Page 44 of DFF: Delicate Freakin' Flower

I set the plates down fast, letting them clatter gently onto the ground beside us, not caring if the steak got coated in dirt or if the salad rolled off into the grass. My hands found her face, cupping her jaw, angling her just right so I could kiss her back.

And when I did, it was like striking a match to gasoline.

Her mouth parted beneath mine, and I deepened it, pouring every ounce of emotion I’d been holding in—fear, desire, respect, everything—into the way I kissed her. One hand slid into her hair, the other still holding her cheek as if anchoring her in place, like if I let go, we’d both come undone.

She made a soft sound, not quite a moan, not quite a sigh, but it wrecked me. Her hands gripped the front of my shirt, pulling me closer, needing me like I needed her.

It wasn’t slow, and it wasn’t polite. It was full of want and promise and a thousand things we hadn’t said but had been building between us every time we touched, every time we fought, every time we laughed when we shouldn’t have.

Her lips were warm and soft and tasted faintly like the sweet tea she’d sipped earlier, but it was the emotion behind the kiss that made my pulse stutter. She was all in. And so was I.

When we finally pulled apart, both of us were breathing hard as our breaths mingled in the dark.

We didn’t say anything, we didn’t have to. The kiss had said it all.

Her forehead still rested against mine, her breath brushing my lips as it slowed and steadied. I kept one hand curled around the back of her neck, my thumb gently stroking just behind her ear. It felt like the world had narrowed down to just this—the quiet, the night air, and her, warm and solid in my arms.

“You feel better?” I asked, my voice low.

Gabby didn’t answer right away. Instead, she made a soft, vaguely indecipherable sound—a hum more than a word, non-committal and somewhere between yeah and don’t make me think yet.

She tucked herself tighter against me, pressing her face into the curve of my neck and shoulder, her breath slow and warm against my collarbone.

I let my chin rest on top of her head, closing my eyes for a second and letting the weight of her settle into me.

And then, right as peace started to settle in—smack, smack, crunch, slurp.

I opened one eye. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Gabby turned her head slightly, peeking out from under my chin, and followed my gaze. There, in the shadows just past the stove, was the raccoon family. Steve, the one I'd called Gremlin,and another that I was pretty sure she’d named Popcorn. They were sitting very proudly in a circle, passing around chunks of our steak as if it were their last meal on Earth. Steve had a piece bigger than his head and was chewing like his jaw was possessed.

Gabby let out a long, suffering sigh. “Should’ve known.”

“You gave them a taste once,” I pointed out. “Now they think they’re part of the rotation.”

“They kind of are,” she admitted.

“I told you?—”

“I’ll make toast,” she offered suddenly, already starting to shift off my lap.

My blood pressure spiked. “Hell no.”

She froze. “What? It’s just?—”

“Nope,” I repeated, gently but firmly grabbing her waist and pulling her back into place. “You’re not making toast. Not out here. Not ever.”

“I can toast bread, Webb.”

“You almost set eggs on fire,” I reminded her, narrowing my eyes. “Eggs, the literal water balloons of the cooking world.”

“That was one time.”

“One time that left the stove with emotional damage.”

She made a face and tried to swat my arm. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“If we’re avoiding a campfire so we don’t draw attention,” I drawled, raising an eyebrow, “lighting the entire cabin up like adamn flare because you wanted toast would be one hell of a way to say ‘Hey, bad guys, we’re over here!’”

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