bathed in the last light of day. Families are camped out on blankets and lawn chairs, kids running around with sparklers while the smell of grilled hot dogs and funnel cakes drifts on the breeze.

I should be relaxed.

Instead, I feel like I’m sitting on a live wire.

Because somewhere between Gigi showing up on my porch with cake and almost kissing meagain, this stopped being simple. It’s not just a temporary detour from my real life. Thisfeelslike real life. And I’m the guy holding a secret that could blow it all apart.

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